Designer Genes

Last night I watched testimony before a Senate Committee on C-SPAN. According to the testimony, scientific research is now showing that the human genome can be altered by trauma during childhood. The research also indicates that biological diseases, including cancer, are more prevalent in adults who experienced trauma in their childhood.

A child's genes are actually altered through the experience of trauma!

So I have continued to research this, and other research shows that trauma (such as car accidents and the like) turns on certain gene pathways, and the mortality rate of the person is affected by the specific gene pathways that are activated by the trauma. This means that if certain gene pathways are activated, the person is either more or less likely to survive! Amazing! I don't really understand the specific gene pathways discussed, but it's amazing to me just how dynamic these genes are.

These research findings are like believing that the world is flat, only to discover that it is actually round!

There is so much more to the body and mind than we ever thought possible. We can now look at PET scans and SPECT scans of the brain of a child growing up in "chaotic" environments and actually see that their brain functions differently (and abnormally). And now, this addition to the body of scientific knowledge that a child's genome can actually be altered by a traumatic experience. . . .it just changes everything!

We used to think of the human brain and genes as these generally static things. A person was born with a certain number of brain cells, and that remained the same throughout a person's life. We also used to believe that a traumatic spinal cord injury meant a life-time of paralysis. And we used to believe that genes remained the same (unless mutated by some kind of unnatural force, such as radiation exposure). But none of this, as it turns out, is scientifically factual, at all.

So my question is this: If trauma affects the genome, does that mean that the human genome is affected by all environmental conditions to which we are exposed?

I have believed for many years that the possibility exists for genes to be changed for the positive, because each and every time a cell divides, there exists an opportunity for some kind of mutation occur, but why does this mutation always have to result in a "negative" change or outcome? Why can't a genetic mutation yield a "positive" change in some aspect of the human's developmental evolution?

This new scientific knowledge only serves to confirm what I have always believed, and that is that we are ultimately not defined by our genetic code. In fact, I believe that we are always in a constant state of genetic flux. Which means that even though traumatic events may, in fact, alter our genetic pool of information, I also believe that we can create positive change in this genome through conscious connection and focused intention.

And we see the effects of this every day, only we call it healing.

Line Dance

I have a lot of experience with conformity to social expectations, and also the lack thereof. We human beings write books and poems about the road less traveled, and how taking these roads will somehow make all the difference. We create posters that dare us to be square pegs in the round holes. We sing about dreaming the impossible dream, and remind each other how what other people think of us is just none of our business.

So why are we still so afraid to step out of line?

What I'm finding interesting tonight is how even though I've pretty much spent my whole life stepping out of line, I am still affected by what other people think about the way that I live my life. It doesn't stop me necessarily from turning my whole life upside down, but I am still affected by what other people think about me and the choices that I make. It's just interesting...because I would think that a person with such a long history of gypsy living would be more immune to the thoughts of others. . . .but she's not :)

Since 1998, I've had a very strong vision of the way I want my life to be structured, and while I've made several attempts to create this vision, I have not (yet) succeeded. Sitting here tonight, I see very clearly how that incomplete success is caused by the lack of a complete commitment to the creation of the vision. And, interestingly, the lack of commitment is informed by my anticipation of how other people will think about me and the life I have structured. It just surprises me. . . .to find this lurking within me.

Ham or eggs?

I love this line from one of the Gray's Anatomy shows where the husband of a wife shares the wisdom of commitment as "ham or eggs." The chicken is involved, he says (because the chicken DOES provide the eggs), but the pig, ah, the pig is committed to the project. So, which is it. . . .ham or eggs? Am I going to remain involved with my life, or am I going to make a committment to it? Ham or eggs? It's that simple.

The Shiny Gift

I received a wonderful gift this holiday, a box of assorted chocolate truffles wrapped up in the most amazing blue irridescent paper like winter delight wrapped magically around this package. I don't even want to unwrap this gift, so beautiful is the package! But this unsuspecting gift is yielding something so much more important than the potential delightment of my tastebuds that calls to me with the same magical taunt of a Narnian turkish delight!

But some gifts, perhaps, should just never be unwrapped.

On a symbolic level, this gift embodies my life here at the canyon. During my two years here, I have fallen completely in love with the canyon, especially during the winter wonderland time of the year when my path to work in the wee hours of the night can feel like God has sprinkled magic dust of enlightenment (just for me) through the frozen crystals upon the grounded ice and snow...which is what this wrapping paper reminds me of....that magical sparkle that draws me in and guides my way along the darkness of the path.

But there's something inside this box that is not good for me, and I know it. Yes, of course, we're talking about a few chocoloate truffles...lol...but it doesn't change the fact that these chocolates are still not good for me, just like how there are certain parts of my life here that are specifically and fundamentally just not good for me. . . .and that's not ever going to be any different. . . .ever.

Do I open and eat them anyway when I know full well that doing so is not good for me?

I feel like the heroine/victim in the Blue Beard story, how she can't wipe the blood clean from the key once she has discovered the truth of what lies behind the door unlocked by this simple little key. So I love these little nuggets of spirit disguised as chocolate truffles that have made their way into my life, because they enlighten my path in deeper wisdom than anything my human mind could ever communicate to my self. Because sitting here looking at this package I just can not deny the awareness that as pretty as the package may be, the tiny little truffles that lie lurking beneath the irridescent wrapping are never, ever going to be good for me. . . .

There is a reason why they say, "Ignorance is bliss," because how, now, will I ever be able to eat these tiny little nuggets of chocolate, when they have been symbolically filled with the denial-piercing wisdom of spirit?

Roots

I don't know why I need to be reminded of this truth (over and over again), but we don't just wake up one day as who we are. . . .we have become the person we are because of everything that has happened before today.

Life is a journey, not a destination.

So today I am reminded that there are roots to everything, roots that are not always easy to discern. I needed to cry today, but didn't know why. And, yes, sometimes I do need to understand why I feel what I feel, because there are roots to every thought and every feeling, even if I don't have conscious awareness of them.

I didn't just feel like crying today for no good reason.

I hesitate to write the words. . . .words that belong to an eight-year old, and not really me. This is her story to tell, not mine. Today she shared her story with me, and I listened. I know this is vague, but that's the way the roots of feelings are. . . .vague and indistinct.

I think that's why feelings can sometimes be hard to understand. . . .because the roots of what we feel run so deep and underground. Or maybe we're just not ready to hear what the feelings are trying to say, and so we escape or avoid until we're ready listen. . . .or until the roots have been  exposed for exactly what they are.

Today, the roots were exposed. . . .

I went to mass tonight, my first time here at the canyon, in search of something to help me move beyond the roots, beyond the feelings, beyond this ever pervasive sense of disconnection and isolation. Maybe not so much to move beyond the roots, but perhaps to find a way for my roots to feel connected to those roots that run deeper than me and ground me to something more than just the smallness of my life.

Location, Location, Location

Some lessons need to be relearned at each new layer of my personal evolution, and today's insight is no different. I am reminded this day how the environment in which a choice is made must be considered when trying to understand how that choice came to be made. Just as a developing fetus can not be viewed as a distinct being away from its womb, the developing human being can also not be understood as separate from its environment.

Every story has a location, a context, an environment, that geographical and psychological real estate which contains the experiences of the story.

Family therapy is built upon the foundation of systems theory, a theory that postulates that the behavioral symptoms of an individual  (i.e., the "identified patient") can not be understood outside of the context of its system (which, in family therapy is the family). Therefore, the family context becomes the corner stone of family therapy because the family creates the system, or environment, that contains each family member. And each family member thus responds to what's happening within that family system. The other foundational cornerstone of family systems theory is that the entire theory was formulated by psychiatrists seeking to understand how schizophrenia develops within a family context. . . .lol. . . .hence the term schizophrenogenic. But I digress. . . .

Systems theory is not just about the family as a system, but any system such as work, school, church, family, social groups, etc. These environments are structured by some kind of unifying system of values, beliefs, rules, regulations, or even laws, but these codes shape and inform the way that people behave and make choices within that system. (I did not say cause, I said shape and inform.)

I love personal therapy, but I did not enjoy the part of my training that mandated that I diagnose mental illness or family dysfuntion after a 40 minute conversation so that the clinic could be paid for said servies. My only saving grace in grad school was a tiny paragraph of the introduction to the DSM, which very clearly stated that a diagnosis of mental illness (or family dysfunction) was not appropriate if there were circumstances in the client's environment that better explained the behavioral symptoms. My work as a social worker always made more sense, because the environmental factors were not just considered, but became a source of restorative intervention.

Why is this important for me today? Because today I am reminded that my panic attacks did not just happen "out of the blue." They were contained within a specific environment, with a specific code of expected behavior, and in response to a specific series of events. They (the panic attacks) have evolved into a habitual way my body communicates when it is stressed by an apparent endless list of circumstances (both identifiable and not). But the choices that I made in how to respond to all of this were absolutely informed and shaped by the extremely restrictive environment I was in at the time.

I am thinking right now about the Sandusky scandal. . . .or the endless scandels that have ever taken place because people do not speak up in response to something that "shouldn't" be happening. It's very easy for outsiders to observe the events after the scandal has emerged and wonder why these otherwise caring, intelligent people didn't speak up in the face of what they witnesses or experienced.

But it's not just about self esteem, self confidence, personal power, or personal agency. . . .and it's also not about how intelligent a person is, or how caring they may otherwise be. It's also about the environment that contains the self and the person. . . .so I need to remember this fact the next time I beat myself up for the choices that I made. . . .and also when I start to question why someone else did not speak up, because people can only speak up when they feel safe and free to do so. . . .

Happy as a Cow

I was sitting in my car last night waiting for the keyholder to arrive and unlock the building door of the meeting I was attending, so I had a little bit of time on my hands. This particular church is on the outskirts of town, so there was nothing but open space past the parking lot where I waited. It was just hitting sunset, and the Arizona scrub backdropped with distant mountains made for a wonderful sight, but that's not what caught my attention.

In the middle of all of that Arizona scrub was a small cluster of cows just walking around eating grass, and I wondered if they even noticed the beauty of the sunset, which was sort of the point of what intrigued me. They may not have noticed the sunset, but they also weren't worried about the economy or their housing status. They weren't angrily mooing in protest of bovine stock market abuse crying out, "Occupy Arizona Fields!" And they certainly weren't having panic attacks because there might not be enough grass to eat tomorrow. For all they knew, tomorrow would be the day the rancher scurried them off to market, but they weren't chewing their cud anxiously worried about how unfair it was that they were going to become someone's dinner. No, they were perfectly content to just mull around munching on the grass as the sky darkened around them, and whatever else was going on in the world was just not something that was going to disturb their inner peace.

What does that say about me, that I envy the cows with their apparent bovine bliss?

I don't know, but I'm thinking about the cows again, the cows and their perfect example of how to live in the now of the moment. Maybe that's where the phrase, "How, now, brown cow" comes from. . . . .lol.

Seeing What's Real

Children learn what they are taught. You show a child a cup, you call it "cup," and thus they learn what a cup is. That's the way God made us. But when it comes to other things in life, things that are perhaps not as tangible as "cup," sometimes this way of learning gets things all mixed, such as when a child is shown one thing, but it's called something else. Like how you can't beat the crap out of someone and call it love. . . .yeah, stuff like that. Because when a person learns about life in this "crazy-making" way, it can make it very hard to look through the deception and illusion to see what's real.

I have always found it interesting how Satan is described as the weaver of deception and illusion. . . .

I think this is one of the hardest parts about life. . . .to see things as they really are. . . .and then name it for what it is. . . . especially when we are being told something other than what we are knowing or experiencing. Which is why I also believe that what we "know" is so much more than simply the accumulation of what is written upon the human being's tabula rasa by other human beings. Because no matter how skewed the world may be presented to us, there is always something inside of us that whispers to our mind, "Something's not right," and it is this inner truth that gives us the courage to see things as they really are, and then to name them, even when that makes other people uncomfortable.

I Am Not Alone

I had an interesting dream last night. In the dream, I am traveling with a group of soldiers, and we stop for food. The driver is an ass, and starts driving so recklessly as we leave the restaurant that he almost hits an elk, so I decide to get out and walk the rest of the way on my own. As I put on my backpack, I take a hard look down the long road ahead and wonder if I will have enough food and water to make it on my own. Then I look over, and one of the other soldiers is putting on his pack and he says to me, "I'm going with you." And in this moment I know that I am the reason he has volunteered for this mission, that he is my personal guardian, and he was going to walk along with me to whatever end.

The funny thing is that I hadn't even really noticed his presence, because he had been so quiet and unassuming, and because I was so focused on the ass of a driver and his erratic and reckless driving and how scared the driver was making me feel. But the solder never even thought twice about picking up his pack and walking on with me. . . .just to make sure that I made it safely back home.

In the Army, we are trained from day one of basic training to never leave your buddy's side, especially when they're down. We weren't even allowed to go anywhere without our buddy, which had it's good points and bad. But life isn't always like that, outside of the Army, at least not the way that I have experienced life. There is a solidarity that I have never found anywhere outside of the Army, that sense of  "we're in this together" instant comradery. I miss that. . . .and I needed to feel that again.

This dream has stayed with me all day, and comforted my anxiety about feeling so alone and isolated down here in Prescott. . . .and I think the soldier in my dream last night was just God's way of reminding me that even though I feel like it right now, I am not alone. . . .not now. . . .not ever :)

The Path of Purpose

Every path has a purpose, but for every purpose there are many paths. I have walked many paths in the course of my life, but I feel like I am just begining to walk the path of my purpose. The problem has been that I didn't understand what that purpose is.

Does purpose mean the same thing as goal?

A part of my anxiety is that I remain focused on a specific goal. I'm not saying that's a bad thing. . . .that kind of fixation on an end point is what kept me on the path of education through a lot of chaos that could have very easily detoured me, but it didn't. . . .because I remained focused on the goal. But was obtaining an associate's degree, a bachelor's degree, and a master's degree my life purpose? God, I hope not.

Purpose is about that reason why you get up everyday, and while I I may not ever "know" why I was put on this earth, I do know that what makes me get up on most days is that I want to be the best person I can be. So I get up and suit up because I am constantly in a process of personal growth and evolution, which is why I actually enjoy the process of therapy and self-reflection, and why I do things like choosing the hardest professors in college because I know that I will learn the most from them.

I had one math instructor whose tests were so hard I used to joke that I looked like Albert Einstein after taking a test because I felt like my hair was literally standing up on end when I left the room from all of the stress wiping. His tests were desiged to not just test the pieces of knowledge the book had presented, but also how you could then take that knowledge and apply it to situations we hadn't yet encountered. People who failed every test could still get an A in his classes, because his tests were about achieving a higher level of understanding, and not just regurgitating what had been learned. I hated that man, but I took math classes from him every chance I could. . . .and I was the better person for having done so.

Life is hard right now because I haven't (yet) learned how to navigate the obstacles before me. . . .that's all.

Yesterday's homework dug up an important insight about the difference between purpose and goals. A great deal of my anxiety right now is enmeshed in the focus on a specific outcome with respect to something I have been battling at the canyon, a fight about a quality of life based on certain and specific pieces. But last night I realized that my purpose isn't successfully fighting for these certain and specific goals. . . .my purpose is successflly learning how to speak up and advocate for my self.

I am not in control of the outcome of my battle at the canyon, but one thing is definitely certain: I will fail to fulfil my purpose if I continue to believe that I don't matter, or that my needs don't matter. So the fulfilment of my purpose requires that I grow strong enough in the belief that I matter enough to advocate for my own needs to be met. Which means that the obstacles that are making their way into my journey provide me with exactly the right circumstances in order for me to develop that strength.

Just for today I can feel grateful for the obstacles, because they give me exactly what I need in order to grow strong enough to fulfil my purpose.

Yes, it's hard. Yes, I feel defeated some days. Yes, I feel like the stress of this "test" has caused my hair to stand on end. . .lol. But my needs do matter enough to fight for them. . . .that's why I'm here in Prescott. . . .that's why I've taken this leave of absence to participate in the VA's treatment group. . . .and that's why I continue to fight for my right to have a quality of life that best meets my needs in an environment that is making that extremely dificult.

So there are some days when I feel like my ass just got kicked, but that's because I still choose the hardest teacher available, because that's still how I learn the most. . . .

A Life Examined

According to Socrates, "The unexamined life is not worth living," but we're also told that "Ignorance is bliss," so which one do we believe? Who knows! As for me, I tend to side with Socrates on this one, which is why I believe that the therapeutic process is such a good thing, and probably at least one of the reasons why my graduate work took the path of therapy in the first place.

This week's "homework" involves the Socratic method of examining the beliefs that are the real underlying reason for why we do things, or why we feel the way we do about the things we do. It can be a tedious process, of course, but the work to trace the path of choices back to the source can yield some very interesting and helpful insights.

I'm still processing yesterday's insight about the metaphor of "the door" and the fear that I have about finding out what's on the other side. Some insights are merely interesting, while others are life changing. . . .and the insight about the door is definitely falling into the latter category. Knowing this truth about myself has motivated me to confront the fear and anxiety in so many different ways already.

Last night I asked the hard question of a friend that has been gnawing in my gut for several weeks, and I'm so glad that I asked, because the assumptions that I had been making were so far from the mark it makes me laugh at myself (and not necessarily in a good way :) The misunderstanding was my lack of clarification and nothing that she did, but the positive news is that the anxiety about it is gone. Such a simple fix. . . . just ask. . . .but when you are a person who avoids conflict in your personal relationships, asking the hard questions generally isn't the first choice on your list of options. . . .lol.

As I continue to process the asking of the hard questions, what I realize is that more often than not, the question isn't an overt question that simply needs to be asked, but rather an implied question. What I mean by this is that I don't always speak my truth (either in words or actions) in my personal relationshps because I am afraid of the answer to the following question, "If I say or do what I need to say or do for me, will you still like or love me enough to stay in relationship with me?" And my fear of knowing what's on the other side of this question then invites me to say or do something that I really don't want to say or do at all, but I do it anyway. . . .because I am secretly and invisibly afraid of the person walking out of my life.

Yeah, powerful stuff this examination of a life.

It's not always easy to see these invisible questions lurking behind the choices that I make in my personal relationships, but I know that there will be a hell of a lot less anxiety once I examine the things I do and say that I don't really want to do or say. And maybe finding out what's on the other side of these questions won't always be warm and fuzzy, but at least I will know. . . .and will no longer need to live with anxiety about the not knowing. . . .or do things I don't really want to do.

Socrates can be a big pain in the ass sometimes. . . .but so worth the pain :)

What's Behind Door #2

Today in group one of my ABCs was processed. It doesn't matter so much what that means, as much as it matters what I discovered about myself in the process.

The activating event (A) is the creaking sound I hear in the house at night, generally as I'm trying to go to sleep. Of course I think there's someone in the house (B), which makes me feel vulnerable and powerless (C). . . . but then the discovery occurred.

I feel vulnerable and powerless because my room is at the end of a long house, and even though there is a lock on the door, I am terrified about opening up that door to see if there is actually someone on the other side of that door. Talk about symbolic of just about everything in my life!

I feel vulnerable and powerless because I am afraid to find out what's on the other side of the door. And not just the door, that's the obvious piece. But there are questions that I avoid asking people in my life because I'm afraid to find out what's on the other side.

Awareness and Acceptance aren't enough. . . .it takes ACTION to rewire the brain.

So, no more fear! Tonight, when I hear the creaking, I'm going to open up that door no matter how afraid I might be of what I find, because it's not appropriate to lie in bed terrified that someone might be walking through the house and then just force myself to go to sleep! Someone might actually BE walking through the house, and knowing proactively is a whole lot better than finding out in other ways!

Proactive knowing is better than waiting in terror of what might happen. . . .

I'm also starting to ask the hard questions of the people in my life, because I'm no longer going to make assumptions about why someone has done something (or not done something). I'd rather know, than live with that ball of anxiety in my stomach from worrying and not knowing. It seems so simple, but I'm no longer going to let my fear of what's behind door #2 stop me from asking the hard questions.

Because once I know.. . . then I don't have to worry about it any more. . . .and I can then deal with "what is" rather than the endless possibilities of "what if."

The Beauty of the Fear

I spent the morning walking around Lynx Lake, trying to reconnect with the world around me and detox from yesterday's ordeal with the non-stop panic attacks. It's shocking just how much fear I live with in my body! These panic attacks are all about the fear, a fear gone wild, a level of fear that is completely out of control and unmanageable, like a wild fire burning everything in its path and filling the air with toxic fumes.

Can I find beauty amidst all of that out of control fear?

God is amazing; everything at that lake was created by God, the one creator. So what if God created me exactly the way that I am, even though that predisposes me to having panic attacks? What if I'm supposed to be this way? What if God created me this way? I watched everything at that lake today as an interconnected whole, that everything had its purpose, and everything was created exactly as God intended it to be.

What if God created me exactly the way that I am, even if that means that I have panic attacks?

If this is how God created me, then the fear is not something outside of me, it's a part of me, it IS me. I fight the fear. I resent the fear. I am disempowered by the fear. But that's because the fear feels completely out of control, but what if that's only because I am fighting it and resenting it?

Something happened today that I can't explain. It's as if by connecting in spirit with all things created by the same creator of me, that God was able to show me that everything was created just as its supposed to be, even if I can't understand why. I'm not the only person who was created with panic attacks, so maybe it's not that I'm damaged and broken. . . .maybe I'm exactly the way that God created me to be, and I need to find the beauty in the middle of all of that fear.

I think there is a hidden beauty in the middle of the fear. . . .which also means that there is a beauty about me in the way that God created me to be, a beauty that I disown by being afraid of all of that fear.

This is such a different way for me to think about the panic attacks, but I feel like I need to sit with the fear in a new way, like looking at those three-dimensional pictures where all you see is this chaotic patterning of color and shape, but then when you look through it this unexpected picture sort of pops out at you.

I never thought I'd say this, but I want to find the beauty in the fear. . . .because I just know that when I do, I will no longer be afraid of the fear. . . .

Love and War

When a turtle gets turned upside down, there are generally two reasons: Love and War. It's either because they are mating (and the male has slid off), or it's because they have been fighting (and one of them has either been flipped over intentionally by the other, or inadvertantly gets flipped upside down in the natural course of the battle).

I supposed everything boils down to something involving Love and War.

So that's all this is. . . .I've been turned upside down by the battle. . . .and it's certainly not the worst thing that could happen, especially when I have many friends and resources to help me get turned upside right. So I'm going to be just fine. . . .I just need to keep flapping until I grab hold of something solid.

And that "something solid" is nothing more than simply accepting that I've been turned upside down by the battle. That's it. That, and remembering that I'm not alone. . . .so, I'm going to be just fine. . . .because I'm not alone in this struggle to get myself turned upside right :)

The Social Contract

I am a warrior, a kick ass she warrior, a warrior who has survived a life time of battles I never wanted to fight. . . .but I fought them. . . . not always willingly or gracefully, but I fought them. And while many of these battles have been against my will, I generally don't whine and I don't complain (and very rarely do I even feel sorry for myself). . . .I do therapy, I read books, I go to workshops, I blog, I talk with friends and other warrior survivors, I meditate with God about the nature of my exisitence, and I do everything in my power to both accept and change how these wounds have affected my life so that I can to grow and develop and heal and recover, because while I'm not responsible for the wounds themselves, it becomes my personal responsibility to heal them.

I'm a survivor, not a victim. . . .but even survivors have wounds that need to be healed.

Yesterday afternoon I went to a lecture in Prescott by one of the author of Death in the Grand Canyon. The last part of his lecture was about the social contract versus personal responsibility. He was referring to a hiker's personal responsibility to train and prepare for their trips into the back country wilderness rather than simply relying on the social contract to save their ass when they have not trained or prepared appropriately. The social contract is a beautiful thing, that "civilized" society's code of ethics that wraps itself around its people  with the sole purpose of providing safety and protection of rights to life and liberty, but also to rescue when harm finds its way to the inside of the social fabric.

So, what happens when the social contract breaks down?

The social contract isn't perfect. In fact, there are actually great big gaping holes in it, but it's the fabric of our idealism, so it's never going to be "perfect," because it's constantly evolving with the constant change and evolution of our society. Yesterday I felt like the social contract had let me (and my brothers) down, but it didn't. The neighbors who saw and heard but never made the hard calls, they didn't lived up to their part of the social contract, that's true. And the friends and family who either didn't see or didn't want to see, yeah, they also didn't live up to their part of the social contract. But that doesn't mean that the social contract failed, because there have been many other people along the way who did step up. They may not have been the people who should have stepped up, but they did.

The question of "Why didn't anyone step in to help?" is a hard question to answer. Was it because I didn't matter enough (even as a human being) for the observers and witnesses to rise above their own crap and baggage? Was it because we're all flawed human beings doing the best we can with what we have under given circumstances? Were they too blinded by whatever was going on in their own lives to look around and see what was happening around them? Were they overwhelmed by what they saw and just didn't know what to do or how to do it? Or did they fail in their obligation to uphold the social contract by failing to make the hard call, even when that call may have violated a family's right to privacy but would have made a differenece in the lives of the children involved?

Trying to find out why no one stepped up to help protect us is sort of like asking, "How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Toostie Roll Tootsie Pop?"

So maybe I'll never know why, but what I do know is that the social contract is a living breathing part of the social fabric, so the beliefs of this contract are constantly evolving and changing. The social contract used to allow human beings to be sold and traded like commodities on the stock market. The social contract also used to allow women to be sold like property of men. And The social contract used to have laws on the books for the humane treatment of animals, but none for children. So, yeah. . . .the social contract is constantly evolving and changing. . . .and sometimes it's just going to break down.

The world is a very different place today, and there is so much more information about child abuse and neglect woven through the social contract. And the truth is that even if I were to answer the question of why no one did anything to help, it doesn't really change the fact that I'm only sleeping right now because I'm medicated, and the only reason why I feel better is because I have completely isolated myself down here in Prescoot, away from that which was triggering me.

So I'm clearly pissed off right now, as is my right to be. It's not fair that I have wounds from human induced trauma. It's also not fair that I have to medicate myself so that I can get a good night sleep, or take an unpaid leave of absence for a treatment program that may or not make any difference with the PTSD at all. Yeah, it's not fair, and I honestly have a right to be angry that I am once again forced to fight a battle that I neither want nor choose. But I'm a survivor, and a kick ass she warrior who's going to fight this battle and do what I can to heal this layer of wounds because that is the part that I do choose. . . .

Personal responsibility sucks :)

Move On, Already

Who gets to decide when it's time to move on?

The most frustrating part of having PTSD is that I'm not in control of the moving on process, because PTSD isn't about moving on. I don't dwell on the past because I enjoy feeling miserable, I focus on the past so that I can change the thoughts and beliefs that solidified around the trauma, trauma that actually occurred in the past, but thoughts and beliefs that make it so that I can't sleep in the present because my days are filled with anxiety and panic. . . .and my nights are all about escaping from some kind of pending doom that threatens my existence. This is why I focus on the trauma from the past. . . .because it's not really in the past at all.

PTSD is so not about moving on. . . .

This morning I woke up feeling like I am having a very public pelvic exam. They say, "You're only as sick as your secrets," but to process the dark and twisty truth in my blog. . . .well, I just end up feeling like I'm having a never ending and very public pelvic exam. So why do I blog about this process? Because it's the truth of who I am, the truth about the life I would never have choosen, but it is what it is. . . . whether I like it or not. So if someone wants to know me, really know me, then this is it. . . .the good, the bad, and the ugly. And it may be too much for some people, but that's ok, because there is another reason why I blog about this process. . . .

When I first started my journey of healing, I didn't know who to talk to, or where to go for help, because these things weren't talked about. But I had gone to a women's conference at UCR where I sat in on a 30 minute resource session for all-things-supportive-for-women, and that's where I first came in contact with what came to be my "bible," The Courage to Heal. This book was the first support I had, and so I read it in silence and desperation, sometimes only one paragraph at a time. But had it not been for the courage of Ellen Bass and Laura Davis to write about their pain (and their healing), I may not have made it out of that dark and twisty forest of silent shame and guilt. The Courage to Heal opened a window for me to find my way out, and so that's why I share my blog. I need to write it for myself, but I also need to let other women know that it's ok to talk about the pain. . . .because talking about the pain is the only way to move on through the pain.

Maybe there's no such thing as moving on. . . .maybe it's all about moving through. . . .

Keeping this stuff inside is like shaking up a carbonated soda bottle without releasing the cap. . . .that pressure is what's creating the anxiety and the panic and the sleeplessness, so I'm going to keep on writing until I don't need to write anymore, and that's just the way it is. Because there are parts of me that are like little POWs, children lost somehwere in time and space within my inner world. That's exactly what it is. . . .the silent wounded POW parts of me remain MIA. . . .so, no. . . .I'm not moving on until I can find them, and bring them all back to safety. . . .no matter how long that takes.

My MIA "inner children" won't ever show up on someone's breakfast table milk carton, but they are missing and scared, nonetheless. . . .and I don't know any parent that ever really gives up hope of finding a lost child, no matter how long ago that child may have been abducted or disappeared without a trace. So, I may not have mattered enough to the people who were supposed to love and keep me safe and protected along the way, but I matter enough to me. . . .so, no. . . .I'm not moving on. . . .I'm moving through, moving through the pain and debris, moving through in search of me.

No one else has to help my find these lost and frightened parts of my life. . . .but I do. . . .I do.

Does It Matter?

Awareness and Acceptance aren't enough to rewire the brain. What actually rewires the brain is Action, that three dimensional process of creating new connections, making new associations, doing something different enough for the brain to catalogue the difference and reroute the neurons into a new habit that will then function invisibly in the background of our lives.

The brain can (and will) rewire itself, but Awareness and Acceptance simply are not enough.

Habits are developed around beliefs. If a person believes that eating healthful food is important, then they are more likely to develop habits that include eating foods that better promote health than junk food. Just like how if a person believes they are going to die in two weeks, their lifestyle habits are also very likely going to change. . . .and quickly :)

What we believe shapes our habits, and our habits then reinforce what we believe, and all of this process functions silently and invisibly in the background of our lives. . . .that's the way God made our brains to work.

The problem is when invisible counterproductive beliefs shape our habits, and our then counterproductive habits reinforce the counterproductive beliefs. Like my invisible belief that I don't matter. . . .that belief has shaped a whole lot of lifestyle habits that don't promote my health very well, because when you don't matter, then it doesn't much matter what you do to take care of yourself. When a person invisibly feels like they don't matter, the inner mantra becomes, "What's the point? It doesn't matter....(because I don't matter)." That's the trouble with invisible beliefs. . . .they have a great deal of invisible power over a person's life.

My new life mantra is going to be, "Does it matter?" A question, not a statement. And not "it" in a general abstract way, but "it" in a specific does this matter ("this" being whatever I might be doing or not doing in a given moment). And then I have to answer the question AND justify why it matters (or not), because I have a sneaking suspicion that some things have been mattering way too much, while other things have not been mattering enough. So I'm questioning everything that matters....and everything that doesn't matter....and to whom it actually matters. . . .because the things that matter in my life are way out of balance. And I am fixing this imbalance, but the rewiring of my brain takes time and requires a great deal of patience. . . .but mostly, it just takes time, time for the awareness to settle into acceptance, and then time for the acceptance to work itself into new beliefs for the habits to restructure themsleves around.

I once read about how the indigenous people were unable to see the first boats exploring North America out on the horizon, because there was no concept within their brains to process "boat on the horizon." The first person to actually see the boats on the water's horizon was the shaman, and once the shaman saw the boats he was able to "rewire" the brains of the other tribe members so that they could see it too. That's the way it works with our brains. . . .if we can't comprehend it, we can't integrate and process the new information. That's how God made us.

So, we can't change what we don't accept. . . .and we can't accept what we are not aware of. But Awareness and Acceptance aren't enough, because we need Action to rewire the brain. Which is why my new mantra has become, "Does it matter?" Because I want the things that I do in my life to matter. . . .I want them to matter to me. . . .and I want them to matter to God. . . . even if it never matters to anyone else.

I never knew it would feel so painful to actually matter to myself and to fight this hard for a life that I would not have chosen had I been given the choice. But this is my life. . . .like it, or not. . . .and I really do want my life to be more than anxiety and insomnia and night mares and panic attacks. . . .so I'll do whatever it takes. . . .for however long it takes. . . .

Do I Matter?

What does it mean when we say to someone, "You matter to me?" Today's group centered around the belief/ stuck point of "I don't matter," which has caused me to think long and hard about the concept of "mattering" to other people.

Do I matter?

Of course, I matter. . . .I matter to God, I matter to me, and I matter to a whole lot of people in my world (for which I am very grateful). But I wasn't aware (until I could see another group member's process more clearly than my own) that I've been walking through my whole life as if I don't matter. . . .or, more specificaly, I have invisibly been walking through my life feeling like I don't matter.

But I see things very differently now. . . .

It's not that I don't matter (as a generalized cosmic truth). . . .it's just that I didn't matter enough to certain other people for them to have a relationship with me in a way that didn't include using me to meet their own needs, and in a way that left me deeply wounded in the process. That doesn't mean that I don't matter. . . .it just means that I didn't matter enough to someone else. . . .which is not the same thing at all.

But it's also a whole lot easier to say, "I don't matter" than it is to say, "I didn't matter enough to my dad so that he could love me in a way that didn't hurt me." Yeah. . . .it's a whole lot easier to just believe that I don't matter. It doesn't hurt to believe that I don't matter. . . . but it feels unbearably painful to believe that the first man I loved with all of my heart and soul didn't love me enough to rise above his own crap and baggage. . . .and love his daughter the way I deserved to be loved and cherished by my father.

Yeah. . . .it's definitely a whole lot easier to just believe that I don't matter. . . .

Part of life, however, is accepting a sometimes very painful truth that we don't always matter enough for someone in our life to love us the way we deserve to be loved. Or perhaps it's that we don't matter enough for someone to make time for us in the way we would like them to make time time for us, or the endless ways that we may not matter enough to someone else for them to give us what we would like to have from or with them.

It's not that we don't matter. . . .it's just that we don't always matter enough.

It hurts, of course. . . .to accept the truth that I didn't matter enough to my dad. . . .but it hurts in a way that unexpectedly feels good, like somehow the accepting of this truth means that I can finally move on from at least this part of my history, rather than stay locked into this frozen and immobilized place from which I can't move because I am hanging on to the hope that I will one day matter enough for him to love me the way that I deserve to be loved. And it's also the first truth that helps to explain why he did what he did, in a way that doesn't force me to be responsible for what he did. It's not that I don't matter. . . .I just didn't matter enough for my dad to rise above his own crap and baggage.

I do matter, of course. . . .I matter to God. . . .and I matter to me. . . .and ultimately, that's all that really matters anyway.

The Power of Positive Thinking.

We had a discussion today in group about books that focus on the power of positive thinking, and I totally support all of the positive thinking that can be thunk :) But when it comes to trauma, and this is what we talked about today, the idea that the bad feelings will simply go away just by thinking positive thoughts is pure garbage.

Healing from trauma is sooo not about positive thinking. . . .so I'm glad that this group isn't at all about changing negative thinking to positive.

I have wondered (over the years) why I tend to scoff at the "positive thinking" genre. I thought it was because I also tend to be sarcastic and jaded in nature. . . .lol. But that's not what it was about. . . .it's because these books on positive thinking actually minimize and invalidate the damage that trauma has created in my life. Positive affirmations have their place in personal growth and development, but all the positive affirmations in the world aren't going to make the panic go away or stop the sleepless nightmares. And it's downright offensive to imply that if I would just think more positively that everything would miraculously feel better.

Life isn't always about being "happy" and filled with love and sunshine all of the time.

I need a place where I can let the clouds form and the thunder roar. That is what I mean when I talk about looking for "Friends of Jesus," people who aren't afraid to walk through hell with me. I don't want my friendships or relationships to be the place where all of this darkness gets expressed and sorted through. I need a place where all of that intensity doesn't overwhelm the people I love....and who actually do love me. I can't completely separate that out, but I absolutely need to be able to roar and let the rain pour down and put out the fires burning out of control across my beautiful spirit, scorching and scarring as it burns on. And I also don't want to be alone when I return from this land of perpetual pain.

The hardest words for me right now are "I need. . . . "

One of the things I love about living in Northern Arizona is the summer monsoon season. I relate to that kind of intensity. It feels good to have that kind of raw power wrap itself around me, then pass on as if nothing had really happened, because that's how my own process feels. There are these moments of process that expand quickly, like dough rising with fast acting yeast. . . .lol.. . . but then the moment passes, and I'm back to being me. I can't stop it. . . .and there's nothing that anyone else can do to help me through it. It just is what it is, and then it ceases to be a part of me any more.

The hardest thing about being a human being has to be watching someone we care about and love going through pain or suffering of any kind. I can't imagine having a child with a seizure disorder, and the powerlessness that comes with not being able to do anything but ride it out, praying that your child will come through unscathed. So I'm sure that's how my friends and the people who care about me feel as they watch me go through this unwrapping process of a history that still binds and oppresses my spirit.

I really miss the canyon right now. The grand canyon is the only place where my spirit has felt "contained." It's as if that huge giant chasm mirrors my spirit and embraces me in a way that I don't have language for. I understand that it's just a place, but the spirit there. . . .I just can't explain how it heals and invites me to go deeper into my self. And in this moment my spirit aches to be walking through the canyon I have come to love and call my home.

But for now, I am here. . . .until I am no longer here, but there. . . . wherever there is :)

Pandora's Box

My friend Nancy reminded me recently about a box she once made for me. On the outside were words and pictures that described me as I presented myself to the world, and on the inside were words and pictures that described what I am like on the inside, that part of me that I don't readily share with the outside world.

I think we're all, ultimately, just like that box that Nancy made for me all those years ago.

Right now I am "forced" to look at those parts that I hide away inside. Someone will ask how I am, and I'll say, "Fine." [Lie] And if I attempt to speak some semblance of truth I might say, "Just a little bit sad." [Lie AND Minimization, because I'm not a little bit of ANYTHING right now....full on, raw and intense....that's the real me].

I notice myself saying "just" a lot lately....and every time I hear it, I am holding it accountable for how much it minimizes the truth! But if I were to go with how I actually feel, I might respond with something like, "FUBAR!" lol. . . .but this is also not true, and is a hyperbolization of the truth, rather than the minimization of it. So somewhere between Fine and FUBAR lies the truth. . . . .lol. . . . .so, who knows.

I've been saying "fine" for so long, the word no longer even holds any meaning for me.

I understand the importance of the word "fine" in social, polite conversation. The person at the grocery store isn't really asking me how I am. . . . they are being "polite," and so I respond with my own "polite" response. But the problem is that beyond these social contraptions, no one really knows who I am. My best friend in high school was shocked to learn how depressed I had been during those early years, because her one word to describe me was mirth. . . .a perfect word to describe our crazy antics as Lucy and Ethyl. But she never knew. . . .no one knew.

The core of this dichotomy is the belief that if someone really knew me, they wouldn't possibly like me, (or love me), or want to spend any time with me at all. . . . .and so I dance around this truth like dried out moth balls stuck to the back of my aching throat.

If you really knew me, you would feel so overwhelmed, you would turn around and walk away.

Yes, I would definitely say that would qualify as a "stuck point." And so I avoid the truth to make other people feel more comfortable to be around me. If I'm laughing, and joking, and having a real "hoot" of a time, then people want to spend time with me, right? And just for the record, I'm not talking about spilling my guts out when I meet someone for the first time as a status quo for speaking truth, either. I'm not completely dense :) And I do know how to stop talking when I notice someone's eyes start glazing over and their skin turns pale shades of mold and gray. . . .or they change the subject without responding to anything I've just said. . . .lol.

I get it. . . . not everyone is cut out for walking through hell.

I need people in my life who aren't afraid of walking through hell, and I quite surprisingly find myself wishing that Jesus were alive today. I would love to have a living, breathing friend like Jesus, because he would absolutely walk through hell with me, and even coming face to face with Satan wouldn't faze him the least bit. Jesus wouldn't feel overwhelmed at all by the truth of my life, either. . . .and he certainly wouldn't turn and walk away. I don't mean any of this in a religious "lord and savior" sense at all. . . . I mean it in the most real and concrete sense that I possibly could.

If there were a "religion" that taught us how to have a relationship with Jesus, a living breating friendship so that he could mentor and model how to walk through these living hells on earth, then I might be able to get on board with it. But the idea of needing someone to save me. . . . well, it just holds no meaning for me. I have to get up each day in a crazy mixed up real world, and I need to know how to do that with the grace and dignity of angels. . . . and quite honestly, I haven't found ANYONE on this earth who has been able to help me do that.

So I wish there were a group where I could learn from a living, breathing Jesus, because I think that's the only program I can really get on board with. In AA recovery, the groups are often called, "Friends of Bill W." So I think I'll start looking for a group sign that reads, "Friends of Jesus," because these are the people that I need in my life. . . .the people who are learning how to walk through their own living hells on this earth.

Sometimes I surprise even myself with the truth that speaks itself up from beneath the dusty corners lurking just below the surface. . . .

The Long and the Short of It

It's been a while since I've posted a blog, but that's because there's been a lot going on, and I haven't really been clear about whether I wanted to post about what's really been going on. . . .so I've waited. . . . waited until I knew what I wanted to say.

The bottom line is that I have nothing to be ashamed of. . . .and my silence only serves to reinforce that I'm damaged and broken, so I'm going to share this part of my journey. . . . because it's simply the truth of who I am.

I'm on an extended leave of absence so that I can address what I have come to understand as the PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) that has plagued my adult life, only I didn't know that I had PTSD. Even with all of my grad school education and mental health training, I never made the connection that the panic attacks and the insomnia and the nightmares and the anxiety were all related and actually created a disorder as a collective whole (until a work environment so severely triggered them all at the same time that I was finally able to get diagnosed correctly).

I've been feeling like I'm holding myself together with twigs for so long that I'm not sure I can actually trust this process yet. . . .

The counselor I've been working with has been most intrigued by the fact that I work so hard during sessions to try to convince her that the chronic sleep deprivation was a problem. Week after week she would ask me, "Why are you trying to convince me that the sleep is a problem for you? I believe you, I do!" Two weeks ago it finally dawned on me that it wasn't her that I was trying to convince. . . . it was me. I've spent so much of my life minimizing my own "stuff" that I find myself almost 50 and I'm having to convince myself that nearly 30 years of panic attacks and insomnia is really a problem? Good grief!

The awareness that I was working so hard to convince myself changed everything. . . .well that, and the fact that a second counselor told me that she was concerned about the "compromised way" I live my life, a lifestyle of "avoidance and isolation." Yeah, that's enough to wake up anyone. . . .lol. She reinforced the need for sleep medication (which I now have). And she said something else that the part of me that needed to hear it heard it. She told me that I needed to be in an "environment that supported my needs." And she is right. So I have reordered my entire life around this extended leave of absence to deal with the PTSD.

The treatment group is actually very interesting, because the modality used doesn't focus on the specifics of the trauma at all. The underlying core of the treatment involves identifying the "stuck points" (what I call belief structures) that keep us "stuck" in one place or another. The idea is that there are certain beliefs that get formulated about a trauma event, and once these beliefs are formed, they create identity structures around which "manufactured emotions" are then generated (such as shame or guilt). So when a person's identity is formed around a faulty belief (such as "It was my fault"), the behaviors that result tend to be "escape" and "avoidance" behaviors, which only reinforce the faulty belief structures.

It's all pretty simple, really. . . .identify the belief structures created around the trauma, and the anxiety releases itself. Simple, yes. . . . .but some of the most difficult work a human being will ever have to do.

The funny thing is that it's not like I don't already know this stuff. Identifying faulty beliefs that create problems is exactly the same kind of work I did with my own clients. The beliefs weren't necessarily structured around traumatic events, but it's the same thing that can disable or limit anyone. When we have beliefs about ourselves that limit our ability to function well, or have positive self esteem, or feel happy at least some of the time, these beliefs need to be restructured so that the state of our personal union can once again see healthy economic recovery and growth. . . .lol.

But I know this stuff already!

So why did it take so long for me to be able to see this truth about myself? I don't know. . . .maybe it's true that "my broke self can't fix my broke self." But what I DO know is that Simon and Garfunkle were definitely wrong because I'm not a rock, and I'm certainly not an island. I am actually living proof that we absolutely need other people to help us see the truth about ourselves, no matter how much education and training we've had, and especially when that truth is ugly and painful (a truth that nobody else really wants to look at).

And I guess Barbara Streisand was wrong too, because people who need people aren't always the luckiest people in the world. . . . .but they just might be some of the bravest and most courageous spirit warriors that I will ever have the privlege of knowing. . . .so I'm trusting this process. . . .one faulty belief at a time :)

Creating an American Afghan

I love to crochet, but I essentially know only basic stitches. I have friends who can crochet amazing things, but not me :)

I have been thinking a lot about this 30th high school reunion, and why I feel so obsessed by it. I wouldn't have been caught dead at the 10th reunion, thought I had resolved all of my "high school issues" by the 20th, but was then slammed with unexpected emotional intensity once I arrived that left me speechless and processing internally all night. . . .lol. So I find myself quite unexpedtedly surprised by this excitement and reunion fever that seems to have overtaken me with the 30th.

When I sit with myself long enough to understand why, what bubbles up is this sense of shared history. There are people from high school that I have known (and they have known me) since we were all in the 6th grade! These people may not have all been my friends per se, or I theirs, but together we have a shared history that is as irreplaceable as it is inescapable. Yet I am still surprised to find this history having such a grip on me now, when it seemed all too easy to disregard as it was unfolding in my life.

Many people hold on to their history by crocheting their life afghan as a constant flow of yarn. The skeins may run out, the dye lots may not match, and the colors may change from one life transition to another, but the afghan is created as a relatively continuous process. These are the people who remain very connected and in close contact with people from their lives across time and space. I know a lot of wonderful spirits who have created their life afghan this way, and I admire that kind of connectedness, even though I do not understand it myself.

Then there are others who have created their life afghan as a collection of tiny little granny squares, each made individually and distinctly from one another. This is how I am creating my own life afghan. I have the high school piece, the cancer piece (actually, I have three of these), the college piece, the grad school piece, the marriage piece, the divorce piece, the army piece, the Chernoby piece, the boat piece, the private practice piece, the social work piece, the McDonald's piece, the Rockland piece, the Palmdale piece, the Napa piece, the Forest Falls piece, the Lunsford piece, the Bevis piece, the Rugg piece, as well as many, many more pieces (some I love. . . .others? not so much. . . .lol). And I have toted these pieces of life experience from place to place, creating new ones as I journey along in life, but they've pretty much remained not more more than a collection of disjointed life experiences. . . .until now.

I am finally at a place in my life journey where I have enough pieces to create an afghan.

Now begins the long slow process of placing these pieces side by side, balancing out the conflicting colors, finding harmony in patterns that were otherwise unseen, and then weaving them together in a cohesive whole with a yarn that binds and connects the tiny pieces into something warm and functional for the very first time.

Reconnecting up with these pieces of my history feels like a precious gift, one that I can never again take for granted. We have already started losing some of our fellow Tigers, which leaves me feeling sad in a way that I would have never expected. I feel like just as I am beginning to understand the importance of connection between these disjointed pieces of a shared history they are already starting to fray and unravel leaving little holes and gaps that can never again be filled in or replaced. So I don't care what it costs, or what it takes, I'm not going to miss out on this amazing opportunity unfolding through the ethers of Facebook.

I may have only known the most basic of stitches as I made my way through life creating one disjointed piece at a time, but I am falling in love with this life afghan that my journey is still in the process of creating and weaving through my history. So it just goes to show how even knowing only the most basic of crochet stitches can still create a most glorious work of art. . . .even when it takes a life time to collect enough pieces to finally create an afghan worthy of remembrance :)

What Difference Can One Person Make?

Change is not easy, especially when we have to put our money where our mouth is. But that is exactly the only change we have.

My friend Melinda posted a comment that so succinctly hits the nail on the head: "I guess that brings me to another little bit of 'activism'. If I recognize a company like OV, that at least appears to be using natural, organic practices, I will purchase their product even while I'm struggling to make ends meet. We simply MUST put our money behind what we believe, or it will fail."

We simply MUST put our money behind what we believe, or it will fail.

When dealing with such huge issues as environmental decay, it's all too easy to feel overwhelmed by the big picture and lulled into the deadly illusion that one person couldn't possibly make a difference, and so they don't. But every single person has GREAT power in the course and nature of change, because every single penny that we have in our pocket is a weapon within our personal arsenal of change.

We can't impede commerce? Like hell we can't. . . .every single penny has great power to change the world. . . .every single moment. . . .of every single day!

My cousin Laurie has talked about how every choice we make casts a vote for the change we want to see in the world. That means that every single dollar I spend (or save) is a direct vote in the market of commerce for the course and direction of change that I personally want to see. If I purchase food that's processed, then I am supporting all of the environmental consequences involved in the making of that processed food product, even if I am not directly involved in that process. My money is voting for that food product, and so I am complicit in the consequencs that result.

Every single dollar I spend is a direct vote in the market of commerce for the course and direction of change that I personally want to see.

So it doesn't matter how much or how little money we have in our bank accounts, it's all reduced to the change that constitutes our personal power. I think the problem is that we keep turning our focus and attention onto a single individual and asking for the change we would like to see in the world, feeling constantly disillusioned and disappointed, but this kind of thinking is just wrong. Each of us needs to be the change we want to see in the world, and that change is transacted in the micro exchanges of the pennies in our pockets for the products and services we choose every single day.

So how much difference can one person make? One person can make all the difference in the world! Just like Melinda is making a difference every time she pays more for the Organic Valley milk becasue she chooses to vote for organic and environmentally friendly milk. You rock, Melinda!

As for me, I do not intend to squander my personal power any more, and I refuse to cast my consumer-driven votes for the corporate-greed-driven status quo, because the bottom line is that every day is voting day when personal power is found in each and every peanut and penny within our arsenal of change.

So vote wisely, my friend. . . .vote wisely :)

Getting Right with God

I often hear people talk about "getting right with God," and while I don't know what they mean by this in a personal sense for them, I do know what this is beginning to mean for me.

I posted the following Facebook status yesterday: "We are supposed to be stewards of the earth. God bestowed that responsibility upon us. Every choice we make as humans that betrays this responsibility is like slapping God's face. We may not like that we can't just do whatever we want when we want, but that's what being a good steward means...that we make SOUND choices that allow for a SUSTAINABLE future for everyone. So, yeah...it's not going to be fun to change the lifestyle habits that the earth can not sustain, but we must!"

Getting right with God (for me) right now means stepping up and becoming a good steward of this earth, and that's requiring me to take a long hard look at my life style habits and then do the really hard work of aligning my lifestyle with my Godstyle, aligning my habits with my spiritual values and ideals.

I think it's all too easy to self-justify the lifestyle choices when they are such tiny grains of sand in the big picture. We fill our gas tanks, take out our trash, and make an endless array of choices throughout the course of the day on whatever it is that we buy, but we are completely separated from the reality of the invisible strings that attach us to the long slow environmental decay. But each and every single tiny choice that we make as individuals is another chink in the fading armor of the earth (or not).

I want to live as green as humanly possible, although this will be no easy task.

So today is the first day of my "Getting Right with God" project, which means that I will be making one commitment each and every day, a commitment to my relationship with God by changing my very human lifestyle so that I can align spirit with action. I may not be able to change the choices made by any other individual on this earth, but I do have the power to change my own. . . .and so I will. . . .one commitment at a time.

There are Worse Places to End Up

I feel stuck. Not just because my car is on the side lines again, but because it feels like I am perpetually standing on one side of a chasm trying to figure out how to get to my life that awaits me on the other side. So if this is my life, then I don't want it. Send it back. Can I dispute the charges on my life visa card? I want my life back.

As a little girl, I never dreamed I would end up where I am. But the hard truth about some lives is that we all too often end up in places and circumstances that we would never want to be. I didn't want to be rained on by Chernobyl radiation. I didn't want to be sexually abused or assaulted. I didn't want cancer. I didn't want the divorce. I didn't want my mom to die. I didn't want my wonderful boat to get shredded. And I didn't want to grow up in a set of family systems so chaotic and dysfunctional that my neuro development was altered in such a way that I live every day with the resultant PTSD that changes everything about how I live my life. So, yeah. . . .I didn't want a LOT of things to happen. . . . but they did. . . . and I can't change them. . . . .so here I find myself at the edge of a life I don't always choose, wondering how to escape the weight of a journey so difficult at times I feel like I'm going to suffocate.

But is this the worst place I could have ended up?

I live at the Grand Canyon, one of the seven natural wonders of the world, and I absolutely love my life here. I may not have the big fancy house or the brand new car, but my back yard beats anyone else's hands down! I hike this amazing canyon whenever I want. I have a wonderful little apartment that I love, a home where my furry family is able to live in peace and safety with me (and where the rent is so ridiculously cheap it's almost like living here for free). My bills are paid, my housing expenses are tax free, I'm able to put money into the savings account every month, and I have as much expendable income as when I made more than $40K per year. I walk to work. I have no commute. No smog. The daily traffic jam involves the local elk or deer meandering across the roadway. Snow in the winter. Rain and amazing wildflowers in the summer. Beauty everywhere. Free train rides whenever I want! So, yeah. . . . there are definitely worse places I could have ended up.

Yet I still feel stuck.

I feel stuck because there's no place for me to go. There's no "home" out there waiting for me, no place to look forward to spending my holidays, because that kind of home disappeared for me when my mom passed away. I am like the tortoise. . . .I carry my home on my back, and I am free to move about as I so desire, and as the circumstances of fate and fortune will allow. . . . so why do I really feel stuck? I think I just need to settle in to this amazing life that I have here, feel grateful for the amazing blessing it is to be able to create my home here, and seek God in all that I do. If I can do just these simple basic things, then I will have a blessed life, indeed.

So trudge on, tortoise sister. . . . trudge on. . . . .

Making a Difference Every Day

I created a Facebook Page today called Making a Difference Every Day. I'm tired of feeling powerless to make a difference, so I am doing what I can. I have been reading a wonderful book (Swim Against the Current: Even Dead Fish Can Go with the Flow), and I am finding myself refreshed with the knowledge that I am not alone in my fight, that there really are people AND (more importantly) businesses out there that are figing the same fight that I'm fighting, and I love feeling empowered and connected to the world again.

I once had a dream. Dreams are very important to me, so what happens in a dream holds great signficance. Anyway, I had a dream, and in the dream I am angry and afraid for what's happening in the world, because I can only sleep for so long. (In this dream, the world's healing and protection is facilitated through the dream state of the people who are sleeping.) But then it dawns on me that when I am awake, there is a whole other side of the world that is sleeping, and in fact, there is always someone sleeping to more than cover the 24 hours in a day, so I am relieved and feel free to go about the business of my waking life because of the dreamers on the other side of the world. Profound dream.

I am angry. I'm not an "angry person" per se, but I find that I am angry a lot of the time. If I were angry for no good reason I would think this was a problem. But it's not a problem, because I experience anger about things that a person SHOULD feel angry about, and so I do. Perhaps I feel this anger more intensely than the average person, but I don't care. I refuse to silence my anger when it is an appropriate response to inappropriate circumstances. I rock the boat when it needs to be rocked. I make the hard phone calls when they need to be made. And I rise up in protest when there is no other option left, even when there is great pressure for me to just sit down and "behave myself" like a polite little girl.

I can't be polite when there is foulness afoot, because the anger rises up inside of me like a red hot volcano with no place else to flow but up and out.

But I also find that anger alone isn't enough. Feeling angry without having some kind of resolution just keeps me angry all of the time, which is exactly what happens. I need an outlet for my anger, a productive outlet, and this page (Making a Difference Every Day) is just the outlet that I need, because it's going to connect me in solidarity with other people who are angry about what's happening in the world and are finding creative ways to make a difference in their every day life, too.

It is my hope, that by sharing this information, it will inspire others to think creatively and outside of the box so that there is a sustainable future for us all. . . . .

Sophie's Choice

I love Meryl Streep. . . .and one of my absolute all-time favorite films is Sophie's Choice. I love this film because it so poignantly makes clear how the human drama has a long reaching grip upon our lives, but also because it shows how ignorance shapes human expectation.

When we first meet Sophie, we can't understand her. We can't understand her present condition, because we don't yet understand the past that brought her to where she is now. It is only when Sophie's story is slowly revealed that we begin to understand, and I think that's the same for all human beings. It's all too easy to judge a book by its cover, or judge another person's story by the way our own story has unfolded, but to truly understand we must take the time to learn the personal history that shapes and defines (and even sometimes confines) a person's present life story.

My weekend in Mesa Verde included a side trip to the BLM visitor's center about 10 miles north of Mesa Verde. They showed two different films in a beautiful little theater: one of the films was about the history of Mesa Verde, but the other was a spiritual film of Native American descendents of Mesa Verde and their plea for the rest of humanity to walk through their history with grace and respect. But the one part that continues to stand out the most is how they talk about time. For these indigenous people, they are not even concerned with the future, because they believe that it is their history, their past, that defines who they are in the present.

A person without their history, without the stories of their past, is a story that is completely out of context, thus subject to dire misinterpretation.

I think it's all too easy to judge and pathologize another person's "odd" behavior and ask ourselves what is "wrong" with them. But the truth is that for most of us with "bizarre" behavior, there is actually nothing wrong with us at all; we simply were shaped by invisible and incomprehensible histories that the rest of the world can't possibly understand, and so they sit back in judgment and wonder what is wrong.

On one level I'm very grateful for the way my life was shaped by the dark stories imposed upon mine because I am not afraid of walking through hell with another person. My personal history (and my journey to walk through my own personal living hell) helped me to understand the "emotionally disturbed" foster children on my case load.  I was able to take the time to understand the personal history that shaped and defined their "odd" behavior because I had taken the time to understand my own. And once I took the time to understand the invisibly embedded why to the very visible what, well, their behavior wasn't really all that odd, at all.

There is a statement in the very beginning of the DSM (diagnostic manual for psychological/mental disorders) that makes it very clear that if there are envioronmental circumstances going on in a person's life that better explain the behavioral symptoms, then a diagnosis of a mental disorder should NOT be made. To clarify, this means that a mental disorder does NOT exist. This is all too often never read or understood by clinicians of all professional pursuits, but this single statement was my saving grace in grad school because I scruffed and muggled endlessly over the idea of diagnosing people with mental disorders when I could so clearly understand why they were behaving the way they were. And very often, once the environmental conditions are changed, then miraculously the behaviors automatically change themselves, because they're no longer responding to disordered environmental conditions (which is the real problem in the first place).

So, yes. . . .I understand Sophie, and I also love that she has at least one person in her world who loves her in spite of her history, and doesn't judge her pain. But it takes time to understand a personal history, and that is a luxury that most of us do not have, or that many even want to take. And as for me, I have a very small cluster of friends who have taken the time to understand me and the personal history that continues to shape and define who I am, even with my "bizarre" emotional behavior that makes the rest of the world wonder at times what is wrong with me.