But I Wanted Blueberry

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Not really. The hazelnut ice cream melted in my mouth and soothed raw places left by new invisilign braces. Homemade, at that. The ice cream, not the braces.

But the eating was preceded by a discussion.

“What kind do you want?”

“Um, I really don’t care.”

“You decide- it’s Mother’s Day!”

“But what do you want?”

He picked hazelnut, and I was fine with that. Just typing that word gives me chills because as a child I was “always fine with that.”

As I let the cold ice cream slip down my throat, I replayed the conversation in my mind, wondering if I had given in or if I really didn’t care. Sometimes it’s hard to know. I’ve been waffling for so long.

This time, it really didn’t matter. But I wish I’d picked.

If You Can’t Say Something Nice

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I hate the word “nice.” It’s been used to describe me one too many times.

I suppose being nice is better than being a bitch, but nice, which rhymes with rice, another bland something, is the opposite of spice. Now spice–that has gumption.

Nice is another way of saying–no backbone, boring.Being nice started early in my life, when I heard my mother even when she wasn’t around, saying: “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” Not a bad philosophy I suppose, but when being nice begins to shape who you are, then you’re in trouble.

Being nice translates into “don’t confront,” “don’t disagree,” don’t speak your mind.” All dangerous. These moments translate into stupid, dangerous, and careless moments. A drink too many, a lie allowed to grow, saying yes when I should have said no.

When I left a previous job, the editor said: “All the niceness has now left the office.” She meant it as a compliment, but I knew better.

What We Know

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My dad’s flannel shirt hangs in the shed
these ten years later. A musty smell
of turpentine and wood oil
has settled in the work space.

Mom’s handwritten cookbooks
clutter the cabinet, sticky
with her fingerprints, flour still seeping
from the pages years after her death.

Yet, here in this house, it’s the unfinished,
unsaid words I yearn for in the silence.
A complicated family maze of lightness
and dark lingers here .

Now, I need to ask:

Did I say enough to you?
When I am gone, will you know?
Have I filled your world with a clarity of being enough?
When you find my sweater hanging in the closet,
will you touch it with sweet memories of how much you were loved?

Bittersweet

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I love the word.

So when I saw that Susan Cain had written a new book called Bittersweet I had to read it. Rather, I decided to listen to it.

Oh my. I love it. I find myself saying, “yes, uh huh, of course.” I haven’t quite finished, but you’ll get a sense of it from this TED video. Of course, the book delves into her research and personal anecdotes. However, watching this for the music alone is wonderful. Enjoy!

And now that I have, I will say it is one of the more fascinating books on mental health/psychology I’ve read. She once called herself an optimistic melancholic. I think that describes me, too. I kept seeing myself throughout the book– talk about validation.

Highly recommended!!

Healing, with help from my brain

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Sometimes the chronic pain or anxiety is caused by, well, something not physical. And how you think about your pain makes a huge difference. I was a people-pleaser from way back(many of us are). But in my old age, I’ve been amazed to learn how much my need to please is really a way to avoid fear (long story from my childhood). What I’ve discovered is that avoiding fear or trying to tamp it down, often creates physical ailments that accompany that fear. Headaches, nausea, anxiety, vertigo, acid reflux).

Far too often I pushed the fear away and resorted to other ways of trying to deal with it. This podcast captures what I’ve learned about my brain! I purchased the Curable app last year, listened to almost all of the podcasts, and worked through the app elements. I also read The Way Out, by Alan Gordon and Alon Ziv, which was a huge help. Now I have a basket of skills to call on when I sense the fear and pain (or anxiety) is on its way.

I’m not a doctor. I know people in pain might think this is just one more person saying it’s all in your head. But there is too much evidence that for some people this works.

I’m not fully healed. After all, I’ve been reacting to situations for nearly 70 years, and brain pathways are difficult to change after that long. But I’m so much better. Frankly, I don’t have any expectation to fully heal. However, knowing where this is coming from helps keep the fear and pain at a minimum.