My Dark Night

One of my favorite quotes is from American Beauty: ….but it’s hard to stay mad, when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst…

These last few days, weeks, months, I am not seeing the beauty. I am seeing the sadness, so much so my heart threatens to burst from it. I don’t watch TV because I don’t need all that pain but sometimes the pain just seeps in anyway. My cute baby boy Aaron is 27 on Monday. I had such high hopes and dreams for him but what difference did all my parenting do? I worked so hard to help and fix my bright little boy but I was fighting a fight that’s bigger than me. He’s still a drug addict. Just like his daddy and his granddaddy was and now my ex is raising two more. I watch as my brother struggles with his demons and I can’t do anything about it – but love him. Still, sometimes it’s just so overwhelming, it gets to me…and I find myself saying “What’s the point?” “What will it matter in a million years?’ “Who will even notice?”

This morning I was raging at god, beating him up like a plastic karate doll. You know the kind that you put water into the bottom so no matter how many times you punch and kick it, the doll pops back up to be kicked again. ” I don’t f*ing deserve this! I’m a good person. It’s not fair! Why me? Why so much pain? Where are my loving parents? Where’s my safe place? When can I finally relax and breathe? I am so tired of being strong. Today... I just want to cry.

These days I know enough to suit up and show up so I did. I slogged through my day. I went to my meeting tonight and admitted my darkness. Put it all out on the table for everyone to see. Then I hung out with my good friends – the ones that are there even when you’re grumpy – and got into my car to go home.

As I was pulling onto the freeway, a woman came running at my car. Her little SUV was on the side of the road – they had run out of gas. She was with another woman and there was a small child in the back seat. They asked if they could borrow my cellphone to call the woman’s husband and instead I pulled out my spare gas can – the one I carry because my gas gauge quit working- and the woman’s eyes got real big. “Oh my god, thank you! Oh my GOD she has a gas can!, she called to her friend.” ” We’re almost home, the next exit down. Oh my god, thank you.” They were so cute and excited and we got the gas into their car. The woman thanked me in Spanish and I gave her a hug. The little boy in the back seat peeking out in his PJs. It took a few tries but the car started up and I followed them to the next exit and watched as they went home.

Watching their taillights driving away my eyes welled up in tears as I realized ….there is so much beauty in the world.

You can't get enough of what you don't need

Ram Dass was quoted as saying that pain is our separation from god and addiction is our quest for god. Problem is that the addiction - whether it be love, gambling, drugs or work - addiction has a certain duration while our connection with god is who we are, where we came from and where we are going.

If this were true, why would anyone turn away from god?

I think that before we were here we were with god - whatever form that comes in. There were no blinders on our eyes. Our connection with god was never in doubt. We were connected. Then, once we came into this body, our experience became physical and if I am physical then my god must be physical too. So, where is he. If I can not see him in front of me like I see my brother, then maybe he doesn't exist. Instead our ego kicks in and he think we are awesome. And we are. But not more awesome than god.

Then things do wrong or life just happens and there is pain. The ego shrieks out - I didn't ask for pain! Even good pain - the pain of growth - hurts. When the environment is supporting and loving, this pain can be dealt with. When the environment is dysfunctional, the pain becomes overwhelming and we search for relief.

My pain became overwhelming when I was 13 and my mom was murdered. I officially gave up on god and fired him. He was doing a crap job and I could do better on my own.

At 13 I had not had a sexual experience. Sexuality was never spoken about as "healthy" only as "bad". My naked body was shamed and covered neck to ankle. I was taught that masturbation was bad and had never had an orgasm. I think all of this avoidant behavior plus overwhelming pain made me a prime candidate for love addiction - or at least love distraction.

Just four months after my mom's death, I ran into a 21 year old guy that thought I was special. He had blonde feathered hair and tight big bells and he seemed "bad" enough to know how to "do it", which we proceeded to do on the floor of my parents bedroom. I can still remember the rug burns on my back side.

Sex was fun and I'd never felt anything so amazingly wonderful. I wanted to feel like that all the time. It filled my body with fun hormones and the pain of real life faded for a little while. The calm afterglow of sex was as close to heaven as I had ever felt.

Since I had never felt like that before, I attributed this great new flood of hormones to this guy. I kept him around longer than I would have otherwise. At 14, it was the closest to god that I had ever felt. Problem was, the feeling faded, I realized the guy was just a guy and I was left in the pain again.

Left to find god another way.

Why Struggle?

My favorite analogy of life is the flowing stream.

It is calm and peaceful and gently ends up at the ocean. I can choose to swim in it, play in it, float along in it, enjoy it or I can try to fight against it and swim upstream.

Of all the choices above; which one do you do most of the time?

For some reason, my default option is to swim upstream.

It reminds me of the annual salmon run. Every year the salmon swim upstream, back to the place of their birth, to lay their eggs. I remember seeing videos of the salmon jumping into the air, using all their energy, to get through the rapids and finally reach their home. It's an incredible, sometimes impossible and ultimately futile feat. Many of the salmon die in the journey but the ones that make it are then able to lay their eggs and die.

So, if it's such a futile task to fight the current, why do I end up there?

I've thought of a few reasons:

Martyr - The Martyr finds a false sense of nobility and significance in the pain. It's a safe way to get connection when what's really sought after is love. Also, this pain is not what I call "good pain". Good pain is when you are stretching and growing. This pain is "stuck" pain; pain that's meant to get you moving but instead you choose to live here. I wasted a lot of years in the "stuck pain".

I can do it/Ego - I didn't have anyone I could count on so I learned to do it all myself. I can't ask for help - that would be admitting weakness and also open me up to rejection. This also is a safe "connection" with self when what's really sought is love.

Fired God - When I was 13 I fired God. He was doing a horrible job with my life and surely I could do better than this slop. God's not doing it quick enough, good enough or the right way.

There are other variations on the above themes - but these seem to be the core issues.

Ultimately, for me, it comes down to this: Trust

I heard a story about a man that asked Mother Teresa to help him pray for clarity. She would not. Taken aback, and a bit put off, he asked her why not. Her response was along the lines of; she never had clarity but she had fully trusted in God.

Today, if I am trusting God, I am enjoying the soft sun on my face as I flow down the river of life on my inner tube.

If I am struggling, and trying to swim upstream, I have fallen back into my painful old habits of fighting god's will for me. I'm not sure why I fight. God's gonna win. He/She always does.

What are you choosing today? Can you let go of the struggle? Can you humble yourself before god, or the stream, or your higher power, or the universe? Do you have to be knocked down on your knees again or can you, instead, choose to go willingly? What do you choose now?

The Little Cucumber

Once upon a time there was a perky little cucumber. She was cute and fresh and crunchy and unafraid. She was the perfect little cucumber.

When it was time to go home with her parents she was plucked from the vine and they all went home to their vat of brine.

The little cucumber didn't like the brine. It was dark and scary, there was yelling and fights and the bitterness made it hard to breathe. The little cucumber really wanted to make her parents proud of her so she didn't complain. She learned to accept the brine as the way it was. The little cucumber made her parents laugh and did great at school and never talked about the bitter brine that they lived in.

The little cucumber thought all cucumbers lived in a dark, bitter, harsh vat of brine.

The little cucumber had a best friend named Randi. The other cucumbers picked on Randi because she wore glasses but the little cucumber protected her and they became friends.

One weekend Randi invited the little cucumber to spend the night. When the little cucumber got to Randi's house the little cucumber was surprised to find that Randi lived in the sunshine. It was happy and bright and easy to breathe at Randi's house. Randi's mom made souffles and she let the girls watch TV and play with the dog. The little cucumber loved Randi's house and never wanted to go home.

The little cucumber loved her parents and didn't want to disappoint them but that day the little cucumber decided that when she grew up she was going to live in the sunshine like Randi did.

In sixth grade the little cucumber learned about bad parents - the ones that lived in saline solution. Saline solution sounded really scary and she was really glad that she didn't live there. She had good parents.

When the little cucumber started dating she always seemed to be attracted to other cucumbers that had grown up in brine. That was ok, she was going to help them to come and live in the sunshine with her.

The little cucumber married a cute boy cucumber with feathered blonde hair and they went to live in the sunshine. The sunshine felt good at first but then the little cucumber got a sunburn and the clean air felt strange in the little cucumber's lungs. It seemed that after all those years in the brine, the clean air and sunshine didn't feel like home anymore and the cucumber couple soon found themselves back in the comfortable darkness of the brine.

The cute little cucumber tried really hard to be in the sunshine. She divorced the cute boy cucumber because it must be his fault, she had left the sunshine for him.

Then the cute little cucumber met a wonderful cucumber. He took her places and they had fun together and they married and had a little boy cucumber. Every once in a while the little cucumber would wake up and be in the brine again. Then slowly, little by little, the days of sunshine were replaced by days of brine. At first it was a day of brine a month and the next thing the little cucumber knew the boy was 12 and they were living in brine again.

The little cucumber was angry to be living in the brine again. After all the work she had put into doing everything perfectly, she deserved better than to be living in the brine. The little cucumber packed her things and left again. She would not put up with another day of living in the brine.

But, it happened again. No matter how hard the little cucumber tried she kept ending up back in the brine.

One day the little cucumber woke up and realizing she was in brine, again, looked around to find out who put her there but there was no one to be found. She was alone. There was no one to blame but herself. That day she had to admit to herself that she was no longer a cucumber. All those years growing up in brine had changed her. She was not that perky fresh cucumber she was as a baby. She had become a pickle. Just like her parents and her parents parents. She suddenly realized that she came from a long line of pickles.

That day changed the cucumber's life. That day the little cucumber admitted that she was powerless. That her life had become unmanageable.

She got down on her little pickle knees and asked god to help her to become the cucumber she was born to be. That day she became willing to change.

Nice guys make great girlfriends

I've been dating this guy for the last 6 months. He's in real estate so it's easy to talk cap rates and turn around strategies. He treats me well and looks forward to seeing me. He lives in a great big house in an exclusive upscale part of town. He drives a big black beemer and always opens the door for me. He always pays, always. We go to concerts and nice restaurants and hang out on the patio for a beer. When he leans in for a kiss, I lean away.

We have so much in common, we're good friends. Movies and TV and the big "they" taught me that friendship is the foundation for an intimate relationship. So where's the attraction? sexiness? hot man that makes me melt?

I remember a boyfriend I had in my teens. He had lived with us for his last year of high school and then went off to Air Force boot camp in San Diego. For the six or eight weeks of boot camp, I was the loyal girlfriend; sending cards and surprises to get him through. The night before I was leaving for his graduation from boot camp, I kissed another guy.

My boyfriend was a little on the skinny side but the "other" guy had great strong shoulders and he held me tight. He pulled me close and I could feel him wanting me, both in his kiss and elsewhere. He had energy, moxie and strength that I didn't know I needed. I was weak kneed and giddy. Flushed and washed in guilt, I fumbled and pushed away from him. I had a plan, I was going to San Diego in a few hours, what was I doing kissing this hot man?

I drove down and saw my boyfriend. We stayed in a hotel for a few days and it was pleasant but it wasn't mindblowingly hot. The day I got back home, it was mindblowingly hot with the other guy.

The other guy was the best lover I had ever had. He was present, playful, paying attention. I couldn't say no to him and I didn't tell anyone about him. I was playing the good girl. Having everyone think that I was the long suffering loyal girlfriend was more important than telling the truth. I was afraid that telling the truth would blow the facade and that people wouldn't like me anymore.

After a few months of pretending to be the good girlfriend, all the while making hot passionate amore with my secret lover, the boyfriend was coming home on leave.

My boyfriend drove up on a Friday nite, happy and excited about all he'd been doing for the last few months. We went to dinner and had a nice time together and the sex was pleasant.,

By the second day my boyfriend could tell that something was going on. When we went to bed instead of feeling sexy, he was feeling insecure. In this state of weakness, he wasn't able to be present intimately. His way of resolving this problem was not by facing it head on and calling me on my shit but by pouting and wanting to talk about it. In the moment, I didn't need pouting, I needed a resolution so I rolled over on top of him and brought it home.

The funny thing that I remember about this exchange is that I resented it. I felt anger and disgust for him. He was so pathetic. "Be a MAN", I thought. In my core I am feminine and feel most happy in that role. However, I can step up and be the man but if no one else will.

People often tell me that they think I am in extrovert. I have a charming way of chatting with people and putting them at ease. But, it’s not my strength. It’s an ability I’ve developed over the years and it takes all my energy. After a long day of dealing with people - even if it's at a party, I need a nap. The masculine feminine thing is just like that. I have the ability, I've developed it over the years. I can take charge of the situation, I can get it done. And then I need a nap.

I heard an interesting stat about the majority of divorces happen not for a lack of love but because of a lack of intimacy. Another recent stat: about 1/3 of American marriages are celibate. Somewhere we've confused our business partners with our intimate partners. A French man would never stand for that, a Greek man would never stand for that, even an Englishman would never stand for that. Here in America we seem to be more interested in equality than in passion. What's the point of having a marriage when a nanny is so much cheaper?

Run Away

1.00.07

6.142 miles in one hour and seven seconds.

It's 7:14 and I am just leaving Luke's, our local running store and heart of our running community. They host the Park City Morning Running Group on Wednesday mornings by sending in one of the staff to open up and grab a a box of bagels. The bagels slow us down long enough to for our eyes to linger on the latest high tech shoe or hip running garb. It wasn't too hot this morning and I do look forward to the bagels at the end. Today it's whole wheat with blue berry cream cheese. It's a short walk down the alley and the last bite of bagel goes to my sleepy dog who greets me as I come in the door.

At nine, Rebel doesn't run with me anymore. He nuzzled and whined to get me out of bed for the year after my break up. He was much more effective than the antidepressants that my doctor kept suggesting. Now I am paying him back by running on my own before we head out on our daily walk.

My running time is my time with god. My time when everything inside of me bounces around like a water bottle in the trunk of the car. I can hear the bottle rolling around every time I brake or turn and as I run I visualize the black gunkiness of yesterday’s thoughts rolling around inside of me, turning hard and brittle enough to shatter a little more with each stride of my run. Eventually all the black goo turns to glass and shatters into dust. As I exhale the last of my pain is breathed out. My insides are sparkly clean. The empty rice bowl is ready to be filled with today’s gifts.

This morning I was thinking about my weight. Last week Sherry noticed that I was looking slim - and I immediately gained 5 lbs. The sirens went off and red lights flashed a warning, someone had noticed me. As a kid, my grandmother used to dress me in loose "little house on the prairie" styleless garb to hide and protect me from my pedophile grandpa. Today it’s too hot to cover from throat to toe so instead I use the extra pounds to stay just under the radar. I feel safest when there is no blip on the screen, no audible evidence that I exist.

I feel safest when no one notices me. I feel loneliest when no one notices me.

What's a parent's greatest gift?

I have this beautiful man in Colorado. He is such an inspiration to me because today he is living his dream. He is a full time referee, on the field doing what he loves and traveling the states. The inspirational part to me is that he was an achiever, working the stress of corporate sales during the day and in a loveless marriage for 18 years because he didn't want to hurt his daughter. Like she wasn't already hurt by their relationship.

Kids are such a gift because they are so close to god. Their intuition is still intact and they pick up everything. They know the truth but we try to protect them by lying to them - which only makes them question and doubt their own knowing.

My beautiful man relayed this in an email: "doesn't work, the kids know, my daughter knew and expressed her knowledge when it became fact, that is, after I left she wasn't surprised . . . I actually regret not leaving earlier, it would have saved me a lot of angst, my concern for my daughter was misplaced, at least based on what she said."

What makes him an inspiration is his courage to walk through his deepest fears.

He thought he would lose the love of his wife and daughter. Truth was, his wife was relieved that he finally faced the truth. She had been anxiously expecting "the talk" for years and it was no surprise to his daughter, either. Instead of losing love it opened a space of truth and his connection to his daughter became better than ever. Today their dialogue is open and honest and he lights up as he gushes about her accomplishments in college.

Another amazing man from London was approached by his kids and asked why he didn't leave - and take them with him. They begged for him to leave her, which he finally did when the kids left the house. He was so battered about by then that he spent two years searching for himself and is now fully engaged in helping men step back into their manhood. He is fulfilling his dream.

Seems like we all have our darkness - where our worst fears are hidden - but when we finally shine the light on them and confront them - they vaporize like mist. Problem is, it takes so much courage to face my fears, I could have spent my whole life running from them not knowing that freedom and truth were just a millisecond away on the other side.

I was watching a program about a woman that was in a heterosexual marriage for 20 - something years. Somewhere along the way she realized she was gay. She and her husband worked to keep it together "for the kids" but finally surrendered. The kids were angry at first for not having their family intact until one day one of the daughters looked at her mother and realized that the lines in her face were no longer from stress but from smiling. In that moment, she forgave her mother. All she ever wanted was for her mother to be happy.

Could it be that the greatest gift we can give our kids is showing them how to be happy? Isn't it funny that as parents our greatest hope is for our kids to be happy and that their greatest hope is for us to be?

When one door closes ... I pound on it!

I live my life like a warrior. I put a goal in my head, put blinders on, and charge straight toward my goal. Like a bull charging a red cape, I am going to nail that red thing. I focus on it, snort my nose, stamp my feet and CHARGE. Only to have the Matador sweep the cape away just when I can smell the sweet scent of victory.

My goal can be anything, is often what I think I really want and often not what's best for me. It's often someone else's idea of what "should" make me happy - an aspiration few others have accomplished. An income, a man, a status, a title, or an address that others will envy. It's never something that's in my heart - always from my head - and it's never god's vision for my life. I have my own vision of what's going to get me love because I am so much smarter than god ever was. I'm gonna make it happen. I power through.

The price I pay for charging so hard is that, just like the bull that gets a dagger plunged into his neck, I pay dearly for each pass. I don't pay in blood, too often, but I do pay in broken friendships, a weakened trust in god's goodness, I miss the beautiful scenery along the way, physical wear and tear, long days and short nights, years of wasted trying to "be someone".

The funny thing is; powering through stuff rarely works. Ok, it works when I am itemizing expenses or finishing the last mile of my run but little else.

I do this visualization where I talk to god and most of what I hear from him these days is laughter, which is better than what I got in the past. In the past, when I would ask "when is my father was going to be the father that I want" I could hear the voice of Obi-Wan from Star Wars say "Denial is strong in this one". I hope that means my relationship with god is getting better.

These days, I don't run into the same closed door ... for as long as I used to. I find myself sitting dazed on the shiny hardwood floor in front of the door, fist sore from pounding. My reflex is to contemplate what I did wrong this time and how to do the same thing, only different enough to make it work this time but instead, I remind myself to take a deep breath.

As I breath deeply and wait for the stars circling my dazed head to stop, I breath into my heart. I visualize the breath going into and expanding my diligently pounding heart. I then watch as I breathe out and my heart contracts with the exhale. After doing this for a minute or two my brainwaves sync with my heart waves and my heart reminds me that there are other doors. I turn around and look down the long corridor behind me and realize that I have been charging past, not one, but two doors that are open a crack.

I have plenty of other options. Two that I never knew existed when I was scared and operating out of my head. My head tricks me. My head tells me that there is only one "right way" to do something and if I don't do it that way I won't be happy. My fear lives in my head. There is no fear in my heart. My heart holds only gentleness, love and laughter. The same laughter I hear when I talk to god these days.

What makes you come alive?

I was watching "Hairspray" this week. Hairspray is set in the 50s - when social mores were crazy rigid. The conflict in it was between the "real kids" and the "fake kids". The real kids were heavy or black, while the fake kids were "perfect", blonde, thin, superficial. It got me thinking about who society tells us we need to be.

In the 50s era it was; do as you're told, don't speak unless you are spoken to, church on Sunday, college, corporate job, 2.5 kids, and if the mind numbing repetition got to you there were "mother's little helpers" to get you through another day. It was a society that was "checked out". Everyone knew what was going on but no one spoke of it. If you got pregnant you "went away" for a while. If you married a black guy, you never - in 54 years of marriage - took him home - which was my Aunt's story. You did what you were told and never complained if you were unhappy.

Then came "the pill" and divorce, which liberated women from her minuscule role in life and let her leave the house to explore the outside world. The world changed pretty quickly and societal expectations opened up. There were more possibilities. The hippie subculture rebelled and then came free love and self expression. If growth were linear we'd all be living our dreams by now.

Today I find myself bored.

Work has gotten routine. I can do it. I know how to make it happen but, I need VARIETY to get me fired up. The same old paper pushing stuff day after day just makes me feel like I have already died and they forgot to close the casket. I now totally understand why most heart attacks happen Monday morning. People would rather die than have to do it one more day!

Not everyone was meant to work 50 years for the gold watch. Not everyone was meant to get married. Not everyone was meant to have kids. Not everyone was meant to be with the opposite sex. Not everyone was meant to go to college. No one was meant to waste their life living someone else's dream.

I believe dreams come from god. I believe that, just like talents, god wants us to live our dreams well. When God mended you together in your mother's womb he also mended in dreams, love, joy, passion, excitement and so much more. Joseph Campbell said "follow your bliss" but, I say "follow your heart". When I use the word "bliss" I get myself too wrapped up in it. There is no ego, competition, or fear in my heart.

When I am on the path to my dreams, it all falls into place. I can do no wrong. God's hand guides my way. I can feel my heart beat, my face is flush and all smiles. There is a magic, a glow, to someone living their dreams. You can see it. You can also see the folks that are worn down by the rules of their world. There is no room for rainbows or butterflies. It's all been beaten out of them and even their complexion is dull.

My favorite line from a "course in Miracles" is "God's wish for you is perfect happiness". God put our desires into us so that we could expand them in his glory. God is not punishing or vengeful or impressed by my martyrdom. He gave me possibilities and expects me to take risks and explore and truly live this life.

When I die, I don't want it to be with all of my dreams tightly knit into my heart. I will be able to say that I lived this life and it was a life well lived.

Running from Daddy

I hate father's day. I hate ties, I hate socks, I hate semi-automatic weapons. I hate rar rar rar or the tool guy or mowing the lawn. I hate that there was never anyone to protect me...from my own dad. I hate that there was never anyone to lean on.

Men think it's so cool to have a daughter that can take care of herself. A daughter that is tough, that can handle her own, that makes big money. A man likes a daughter that he doesn't have to "worry about" - but that's not the woman that he wants as a wife. A man needs a woman that needs him. That looks up to him. That adores him.

The marriages that last are the ones where BOTH people think they are marrying up.

I never had a dad that took care of me so I grew that muscle on my own. I learned that vulnerability was weakness. I work on cars, I can get things done, I do projects around the house, I protect the people around me. I can play that man role.

It also means that if I am the man then there is no room for a man in my life. It means that at 46, I have been divorced three times. My first relationships were power struggles. Then I emasculated the last one. He didn't feel needed so he found someone that made him feel needed.

Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for the amazing life that I have had. I'm just grumpy on father's day.

Dreams

I was driving through some gorgeous real estate yesterday. Big new homes on a golf course. They all had fairway views, 3 car garages and beautiful drive ups. They sweated status and luxury. Problem was, I was valuing this house for the bank that is foreclosing on it.

The whole neighborhood is new, every single house on every single lot was stunning. The house I was looking for was no different. It was a big two story home, with stone facade and a three car garage. I couldn't help but think about the people that lived there. They had bought the home three years ago, when the world was a different place. Real estate was booming, everyone was working, they had no idea that their life would come to this in three short years.

When they put their deposit on this house four years ago I know that they had big dreams for it. They wanted their kids to have their own rooms. Painted specially for each one. They found a home where there was enough room so that as the kids grew they wouldn't outgrow the house. They saw their grandkids playing in the pool one day. They wanted a great community for their kids to grow up in, with great schools and plenty to do. They wanted a big master bedroom so that they could focus on each other at the end of a long day. A sanctuary for their love to grow. They wanted a place where their friends could come, the whole house full of laughter and life. Barbecues by the pool, dinner parties and morning coffee on the patio. They wanted a safe place to come to and be with the people they most loved in the world. They bought more than a home, this was the culmination of their dreams. They had finally made it.

Now - 36 months later - it's over - and it's sad.

For me, when things aren't going the way I want them to, I try harder. I work harder, push harder, I want to MAKE it happen MY way.

This last year, real estate tanked for me. My sales in '08 were practically non-existent but I pushed on. I took classes, redesigned web sites, called everyone I knew but nothing changed. It wasn't coming to me but I still held on.

I know I hold on too long. I want it to work out the way I want it to work out - not the way it really is. If I just try harder, do more, try it this way or that then it'll work. After 10 months of restless sleep and every deal falling apart, I had to admit reality; this was not the life that I wanted. It looked pretty but I was dying inside.

When my denial finally broke - it hit hard. I sold everything. My big beautiful leather sofas, my furniture, my clothes, my china and crystal and silver. I sold my chair swing and my barbecue, my desk and my lawn chairs. I sold my Mercedes and I rented the home I loved. I reduced 45 years worth of stuff into a 19 foot box van and drove it to Dallas.

I don't miss the stress, I don't miss the bills, I don't miss the stuff - too much. Sure, it'd be nice to be in a little bigger place but I have all I need. On our walk this morning I was watching Rebel's big toothy smile as he chased squirrels around the park and his delight at jumping in the creek. Smiling, I thought "we are both happier here".

What was I holding on to for so many stress filled months? It wasn't the escalating credit card debt, it wasn't the sleepless nights or the comfort eating. I think I was holding on to what my life looked like - not what it felt like. Because it felt like hell. I was holding on to what other people thought of me in that big red Mercedes and keeping super busy so that I couldn't feel the desperation in my soul.

The truth is: those people don't need that big house to be happy. If their kids love them they love them, if their relationship is amazing it's amazing, if their friends are really their friends they are really their friends. Instead of thinking there was something missing, I hope they realize that there is nothing missing.

Real love can't be lost. That house is not love. That peanut M&M is not love. That diamond ring is not love. That big red Mercedes is not love. Then I realized, they've had all they need to be happy all along. And so have I.

You'll look great on my Christmas cards

My dad was a big handsome, high school football star and officer in the air force. He'd been stationed in Pakistan and he'd jumped out of a plane. He looked really great in the wedding photos. He looked really great on paper. He was any mother's dream for her daughter. Until you get to the part where he was mean and selfish, lacking in compassion and warmth.

The physical abuse was one thing, the constant criticism and not being able to do anything good enough for him, was another.

Problem was, the whole relationship was built on the outside. She wanted 6 kids, he wanted to explore the world in his Austin Healy Sprite. He resented having to sell his cute little sports car when I was born but he finally traded it in for something more practical. She tried to mold him to fit into her picture of the world while he took extended hunting trips to get away. As the pain escalated, we learned to look good, to smile pretty, to project the image of the perfect and beautiful family.

There's this funny cultural competition in Dallas where families get together and have their annual photos. They all dress the same, smile pretty and project that super sweet image to "out perfect" the neighbors. Families that are not talking, that have raging alcoholism and abuse, cover the bruises and smile pretty so they can show the world that they've done well. It's all built on the outside.

Matthew 7:[26] And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand: [27] And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fall of it.

When I started dating, I chose the ones that looked good. My first boyfriend had blonde feathered hair and the handle to his comb looked really great in his back pocket. He was also dumber than a hammer and couldn't keep a job. He brought nothing to the table except that he looked great on my arm and I kept him there longer than I should because the girls at school thought he was a fox.

Even now, 32 years later, I can feel the hollow emptiness of that relationship. We used each other to feel better about ourselves and it still hurts. It was the same empty loneliness I learned from my family. It was pain but it was familiar and I called it love.

When I look back on the photos of my life I can still feel the pain. I look great. The man next to me is handsome. We are smiling pretty.

Why wait till your deathbed to be free?

I used to watch soap operas in the afternoon with my grandmother. It was our form of bonding. In the soaps there was always a deathbed secret that everyone really already knew about but were waiting for it to be confirmed before mother died. Was Sally really John's daughter? Did Lori really kill Beau? The lies were so complicated and contorted - as only soaps could do - that no one really knew the truth.

The first thing to erode in my relationships was that clear bell of truth.

I would catch myself lying over little inconsequential things and then wondering why I was lying at all. The times when he was excited and all fired up about something, something I knew had huge obvious flaws but I smiled and went along with it. The times when sex was horrible but I lied to make him feel better. The time he ran over a cat and I suppressed my feelings that he was a stupid asshole and played nice instead. Making him feel better is not creating a strong relationship. It's creating a pretend relationship where neither side is living in truth. It creates two pretend people pretending to have a relationship.

Trying to be who I think you want me to be is lying. Pretending everything is all right is lying. Smiling and looking pretty is lying. "Not telling" him something is lying. Looking the other way is lying. Not speaking up is lying. Not showing your perceived flaws is lying. 8th date stuff - where we are done pretending and start admitting that we've had 84 lovers before you - is the TRUTH.

Lying doesn't seem like a big deal at first. "I didn't want to hurt their feelings". Like they aren't strong enough to handle the truth? Or like they didn't know already! People know already! It's just you telling a story to feel better about yourself.

If you can't fight with someone you can't have a relationship with them. If you can't poop at their house you can't have a relationship with them. If you can't talk to ANYONE that calls on the phone you can't have a relationship with them. If you can't admit that you are $47,000 in debt you can't have a relationship with them. When I am lying I am not "in" the relationship. I am pretending. It's a cop out. It's stepping out of the bond of relationship. It's cheating.

The consequences for lying are much higher than I had realized. First, each lie weakens us - physically and emotionally. While, each word of truth strengthens us, physically and emotionally. Have you ever been in a relationship where you felt like you could do anything? You were living in truth.

The study of kinesiology is the study of human movement. The interesting thing is that your body knows when you are not in your truth. You can do a simple kinesiology test on each word where you stand erect with one hand out to the side. Your friend stands across from you and as you say the word your friend pushes down on your arm. When you are in truth there is strength in your arm and it's difficult to push down. When you lie, the arm is easily lowered.

Then there is the guilt - your heart knows it was a lie - and you get to live with that until you come clean. Lastly there are the years of unintended consequences. The casserole that you said was awesome - when it wasn't - but now you get to eat it every week for the rest of your life. Or the outfit that you said looked fine in a rushed moment when you just wanted to get out the door - that ends up in every picture of every special event for the next 3 years or until he's gained too much weight to fit into it.

For true connection and intimacy, there has to be truth. For me, what starts out as truth when we initially negotiated out how our lives fit together, slowly disintegrates into years of more and more distance until one day I woke up and looked at the man next to me in bed. I didn't know what his dreams were, what he lived for or if I even liked him anymore. I didn't know if he had lost weight or took downers or drank too much or had a lover. I no longer knew him.

Who's to blame for these things. Is it really the other's fault that she has a lover when we quit noticing her years ago? Can we really blame him for shooting morphine in the bathroom to numb out the grief and pain he's been suffering through? We are lost in pretty smiles of pretending this is the life we always dreamed of.

I liken relationships to Chinese water torture. In Chinese water torture a drop of water is dripped on the subject's forehead. The first drop seems like nothing, the 100th is annoying, the 10,000 makes you insane. So true in a relationship, the first time he tells the story about how you thought the Jesuits were a sect of Jews, your face got red and you didn't say anything, the 100th time you cut off sex for a week, the 10,000 time you charged $15,000 on the AmEx to get him back and he still doesn't know that you hate when he tells that story.

What little lies do you tell every day? Does your husbands hair look ridiculous sticking straight up like that? Do your wife's bra straps annoy the shit out of you? Is your relationship so fragile that you can't tell the truth?

No More Distractions

It's interesting the way god works. Last year I said that all of my ego was being stripped away as I sold off everything and told the truth about my finances. Now I feel like I am taking that to a different level.

I went from being the "California Girl" in her big red Mercedes, beautiful clothes, wild running trails, lots of friends and a great house full of beautiful things to this. I live in a one bedroom apartment where I am constantly clearing out the non-essentials so I don't trip over my dog. I drive a 1993 Volvo wagon with $108K miles on it and the fanbelt squeals when I turn on the A/C. I live in the gayborhood - where the boys are not interested in me and my closest friends are the friendly faces at the bank.

I have a handyman that thinks I am beautiful and a friend that looks to me for spiritual awakening.

I've heard many women talk about losing their looks and becoming invisible. I feel like I lost my pretty stuff, pretty income, pretty friends and now I am becoming invisible. Who am I? What do I like? Why am I here?

I know that I needed to lose it all to find myself. Is there anything beneath it all?

I had to lose my income to not use that to lure men.
I had to lose my car to not use that to boost my ego.
I had to lose my house to realize that all the pretty things were not me.
I had to be away from my friends and activities to allow the scared little girl, hiding in the shadows, to emerge.

Bargain Basement Love

My sister and I were laying out in the back yard. It was a beautiful 72 degree day and the sun was bright. We were laying on our towels in our bathing suits, feeling like teenagers, when “ I don’t feel I bring anything to a relationship now that I don’t have the big income” came out of my mouth. A Freudian slip? Perhaps. But, it got me thinking.

I have always felt “better” [meaning in control] when my spouse needed my income to get by. And every one of them needed my income. I have always been the stable one. The one with good credit. The one that pulled my weight. The one with bail. The one to raise your kid. The one to pay the bills. I always knew I was the one that you needed but I hadn’t realized that you needed my income. Maybe I was never attracted to a man of means because I wouldn’t have the power in that relationship.

I was chatting with a friend of mine, I’ll call him David. He is now in his mid 50s with 20 something boys. After 26 years of marriage he divorced his wife and now lives on his own. His ex is sick and he takes care of her when she’s in the hospital and when she’s not. She needs him to take care of her physically, emotionally and financially, she always has. That’s probably why she married him and why he stayed the extra 21 years after their relationship was over. He hasn’t really liked her since then but she needs him.

Another client, Roy, has a 14 year marriage, three boys and a wife that says she totally loves him. In their relationship it’s obvious she feels loved when he gives her things. She has more diamond rings than fingers, a closet full of coach purses and a pile of pretty gifts in the garage. He calls her names behind her back describing her mean and negative demeanor with disgust and repulsion. “We don’t do anything together” he complains and he feels neglected and used.

I know I do the same thing. I remember with Roland, I bought him a gold necklace for Christmas. It was a stretch for my budget at the time but, I thought he would like it. He liked it so much he made me return it and get a nicer one for him. I was the provider of that relationship. He wanted pretty things and I could do that for him but, I resented it. Why wasn’t it enough? Why wasn't I enough? And why couldn’t I just say “no” that’s what I got you and if you want something else you’ll just have to upgrade it yourself.

Some people live their whole lives in these relationships. My grand parents and parents did.

For me, this type of relationship feels sick, dysfunctional, painful and I used to stay in them.

If relationship is a negotiation then what was I bargaining for?

I traded my financial stability for his staying with me.

I felt important when I provided and they felt important when they got stuff.

What I really wanted was someone that adored me but what I got was someone that needed me.

The irony of the whole thing is that I thought I was the one that needed them - hmmm.

I grew up with crazy...but, we called it normal

I was chatting with a friend of mine last night. She lived with an out of control addict for 20+ years. Her kids got into recovery when they were 8 and 10. For years they begged for her to leave the "bastard". After more than 10 years of recovery my friend was finally strong enough to get a divorce. By then the kids were grown. Now the grown kids; also known as Adult Children, the same kids that could see the dysfunction in their parents, are recreating their early childhood patterns in their adult lives. Both of the "kids" married alcoholics.

They had already walked through that pain and trauma of childhood and survived, why would they choose all of that suffering for themselves?

For me, it's so much easier to see someone else's crazy behavior than it is to see mine. I don't even realize what I do. If I could have seen my crazy behavior from outside the fog of emotion and reaction of the moment, I am sure I was the one that looked totally nuts. I remember having a conversation with a friend about my mom's death and I smiled at an inappropriate time - a signal that I was getting significance from my mom's murder - and I didn't realize I had smiled. I was so disconnected from my emotions that it took the guidance of a friend to know that about myself.

I grew up with crazy and recreated crazy as an adult. I watched my parents fight and get divorced and then my mother's murder. My dad was a narcissist - totally unaware of anyone's needs but his own - so I modeled that "love" by marrying addicts. When I was in my early 30s I was in an abusive relationship. It was a power struggle just like my parent's rocky relationship. I remember thinking - clear as day - this is the man that will kill me. Just like it was having lunch on Friday. I expected to live - and die - the same life of my parents.

I read about this goose that was separated from it's mom while it was just an egg. A kind helpful human incubated the egg and when the chick was born it imprinted on the person. It called the person "mom". That goose ALWAYS walked upright like a person vs waddling like a goose. That was it's model for the world and it didn't even realize that it's not "supposed" to walk that way. That's how I was before I got into recovery, I didn't even know that love doesn't hurt, being hit or called names or stony silence is abuse, or that God's wish for me is perfect happiness.

Safe Love

Last night there were thunder storms. My 9 year old chocolate lab, Rebel, was right beside the bed. Looking for comfort from his mama. I gave him kisses and he laid down right next to the bed. Head between paws, he looked up to see if I was watching. "It's ok, I am right here, go back to sleep" I watched as he looked at me and slowly his eyes closed. He's a sweet safe love.

He loved me before I loved him. I saw it in his eyes and still I held back. How could I give my heart to this animal. He's going to die before me and that would kill me. I justified; he just loves me because I feed him. But I knew that was just a game I was playing. That fear stuff creeping in. OK, he loves me. More than he loves food or having his tummy rubbed. Sure his heart is pure. Sure - but I could get hurt. Could I risk being hurt?

Today I look back at my fear and I laugh. The love of a dog is about the safest love there is! Even beaten dogs love their masters,unconditionally. Just like beaten children love their parents. It's a deep bond. Love and pain all mixed together. Some kids break from this crazy making but many grow up to do the same thing to their kids. Expecting unconditional love from their kids because it's a safe love.

I always picked men that needed me. That I had some control over. The men didn't make me feel safe but the control did. I knew #1 wasn't divorced so, I got that one annulled when I needed to. I had a built in out.

#2 wanted to get married for years. All I would give was a one year option. I really didn't like him that much but we shared the bills and the bed and it was OK. We renewed that option for five years until Aaron came. Then there was a purpose higher than myself and when Aaron's therapist said it would be better for Aaron if we were married. I married him. I was pledging my love to the kid, not the man, and the kid needed me. Not much risk in loving a kid.

#3 loved me unconditionally. He made me feel safe. I could see the rest of my life in his smile. I still loved him conditionally, though. He was an addict and I was afraid he'd go back out. I told him if he ever used again, I would leave. I thought it was a way to keep him from using. Instead he tested my love and addiction lured him to another's bed. I know he still loves me but our paths no longer intersect.

Today I interview my men like I interview a job applicant;

1) Can he do it? Does he light me up? Does he have the skill? Does he have the muscle? Can he be honest? Vulnerable? Do I know his heart? Does he have the heart of a lion or a gopher? Can he challenge me? Can he show up? Will I need to carry him or can we carry each other? Is he my rock?

2) Will he do it? Does he adore me? Does he value relationship? Is that part of his plan? His purpose? His vision? Will he grow with me? Are our values aligned? Are we greater together than apart? Do I open around him or close?[When I am with someone that lights me up I chatter. If I notice myself being quiet, I need to ask myself why]

3) How will he fit into my life? Do my friends like him? Is he great at a party? Can he handle my exes? Can I handle his? Does my life open or close with him in it? Can I see myself growing old with him? Do his kids adore me? Do I live to light him up?

Today there is plenty of safe love in my life. Family and friends and boys. They support me and love me and it's great connection. We pass the time and it's pleasant. The world is good but it's not in technicolor. Today I want to risk it all. Today I want to be scared shitless. To live. To love. A love that's not safe or guaranteed but a love that makes the day brighter, the wind smell of jasmine and my heart pound.

Accepting unacceptable behavior

I've been beaten, I've been raped, I've been tortured, I've been abused. My daddy's
"perfect family" taught me that these things are just part of being a family. It's ironic that my mother's father left when she was four and my grandmother raised my mom and aunt by herself. You'd think that that side of the family - the unacceptable side - would be more abusive. The "perfect" side of my family - the intact family with the football star and the cheerleader - was the side that hid the bruises, cruelty and the pedophilia. To make matters worse, my perfect family called this behavior love.

Both of my grandfather's were alcoholics. Both of my parents were Adult Children that lived with unacceptable behavior and called it "normal", even love. That's why, when my father was cruel to my mother, she took it and hid it from the kids. That's why, when he began beating her, she tried harder and took responsibility for his actions.

In the dysfunction, the perpetrator is never responsible for his own actions - everyone else is. "If I hadn't talked back, if I got better grades, if I was thinner, if I was more beautiful, if I just accept him as he is then he will love me. The victim eventually believes that it is they that are unlovable. It's their fault that no one loves them.

When my dad murdered my mom, he was not responsible. He "felt like an animal in a cage and she just kept poking at him" he "had to do it to protect himself". Each one of the kids - age 7-13 - took responsibility for mom's murder. I should have been there to protect her, my brother knew something was wrong but when he realized that a gun was gone he didn't know what to do - he was 11, my sister opened the door to let my dad in. We shouldered the blame and guilt but the murderer did not.

After the murder, we were expected to go and visit my dad. We were expected to love him after he had taken away the only warm ray of love in our lives. We never talked about why he was in jail. We just pretended that everything was "normal". We tried our best to look perfect.

The perfect house in Almaden was sold. Our things were boxed up and stored at my grandmother's house. There was no debriefing, no accountability, no discussing how to handle things. That whole part of our lives was "removed" and we moved forward.

When boyfriends were selfish I had had worse - my father was the ultimate narcissist so it actually felt familiar. Not good but familiar. When money was taken out of my purse, I put up with it. When my head was slammed into the tile bathroom floor, I took it. I thought I was being loyal and proving my love by staying.


My kid used to get attention by behaving badly. Bad attention was better than being invisible. I did the same thing in relationships. Being seen was preferable to not being seen at all. If I was slapped across the face, I was definitely being noticed. There was even an excitement to being able to get someone's attention to that level. I was so sick.

I have been alone for seven years now. Drama, abuse and cruelty are not part of my life.

When I moved into my apartments in Dallas I was again faced with the power struggle. One of my tenants - a drug addict - had taken on the "alpha" position. Much like the alpha dog, he had chosen my apartments as his territory and had pee'd all over it. He was unpredictable and he had everyone on edge. I noticed the old power struggle energy, I noticed my wanting to knock him off his pedestal. Today I make a different decision. Today I can let that go. It takes two to have an argument and I chose not to argue. I set the rules. I was firm and he chose to move on. Today that drama is unacceptable. Today I choose what behavior is acceptable to me. Today I choose happiness.

Being Butch

I grew up a tomboy - I loved to run around outside because it kept me out of the house. I was tough and strong and no one wanted to play with me. I didn't have any friends but my brother did so, I tried to hang out with my brother's friends. Being pre-adolescent boys, they wanted nothing to do with me. They tried to get rid of me by hiding and avoiding me. When I did find them they threw rocks at me to keep me away from them. I just made a game of dodging rocks that were thrown at me. I was willing to put up with anything to be accepted. I don't think I ever got hit but they eventually let me hang out with them. A little.

The friend I had at school was my friend because I beat up a boy for her. They were teasing her because she wore glasses and I scared him into leaving her alone.

I learned to excel in school - I got awards for things like reading the most books - and I got attention for doing well at first. Then it became expected and this little rush of attention became a lifetime burden.

I had a few boyfriends along the way - cute 6th grade crushes and that sweet Drew boy that played the electric guitar and sang to me. We made out in the back of his pinto wagon and neither one of us knew what to do. Then my mom was murdered.

Murder changes everything. I replaced my childhood innocence with tough armor that kept everything out. A few months after her death and my 14th birthday I chose a 21 year old stoner boy to initiate me into womanhood. He was weak, he was stupid and he thought I was hot.

Since then it's been a stream of weak men. I remember when I told #2 "I can't do this anymore". I was asking for help, for some promise of something changing but what I got was "I know how you are when you make up your mind so how do you want to do this."

For a woman, that is like death. That is so weak and pathetic. We were together for 9+ years shouldn't I get more than "you've made up your mind"? How about "I know we've grown apart", "we still care about each other what can we do to fix it" or even " I know we've become different people but I'll always love you". Reach down between your legs and make sure they're still there! Just show up just a little bit!

Today the guys that show up are great guys. They have good values and honor me...and we become friends. They were attracted to my energy and my strength because they needed me to be their anchor. Sorry boys, I am not interested in being your anchor. Sure, I can be there for you but you have to show up enough to be there for me, too. If you want to be My Man you have to show up in spades. My man can weather my storms. He smiles right through them knowing that the sunshine is coming. He would never say "you've made up your mind".

Last night I was reading in bed when a girlfriend called. She's doing some real estate and we chatted about that then she asked me about her guy friend. He's in a divorce and he's bending over backwards to not have conflict and to make his ex very happy with the settlement. Which my friend really hates because it will affect her income for the next 5+ years. I told her that pleasing was a very feminine attribute. To which she replied " Oh, I am definitely the guy in the relationship. I am OK with that." "Well then, I replied, why are you mad that his ex is the guy in his last relationship?"

I filled up my love bucket with pain

This week I heard a story of a woman in incredible pain and suffering. She's been living with her husband and grown sons in the same house for 30+ years but they don't even talk to each other. She goes home and goes straight to her room. She hasn't had a relationship with any of them for years. When asked when her marriage was over her answer was 1993. 1993!! She's been suffering in silence for 16 years because she is a good christian.

I looked up Martyr: The term martyr (Greek μάρτυς martys "witness") is most commonly used today to describe an individual who sacrifices his or her life (or their personal freedom) in order to further a cause or belief for many. -Wikipedia

So what "cause" is she suffering for?

Is wasting your life what god really wants for us? Is gods wish for us never ending pain?

I put a lot of love and energy into my kid to be a "good parent". I spent time and money that I didn't have to take care of him. I stuck beside my brother when he was in jail. I stayed in an abusive relationship to "prove" my love for him. I lent money to my brothers and sisters to help them. I was sacrificial in my giving and when they didn't appreciate it I was pissed.

"After all I have done for you"

There is significance in being a Martyr. There is significance in the pain because the pain is significant but what I really wanted was to be loved. How is pain supposed to get me love? That's just sick thinking.

No one asked me to be in pain. God's wish for me is not "perfect pain" but "perfect happiness".

Jesus is the ultimate martyr; he died so others may live.

Today I don't have to die physically but I can die to my ego and not try to fill up my love bucket with pain. I don't believe that real love has any pain in it.

The struggle, the suffering, the martyrdom is all optional.
It's old sick behavior that I did to feel important. It's old sick behavior that I did to be noticed.

What I realize today is that the healthy people just noticed that I was sick and the sick people just noticed that they could take advantage of me. What this behavior really did was distract me from my loneliness. It's like smashing a finger with a hammer to get rid of a headache.

My life was hell but I knew what it was. I was too cowardly to do it different. Even when an open door was presented I hesitated. I was afraid to give up all I had. I held on until all I "had" was ripped from my closed hand. God did for me what I could not do for myself.

I resented everyone. I was angry. I was afraid. I was numbed out. It almost killed me like it killed my mom.

Today my red flags are: having to "prove" anything, suffering, pain, "It's not that bad", loneliness, "after all I've done for you", "I've had worse", "I should just be grateful for what I have".

Today I deserve JOY, which is polar opposite to "not that bad". I don't have to minimize my pain today to make it manageable. Today I can open to the possibility that god's wish for me - and my wish for me - is perfect happiness. Today I deserve to be happy.

It used to be that being needed was enough.

My mom needed me. I was the oldest, the strongest, the calmest. I could deflect my father's anger and "save" her. I could help get the kids, and make sure they were clean and behaving. I could make dinner and get the kids to bed. There was power in this. It strokes my ego to be needed and there is also certainty in being needed. If you can't live without me then you'll think twice before you toss me aside.

It also means that I was always working to improve the ways you need me, for fear that you would figure out how to make your own sandwich and not need me any more. It's a foundation built on sand.

My brothers and sisters needed me. I could beat up the bully - or them if they didn't do what I wanted, I knew who the teachers were and I could reach the peanut butter if it was on the top shelf. As they grew up they rebelled against my controlling ways and we had to re-establish our relationships based on give and take, equality. They would no longer take my bullshit because they were tall enough to get the peanut butter themselves.

In my marriages I knew I was needed; #1 needed me to get him out of jail, #2 needed me to raise his son, #3 needed me to feel safe and I needed him to feel safe.

#3 was my best friend. He was weak and he needed me but, he totally loved and supported me in any way he could. The biggest gift he gave me was unconditional love. I could tell him anything and he was ok. He knew all the things I was ashamed of and he still thought I was awesome. #3 helped me realize that I didn't have to do anything to be loved. I was enough just the way I was.

It was the first time the pressure to take care of everything wasn't there. It had been like carrying around a bowling ball while I ran through life. #3 took the bowling ball and freed me from the compulsion to please. He made it safe to look at the pain without feeling overwhelmed by it all. He finally made it ok to be human.

The biggest gift I got from #3 and from program has been love and acceptance. In my childhood there were strings attached to love. I learned to NOT let anyone help me because the expectation was that I would "help" them back. The price was always too high. I learned to not need anyone. To keep people out. To not use my "need" budget. I learned to not have needs.

Today when I give it's not a manipulation. I give what I can without expectation of anything. There is no "I'll love you if". I just love. It's what I was meant to do.

One way that I know I am doing this is by the people that come up to me to thank me for something. They remember when I did _________ for them. "I owe you so much" they say. I just smile and give them a hug. I don't even remember what it was that I gave. I am not keeping track.

Today, that's a very good thing.

Being Good

My stepkid had a hard time in school. He was kicked out of first grade when he stabbed a kid with a pencil out of anger. Three days later he was mine and it became my mission to help him. He had a lot of issues with anger and I think he was abused by his mom but, I think I abused him, too - at least I wish I could have ignored his behavior and loved him more.

I knew he was a smart kid and I often thought his IQ was higher than the "average" which explains why he was bored in school. Our school system is set up to teach at an "average" level - which really means that if you are one of the kids right in the middle of the bell curve then you are getting taught how you need to be taught and everyone else is on their own. The other thing school teaches us is how to conform. On a personal level the teacher cares about each individual kid but in a practical sense, she can't, she has to keep 40 kids on task and "under control". What the kids really learn is to conform. Forget what your gifts and dreams are. Become plain vanilla so the class as a whole can continue. If you conform your teacher loves you and your parents don't have to go to parent teacher conferences and you're not grounded.

Take this the next step into adulthood. It doesn't matter what your gifts are, what you really excel at, or what makes you happy. We get married, we get into debt with the wedding, then we work really hard to pay that off before the kids come. Then we work even harder to send the kids to the right preschool and homework and chauffering kids around and white lies, and soccer practice and more kids and college and suddenly the house is empty and you're 50.

Do you ever wonder who that 5 year old, full of energy and promise, was? Can you remember? Did she dream of SUVs and juggling faster and faster to keep the job she hates?

I try to be good so people will love me but who was that person that everyone loved?

A moment of silence for the Dom

Dom DeLuise dies at 75 - CNN.com

LOS ANGELES, California (CNN) -- Dom DeLuise, who spiced up such movies as "Blazing Saddles," "Silent Movie" and "The Cannonball Run" with his manic delivery and roly-poly persona, has died, his son's publicist told CNN.

Sought through prayer and meditiation to improve my conscious contact with god

I arrogantly call Dallas a "spiritual wasteland" and love to be pleasantly surprised - which I was last night.

I found a place that does the Oneness Blessing - google it for background and locations near you. It's basically a guided meditation and an opening to allow god in.

Everyone that does it has their own interpretation and blessings that come from it. I encourage you to try it.

This morning I got up and read the reading for yesterday in a Course in Miracles:

Lesson 124

Let me remember I am one with God
Today we will again give thanks for our Identity in God Our home is safe, protection guaranteed in all we do, power and strength available to us in all our undertakings. We can fail in nothing. Everything we touch takes on a shining light that blesses and that heals. At one with God and with the universe we go our way rejoicing, with the thought that God Himself goes everywhere with us.
How holy are our minds! And everything we see reflects the holiness within the mind at one with God and with itself How easily do errors disappear, and death give place to everlasting life. Our shining footprints point the way to truth, for God is our Companion as we walk the world a little while. And those who come to follow us will recognize the way because the light we carry stays behind, yet still remains with us as we walk on.
What we receive is our eternal gift to those who follow after, and to those who went before or stayed with us a while And God, Who loves us with the equal love in which we were created, smiles on us and offers us the happiness we gave.
Today we will not doubt His Love for us, nor question His protection and His care No meaningless anxieties can come between our faith and our awareness of His Presence. We are one with Him today in recognition and remembrance. We feel Him in our hearts. Our minds contain His Thoughts; our eyes behold His loveliness in all we look upon. Today we see only the loving and the lovable.
We see it in appearances of pain, and pain gives way to peace We see it in the frantic, in the sad and the distressed, the lonely and afraid, who are restored to the tranquility and peace of mind in which they were created. And we see it in the dying and the dead as well, restoring them to life. All this we see because we saw it first within ourselves.
No miracle can ever be denied to those who know that they are one with God No thought of theirs but has the power to heal all forms of suffering in anyone, in times gone by and times as yet to come, as easily as in the ones who walk beside them now. Their thoughts are timeless, and apart from distance as apart from time.
We join in this awareness as we say that we are one with God For in these words we say as well that we are saved and healed; that we can save and heal accordingly. We have accepted, and we now would give. For we would keep the gifts our Father gave. Today we would experience ourselves at one with Him, so that the world may share our recognition of reality. In our experience the world is freed. As we deny our separation from our Father, it is healed along with us.
Peace be to you today Secure your peace by practicing awareness you are one with your Creator, as He is with you. Sometime today, whenever it seems best, devote a half an hour to the thought that you are one with God. This is our first attempt at an extended period for which we give no rules nor special words to guide your meditation. We will trust God's Voice to speak as He sees fit today, certain He will not fail. Abide with Him this half an hour. He will do the rest.
Your benefit will not be less if you believe that nothing happens You may not be ready to accept the gain today. Yet sometime, somewhere, it will come to you, nor will you fail to recognize it when it dawns with certainty upon your mind. This half an hour will be framed in gold, with every minute like a diamond set around the mirror that this exercise will offer you. And you will see Christ's face upon it, in reflection of your own.
Perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow, you will see your own transfiguration in the glass this holy half an hour will hold out to you, to look upon yourself When you are ready you will find it there, within your mind and waiting to be found. You will remember then the thought to which you gave this half an hour, thankfully aware no time was ever better spent.
Perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow, you will look into this glass, and understand the sinless light you see belongs to you; the loveliness you look on is your own Count this half hour as your gift to God, in certainty that His return will be a sense of love you cannot understand, a joy too deep for you to comprehend, a sight too holy for the body's eyes to see. And yet you can be sure someday, perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow, you will understand and comprehend and see.
Add further jewels to the golden frame that holds the mirror offered you today, by hourly repeating to yourself:
Let me remember I am one with God, at one with all
my brothers and my Self, in everlasting holiness and peace

A great reminder that I am on my path and that God is searching for me - leading me to him.

How Can Anything Be So Bad That You'd Rather Be Dead?

I ask the question knowing that I have been there before. At the time I couldn't admit that I was in an abusive relationship. I couldn't admit that my business was floundering and my debt was escalating. I couldn't admit that I was miserable. I had learned that when things weren't going well, I should try harder. So, I did more of what didn't work and when that didn't work I did more - never really changing the behavior that didn't work. I just had one solution to the problem and what may have worked once did not work any more. Eventually, I just wanted the pain to stop.

Saw this this morning:

Police: Death of Freddie Mac CFO may be suicide - CNN.com

VIENNA, Virginia (CNN) --David Kellermann, acting CFO of Freddie Mac, was found dead on Wednesday, police said.





I was OK with the pretend life I was living. I had made it up - literally - and it didn't feel like anything, I was numbed out, but, I thought I looked good. It was all about other people's perception of me and nothing to do with me.

So, maybe if your whole life is made up then it's not that big a deal to lose it when shit hits the fan???

When I look at it a different way, I can see that I was living for one thing; to look good. Once I didn't "look good" anymore, life wasn't worth living.

So, the one thing I was living for wasn't getting me what I really wanted - which was to be loved and accepted. In my family we never talked about love and acceptance - it was all "looking good" or "being good". Then you got as close to "loved" as my family could do. In my model of the world being loved and accepted wasn't even a possibility. My parents just couldn't do it. I learned to settle for "looking good" which really is the opposite of "being accepted". The message I got was "pretend to be who I want you to be and then you won't be in trouble". I got that message loud and clear and couldn't understand why no one loved me. I was doing everything you wanted me to do??!!

For me, being accepted means looking at my thighs and still loving me. It means when I am cranky and don't want to be bothered you still love me. Or when I am having a rough day, mascara running down my face from the ugly cries, you still think I am amazing. I can tell you all my deep dark secrets and most delicate fantasies and you love me all the more. I can show you my journal - the part where I thought you were a selfish f***er and couldn't wait for you to rot in hell - and you just laugh and pull me closer.

Being honest, being real, being angry, being stubborn, being me is ok, today. As a child it wasn't ok. As a child I was the "perfect" child, the hero". I went to Sunday School and got good grades and took care of everyone, everyone but me. There was no me. Only them. I knew exactly what they wanted and liked and needed. My own wants and needs were buried deep. Deep under the armor of looking perfect.

I wonder if "perfect people" are more apt to kill themselves or someone else - like their families. Maybe, when I see the husband that took out his whole family - cute little kids with big eyes - and then offs himself it's really looking at an un-recovered perfectionist that couldn't take the imperfection anymore.

Today's media hype is over this man that looked perfect as he did his pre-med schooling and stalked and killed women off Craigslist. He sure looked perfect. He smiled and looks great in photos all the while hiding his dark side.

I wonder if the scary kids - you know the ones with the tattoos and the piercings - have a lower incidence of suicide. I bet they have embraced their dark sides - or are at least allowing it. There is no pretending that life is wonderful, or that they get straight As, or that they want you to like them.

It takes a lot of courage to be honest. Someone much smarter than me once said "the truth shall set you free".

Is your life free? or are you pretending to be someone more wonderful than yourself? is that even possible?

Today, the life I am living is nothing near what I ordered. Who knew I'd be living in Dallas - and where's the rest of my house :-) Who knew to put me along a beautiful creek that Rebel loves and that calms me. Who knew exactly the right people to put around me. Who knew I'd have everything I needed - and always have - if I just slow down enough to notice it.

I hope your life today is one worth living. Even if the light isn't just right and we're not gazing at your "good side". I hope your life today is one you can look back on and be proud of. I hope your life today is perfectly imperfect.

Choosing Pain

Whatever is in my life today is what I chose to be in my life - and I continue to choose every day.

My folks didn't meet, look into each others eyes and say "yes, you are going to be 10 years of living hell, let's do it". That's not the way the fairy tales are told. My aunt gave me a picture of my folks when they happily together; leaning into each other and smiling. She was all passive and sweet, he was protective and strong. Is that the "new love" thing - feeling like this guy/gal is going to meet all my needs and desires and we'll live happily ever after?

My mother told me that she was looking forward to being out of my grandmother's house, my father probably thought he was replacing his doting mother. Then the reality of my father graduating and going into the air force - gone for long periods of time - like until I was 2 and my brother was born. My mom was left with an infant and dependent upon my selfish dad to send her money while she went to school. She always hated how tight he was with money - unless it was for him. She sewed our clothes and cooked while he went on hunting trips. We were living in Thousand Oaks, when I was 6, and he was gone most weekends so, while he was gone one weekend, she got a dog. Boy, were there arguments about that!

How do we get from "you fill all my needs" to "I'm gonna replace you with a dog you rat bastard" in 6 short years?

I was just chatting with a friend about how his "women friends" fell in love with what they wanted him to be - not what he is.

My brother had this funny saying about "who did you fall in love with if you want me to change?" He always said it with his cute puppy dog confused face which made me laugh.

When we are "in love" we overlook all the bad. It's nature's little trick. New love creates oxycodone-like drugs that leave the couple in a stupor. Even when the bad is seen, it's dismissed. Then as the drugs wear off, little glimmers of reality creep in and fear replaces the drugs. This is when honesty, self-esteem and communication skills are required.

Most people are not good negotiators in business then add the emotional roller coaster of a relationship and they are doomed. Maybe they just don't realize that relationships are negotiations, that it is time to show up and be vulnerable and respectful and playful and work things out with this person that they adore. They either defer everything and resent it, or use force, manipulation, crying, anger, victim-hood, the kids [which really means pulling their one source for love], etc. to control the other person into doing things their way - which causes gigantic resentment and a move away from love.

It takes a lot of courage and honesty to say "that hurt my feelings" or "I disagree" or "I need this and that to feel loved" and then to be able to discuss the issue without trying to "hurt" the other person.

My main weapons were; certainty - I know what this is and how to handle it, ripping into their character/pushing their buttons, and just doing what I wanted without consulting the other person.

It was a wicked set of weapons and they didn't get me what I truly wanted. What I truly wanted was to be loved, unconditionally. I didn't know how to say "I don't know", "I am scared", "can we really do this" or "I just need to be hugged for a while". In that dark hour they may not be there for me and then I'd have to face the truth; that I was really all alone in this relationship.

Instead of facing this truth, I used my weapons over and over, sinking deeper into despair with each use, until the pain was too big, the loneliness too deep, the despair too inky black to bear for one moment more.