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You are what you hide

by DeniseLeave a Comment on You are what you hide

“Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.” -Andre’ Malraux

This quote on facebook struck a cord with me this morning and I asked myself, “What do I hide from people?”

For a long time I hid my fear and insecurity, then I found a friend who provided a safe place for me to show this part of my Self.  Lately, I find that I’m living without fear and doing things I never would have done before.

For most of my life, I showed the world a face of confidence.  I was outspoken and opinionated, often too much so.  At times I alienated people who disagreed with me, costing friendships and weakening relationships with family.  The insecurity I held inside prevented me from opening my mind and hearing anything different than what I believed was true.  I was on such shaky footing emotionally that I didn’t have the capacity to consider another point of view.  After years of impersonating confidence, I was exhausted.

Thankfully, the Universe provides exactly what we need at all times.  At that time, what I needed was a safe place.  I found that place in the eyes of a friend who knew where I was coming from.  Her open vulnerability and raw emotion were a mirror for me and I began to see my true Self in her.  Removing the mask of confidence was the most liberating thing I have ever experienced.  Learning to trust someone to be there, to support me, to love me, even with my ugliest parts showing, gave me strength and I embraced this new feeling with gusto.  From that first moment of living in truth, I have never looked back.

Today I find myself speaking from the heart without first analyzing the reactions of others.  I see myself doing things that before would not have been possible for me.  Instead of saying, “No way,”  I’m saying, “Why not?”

Most recently, I found myself standing in front of a camera being interviewed for a promotional video that would be used by a $200mil company.  Now for some people, this would not be such a huge ordeal, but for me, I was standing so far out of my comfort zone that I might as well have been on another planet.  While I was being mic’ed up, I waited for my palms to start sweating, for my knees to get shaky, for my chest to blush red.  Amazingly enough, none of these things happened.  I remained calm and as the interview began, I was extremely happy to be standing there.  I spoke from the heart and genuinely enjoyed myself.

Now to say that I no longer hide a part of my Self from the world would not be true.  But more and more I’m finding that the part of me that I hold back is a feeling of joy and confidence.  I temper the expression of these feelings for fear of overwhelming people.  Sometimes I hear myself talking and think, “Whoa sister, back off!  They’re gonna think you’re crazy.  Nobody is this happy.”

But I am.  And for that, I am so grateful. ❤

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Anger is a poison

by DeniseLeave a Comment on Anger is a poison

“Holding anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.” -Buddha

This morning I came face to face with an anger like nothing I’ve ever experienced.  A cold hard anger that produced a chilling energy which left me feeling sad.  Thankfully this was not my own anger.  I can’t imagine feeling such a black emotion from the inside out.  For me, being the recipient of the anger was hard enough but I was able to walk away from that dark place.  Sadly for the one holding that anger, she is stuck there.

Her anger is directed at me.  I own that.  Just two years ago, she was my friend, my “BookClub” friend.  Any woman reading this knows what that means.  But life happened and I chose to take a chance on love.  That chance happened to involve the ex-husband of a mutual friend and for that, she has not forgiven me.

It’s difficult for me to reconcile this angry person with the friend I once knew.  Naively, I once believed that she would understand and eventually support me.  I was wrong.  Her bitterness has festered for eighteen months to the point that when I said, “Hello” with a smile, her eyes glared a hatred that was tangible.  She paused in that moment to let her hatred for me sink in and then she turned away.

Many times I’ve asked myself what I could have done differently.  I’ve read over old emails between us trying to gain an understanding of her point of view.  I’ve imagined being in her position and asked myself how I would feel.  I’ve sought the counsel of friends and expressed my sorrow for how my choice impacted our little group.  But after today, I finally understand that what she is holding inside has little to do with me and everything to do with her.

Although she might think that her anger is hurting me, it is quite obvious that she is the one suffering.  Stuck and unable to move forward, unable to accept the changes that are part of life, unable to grow and let go, she is only hurting herself.  For that, I’m sad.  Every day that she holds on to her anger it is like drinking poison and hoping I will die.

For me, I will offer only compassion to her.  I forgive her the hatred that she sends my way.  My life is full.  For that, I am so grateful.  Life offered me a second chance and I took it.  I have so much love surrounding me these days, like a shield it protects me and allows me to move forward with a smile and an ever-expanding heart.

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It doesn’t get better. It just gets different.

by DeniseLeave a Comment on It doesn’t get better. It just gets different.

March.  It does this to me every year.  This morning the emotions are strong and the memories are vivid.  I feel his presence as if he will walk in the room any minute now.  I’ve come to accept this pattern.  The first few years I was caught off guard.  March would roll around and I was moody and off balance.  Several times the 18th of the month snuck up on me before I realized what was happening.  Now, I anticipate the feelings, the overwhelming onslaught of memories, and the knowing that he is near.

Everywhere I go there are white-haired men with rosy cheeks and jolly laughs, people whistling show tunes, and Sinatra playing around each corner.  I hear his voice, remember his stories, and feel his embrace.  I look at my children and he is here.  In moments of doubt I hear his words, a constant reminder that I’m a good mother and I am loved.

While the spontaneous tears can be inconvenient and often embarrassing, I don’t resist anymore.  I’ve learned to embrace this time of year, to even welcome it, for at no other time is he so close to me.  The next few weeks will be filled with dreams.  He’ll speak to me in daisies and he’ll hug me close with the warm rays of Springtime sun.  Dad passed from this life 19 years ago but he didn’t go far.

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Spiritual Heart <3

by DeniseLeave a Comment on Spiritual Heart <3

consuming-fireThis morning I am grateful for the ability of my spiritual heart to expand without limit.  I have often thought, ‘I couldn’t possibly love (insert name) more than I do at this moment.  If I did, my heart would surely explode.’

I remember nursing my firstborn child soon after he was born, overwhelmed by the wave of emotion this tiny creature stirred within me.  Tears running down my face, a lump in my throat, and that fullness in my chest that says my soul is fulfilled.  At that moment for the first time I thought, ‘I couldn’t possibly love this child more than I do at this moment.’  Time has proven me wrong.  For over and over I find myself loving this child more than I did in that moment.

And it is not only this child who has invoked this expansion of my spiritual heart.  Since that first moment, my heart has grown stronger, more elastic, ever larger, to the point that almost daily I am overcome by the feeling that ‘I couldn’t possibly love (insert name) more than I do at this moment.’

With the birth of each child, I questioned whether my heart could expand yet again.  Each child creating another opportunity for growth and fulfillment.  Each stage of their lives providing me the gift of uncertainty and change.  An opportunity to move forward into an unknown space of ‘I couldn’t possibly love more than I do at this moment.’  Only to find that on the other side of uncertainty my spiritual heart capacity had expanded, another layer of compassion and truth added to my life.

Like any physical muscle, this spiritual muscle has the ability to strengthen and to stretch with proper care and usage.

It occurs to me that just as physical exercise involves discomfort in the process of strengthening, so does spiritual exercise.  At the moment that I begin to feel anxious, uncertain, scared, sad, or dissatisfied, this is an opportunity for the spiritual muscle to strengthen and expand.  In yoga, we are taught to breathe into the muscle, to relax, to release, to trust our bodies to know what is right for us in the moment.

I’m learning to apply my yoga practice to all areas of my Self, physical and spiritual.  Today I realize that each time I feel that ‘I couldn’t possibly love more than I do at this moment’, my heart is expanding and I will for certain love even more.

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My Soapbox

by DeniseLeave a Comment on My Soapbox

“The secret in education lies in respecting the student.”

(I should remind everyone that I am a former public school teacher disillusioned by the system who made the decision to be a stay at home mom for 24 years and was fortunately able to provide my children with a Montessori education through their Ninth grade years.)  

Just the other night I sat at the kitchen table with my 18yo son, a senior in high school, and watched as he spent hours doing homework for his AP level Environmental Science class.  As a former Science teacher, the idea of a class devoted entirely to environmental issues at any level excites me.  I imagine current events that spark heated debates among impassioned students.  Eager to share in what my son is experiencing, I look over his shoulder to read what he’s working on…a list of definitions.  Always the optimist (see first blog post), I assume the teacher is laying the groundwork for her students, giving them the vocabulary they need in order to engage in the intellectual back and forth discussions that are soon to take place.  This makes sense to me until my son reminds me that the class is in its sixth week and this is a regular pattern of homework for him.  Leafing through his spiral bound notebook, he shows me week after week of the same thing.

The more my son shows me, the less I want to see.  My vision of students inspired to make a difference in their world slowly fades away with the flip of pages in a notebook.  Lists of words taken straight from the glossary of a textbook.  The assignment- to write out the definitions, no typing allowed.  Questions, the answers in bold at the beginning of each new section, also must be handwritten.  I assume this requirement is to keep students from using the copy and paste function on a computer.  Adding insult to injury, to answer the majority of the questions a student needs only to rewrite many of the same definitions that have already been written during the previous assignment.

I have so many questions that I’d like to ask this teacher, who by the way has the title “Dr.” in front of her name suggesting to me a passion for her subject.  I’d start with asking her what caused her to lose that passion?  Why she is giving busy work to AP level high school students.  Why is it important for them to spend hours handwriting definitions that could easily be copied in minutes?  Why are they asked to summarize current event articles that are chosen by her and not articles that interest them?  Articles, by the way, that are not challenging, controversial, or thought-provoking.  Why has the curriculum for this AP level class not changed for years?  Students pass notebooks down from one year to the next and the content has stayed the same.

The problem here is not one single teacher.  I believe most people who decide to teach do so because they have a passion for their subject and a passion for learning.  Idealistic individuals with a desire to make a difference in this world, young teachers have creative visions of energetic classrooms filled with students eager to learn.  But something happens to us when we are faced with the reality of our current system of education.  As teachers, we lose our passion.  Over time, we give up.

The problem is huge and complex and overwhelming.  The problem starts in the university where aspiring teachers are taught the same methods for teaching and discipline that have been taught for generations.  Methods designed to manage students, not to inspire them.  Methods for designing teacher-led lessons, not student-directed learning.  Methods to control student behavior, not methods to demonstrate mutual respect.

As a result, our educational system produces in large part, students without a passion for learning.  Trained for twelve plus years to reproduce what is placed in front of them, never asked what excites them, most of them don’t know.  It’s no wonder our children graduate and wander around for years trying to determine what they want to do with their lives.  They’ve not been giving the opportunity to explore what excites them.  They don’t have an understanding of their role or the important part they play in the world community.

The current system lacks respect:  respect for the teacher, respect for the student, respect for learning, respect for passion, creativity, and energy.  We are caught in a spiral and it will take a group of passionate individuals to break us out.

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Another Lesson Learned

by DeniseLeave a Comment on Another Lesson Learned

With so many things that matter in life, politics, religion, stereotypes, and love, I have learned the most from my children.  It is when they ask questions that I am afforded the opportunity to evaluate, ponder, and reconsider what I believe to be true.

 

In my twenties, before I became a mother, I knew all the answers.  Now in my forties, I realize I am only beginning to know anything at all and they come to me for advice.  They need the wisdom that, in their innocence, they believe I must possess.  And just like I felt the need to reassure them there were no monsters under their beds, I feel the need to reassure them as they struggle through the growing pains of life.  Carefully I choose my words, sharing the experiences that have shaped me.  All the while hoping and praying that the pains I have endured will provide lessons for my children, thereby sparing them the same.  I listen as they share with me their fears, frustrations, and heart-breaks.  Every ounce of my soul begs to spare them this part of life’s journey.

 

From my vantage point, it’s easy to see what they should do, how they should behave, the choices they should make.  I’ve made these mistakes.  I’ve had these feelings.  I’ve been there.  I know.

 

I speak to them of unconditional love, of the feeling in your gut that comes when your soul finds it’s mate.  I relate the irrelevance of words and the all important power of instinctual feelings, the Knowing when something is right and the trust required to listen when that happens.  I explain that when you find that someone, nothing can be said or done to change that feeling and likewise, if that feeling isn’t there, nothing can be said or done to create it.

 

I speak to them of learning to sit with their Self, to become comfortable with feeling uncomfortable, of learning to stop resisting what Is and accept life in the moment without expectation.  Life isn’t black or white.  Life happens in the grey area.  It’s okay not to know all the answers.  It’s okay to feel sadness.  To go through it and come out on the other side is one of life’s greatest gifts.

 

I need to take my own advice.  To sit in this moment with no expectation, watching my children stumble, catch themselves, fall and get back up, all the while developing their balance, learning to trust their instinct.  All the while resisting the urge to hold them up.

Just as all the talking and explaining in the world couldn’t teach them to walk.  They had to experience the bumps and falls on their own.  My words now are empty without their own life experience to provide the background for understanding.

 

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God don’t make no junk!

by DeniseLeave a Comment on God don’t make no junk!

I didn’t sleep well last night.  I tossed and turned and woke way too early with swollen eyes, stiff joints, and the thought, “God don’t make no junk!” screaming in my head.

Another friend’s child was diagnosed with ADHD yesterday.  She sent me a note with a sad face at the end and a resolution to see this as a ‘gift’ and an opportunity to learn and grow.  I love her attitude, her compassion for her child, and her determination to see the positive in every situation.  But I know her path will be cluttered with people encouraging her to change who her little boy is, to medicate, to isolate, to restrict, and to discipline.

This subject beyond any other causes me such anxiety.  What have we become as a people that we demand such conformity?  A child is born with a mind that processes life in a crazy non-linear way that makes it difficult for most of us to understand and our answer is to change the child.  The ego of mankind has grown so large that changing the essence of a child is now not only acceptable but expected.

I could go down the spiritual path and ask, “if we are created to be exactly what we are meant to be” then how do we justify changing who someone is?  How a person processes thought is not a life-threatening condition.  Thankfully, medical science has given us many tools that save lives.  We are capable of replacing defective body parts and improving a person’s quality of life.  Where do we draw the line?

I believe we need to ask ourselves “why?”  Why is it necessary that this 5 year old child sit quietly and listen to a story?  Why must he sit in a chair and not stand to do his art project?  Why can’t he walk and stretch and jump if that’s what his body needs to do?

Sadly, the answer is often because it makes our lives more difficult.  It’s more difficult to manage a group of children when some of them need to move.  It’s more difficult to manage one child that can’t follow more than one instruction at a time.  It complicates our lives as parents and teachers when we are challenged to manage and raise a child who is constantly moving both physically and mentally.  It is exhausting.

With the advantage of medical science, we now have the option of conforming the child to society.  It’s much easier to help the child fit in than to change the environment to fit the child but at what cost?

I know young adults and older friends with ADHD.  They are some of the most brilliant people I have ever been around.  Their thoughts are constantly jumping from one idea to the next and it is exhausting with my structured linear thought processing mind to keep up with them.  Most times, I don’t.  But how sad would it be if they were any different?  What gifts of creative inspiration would we miss if these unfocused hyper-thinkers were dulled?  What amazing contributions might these high energy children provide to the world if the world could keep up with them?

I don’t have the solution to this dilemma.  The overall challenge feels overwhelming.  It’s a societal mindset that has produced an educational system that is tremendously flawed where what is best for the child is not the primary focus.  How do we go about changing the system and not the individual?

I’m concerned for my friend.  Her challenge will be exhausting and she will constantly question herself and her decisions no matter what path she takes for her child.  At least I hope that is the case and she doesn’t just accept the status quo like the majority of society continues to do.

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A Thanksgiving Day Post

by DeniseLeave a Comment on A Thanksgiving Day Post

I am reminded of the song lyric, “some of G-d’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.”  Throughout this month of intentional gratitude, I have spent some time each morning appreciating all that my life is and all that I have.  I have so much to be thankful for, most notably my family starting of course with my children who have blessed me beyond anything I imagined possible.  Going beyond the  obvious gratitude for my immediate family, I began to recognize the fact that I am grateful for the presence of people in my life that I would not have if I had been in charge of things from the beginning.

My earliest memory of having a strong desire to control the make up of my family goes back to October 1967 when momma went to the hospital to give birth.  I was adamant, at the age of 3 years old, that she would bring home to me a baby sister.  I remember daddy laughing at me when I told him that a boy baby would not be acceptable and I would refuse to love him.  Thankfully I was wrong.

So many times I resisted change.  Always thinking that I knew what was best and rarely conceding when I was wrong.  My parents divorced when I was ten.  I resisted a new home, new school, and new friends.  I was reluctant when my parents dated and was admittedly a little angry when they introduced me to people that I could find no reason not to like.  I said there was no way I would ever accept step parents.  Thankfully I was wrong.

In 1978, momma asked me what I would say if she told me she was going to have a baby.  I quickly replied, “I’d be fine with it, as long as it isn’t a girl.”  Thankfully I was wrong.

I carried this stubborn notion that life was mine to choreograph into adulthood.  When things didn’t go according to my plan, I fought to change them.  I prayed harder that G-d would step in and ‘fix things’ for me.  I often beat myself up believing that if I just did things a little better or tried a little harder or wasn’t so selfish, then life would be happy and all of my plans would work out.  In reality, the more I resisted, the harder life became.  I thought I knew what was best.  Thankfully I was wrong.

Today I am blessed with a new perspective, one that comes through experience and time.  I look back over my life and see a brother and two sisters, two Dads and two Moms, extra grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, a huge list of friends, and many cherished memories, all of which I would never had known if I had been in charge of my life.  Thankfully I was wrong.

I’ve learned to have faith in the grander scheme.  I’ve learned to trust my instincts and to breathe through situations that I don’t readily understand.  I’ve learned that fear is the only obstacle to life and love is the only thing that matters.  I am grateful for every part of my experience, the things I welcomed and the things I resisted.  Life is so good today.  I am blessed.

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Red Bows and White Lights

by DeniseLeave a Comment on Red Bows and White Lights

There is no time of the year that I miss my grandmother more than this time right now.  When the weather turns cooler and the leaves begin to fall.  When thoughts turn to cozy fireplaces and warm comfort foods.  When stores begin to decorate and holiday music starts to play.  When the grocery store is full of sweet potatoes, pumpkins, and jugs of apple cider.  When the Fraiser firs begin their journey down the mountains and into our towns.  When I take out my little notebook for names and ideas.  When I do my holiday shopping and my hands are full of bags and I want to stop for a little snack or to check my list and my shopping partners aren’t with me.  This is when I miss her the most.

Nanny is Christmas to me.  She is red bows and white lights.  She is a large plastic Santa, a Frosty the Snowman, and a full Nativity set decorating the front yard up on the hill.  She is a wreath and a white candle in every window and garland on the porch.  She is a door hanging that plays Christmas songs when you knock and a crackling fire in the Buckstove thoutdoor_christmas_decorations_2at greets you when you enter.  She’s a candy dish with Turtles, peanut butter balls, and fudge.  She is a ten layer chocolate cake, Graham cracker crumb cake, lemon pie, coconut pie, coconut cake, Toll house cookies, and the most amazing brownies ever made.  She is the sound of an Elvis Presley vinyl playing on a console stereo alongside the dining room table covered in a red and white cloth.  She is stuffed Santas that sing when you press their gloves and a cradle full of baby dolls.  She is more presents than any one child ever needed all wrapped and stacked neatly beside the most perfect Christmas tree you have ever seen.

Her tree was covered in white lights with shiny red balls.  Over the years an occasional ornament with a hint of a different color could be found but not often.  To her, Christmas was red and white, and that was sacred.  Some years it would take her days to decorate that tree.  When she was done it rivaled something you would find in the Belk store window.  The white skirt laid around the bottom of the tree provided the perfect setting for the wooden creche that Granddaddy made for her.  Inside she placed Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus.  Outside she placed the wisemen, a donkey, a shephard, and a sheep.  There were unspoken rules surrounding that tree.  You didn’t touch the ornaments and the nativity was not to be played with.  Presents were stacked separately and neatly for each child and never placed under the tree but were placed around the room and were not to be touched or shaken.

As I grew older and had children of my own, I watched closely as she worked her audience of eager little people on Christmas day.  Each child obediently found a place on the carpet, legs crossed, quietly waiting.  One by one, after she was satisfied that all of the children were paying adequate attention, she would pass out the presents, one stack at a time.  Slowly the quiet order was replaced by managed chaos as bows and paper were ripped away.  It was during this time that I would look over to see her standing in the middle watching the children with a huge smile on her face.  She was in her element.  One by one the children would jump up from their gifts and find their way over the wrapping to her leg.  They would squeeze her tight and she would rub their little backs.  I believe this was her favorite part of Christmas.

Over the years some things changed.  There were cakes baked that lacked ingredients.  There were presents purchased and forgotten that never made it under the tree.  The shopping ended and with it the ritual of the tree.  But what remains is the loving spirit she provided each of us.  The pure joy she felt for everything Christmas.  Yesterday at the grocery store I stopped at a display of wooden figures, snowmen, santas, gingerbread boys, and a christmas moose.  Nanny would have gotten one for each of the “babies.”  Today I’m going back to buy them for her.  Some things should never change.

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In Her Kitchen

by DeniseLeave a Comment on In Her Kitchen

We lost my grandmother this past year to Alzheimer’s.  That’s not exactly true.  We lost her many years ago to Alzheimer’s, this past year we were finally forced to let her go.  Anyone who has dealt with this horrific disease knows without my explanation what a heart-wrenching and long good-bye a family experiences.  Our story is similar to so many that I’ve heard and read over the past few years but that does nothing to ease the pain of what we all have shared.  There’s a quote that comes to mind that says something about shared love being multiplied and shared sorrow being divided.  I’m not so certain that applies in the case of Alzheimer’s.

The number of things I miss about my Nanny increases with each passing day.  She was my constant, my biggest fan, and my first exposure to unconditional love.  She was yellow grits in the morning, fried bologna sandwiches at lunch, and rice & gravy at supper time.  She was a pitcher full of sweet tea in the fridge and a cookie jar that never emptied.  She was a pack of Juicy Fruit gum in her pocketbook to keep us quiet during church.  She was mud pies and baby dolls.  She was an envelope in my college mailbox full of one dollar bills taped together accordion style and a note saying, “Be my sweet girl.”  She was red bows at Christmas and homemade birthday cakes with little pink flowers.  She was soft and warm and she smelled like Ivory soap.

I grew up in her kitchen.  Wearing her bib apron, faded and worn, I followed direction and basked in her attention.  For Sunday dinner, my jobs were specific and never really varied much no matter how old I was.  Fill the tea glasses with ice.  Butter the brown-n-serve rolls.  Fix the deviled eggs and stuff the pears with creamed cheese.  I can recite that menu in my sleep:  fried chicken, rice & gravy, butterbeans with okra, sliced tomatoes in season, corn on the cob, brown-n-serve rolls, deviled eggs, and pears with creamed cheese.  Occasionally the butterbeans were replaced with green beans or field peas but the main menu items stayed the same on Sundays.  Dessert would vary depending on who was in attendance.  If my uncle was home from college, we could count on banana pudding and lemon meringue pie.  On these occasions my job also included crushing Nilla wafers for the pie crust and lining the pudding dish with cookies.

In 1991, Nanny decided to write down a few of her recipes for me in a spiral bound notebook.  I don’t recall the reasoning for this if any was ever given and around 2005 when I started to notice her memory fading, I started asking her to write down all of the things we had cooked together.  I cherish these notebooks and pull them out when I need to feel close to her.  The funny thing is, that trying to cook from her notes is next to impossible and I end up laughing at her when I get to the end of a recipe and see a note that says, “add a little milk to the filling”.  It’s at this point that I talk out loud to her and ask, “Really Nanny?”  I guess I should have paid closer attention when she was here, then maybe I would know what “a little milk” is.  Or maybe it’s best this way, some things will never be the same.  No matter how many times I try to figure out the correct measurement of “a little,” there is a part of me that hopes I never get it right.