Recovery

We went to Calaway Park yesterday, a popular kid's amusement park outside of Calgary, because we wanted to do something fun as a family. I had been depressed all week, owing to a mix of the kids going back to school and an intense period of conflict with several people. I realized over the long weekend that it is devastating for my people-pleasing nature to have people actively disliking me, for a variety of reasons, and I had to look this sadness full in the face, and figure out a way to deal with it.

I added up everything in my mind, what I had said and what the other parties had said, and I grieved for the open conflict that festered like a wound because we weren't able to achieve a common resolution to the problems. I wanted to raise an issue, have it be discussed respectfully and honestly on all sides, and then resolve it with genuine apologies and new action plans. The other people involved were not able or willing to give me what I was looking for, and I had to come to terms with that.

On Sunday night, I stared out my front window at the night sky, and decided to lay these burdens down by the side of the road and walk away from them. I had to forgive the people who had hurt me, and ask again for forgiveness for where I had failed and made mistakes and inflicted pain on other people. I had to accept that it doesn't always work out the way I want it to, but I can't carry the responsibility for the whole process. I can do my part, and then I must wait, and I have to accept that not everyone is happy with me all of the time.

Depression is a frightening thing, because it works like a wet blanket, smothering out our enthusiasm, energy and zest for life. It makes you stagger under its weight, until the smallest obligations and efforts are utterly paralyzing and awful. You trudge uphill, and think about how you would rather be in bed, shutting the world away. Laying down those suitcases with rocks in them gave me immediate relief. I felt lighter, more capable, and less terrified.

We went out for breakfast, our holiday Monday tradition, and then carried on to Calaway Park. I still wasn't sure if I was back to myself, but I knew I was on a better path. Standing in the line for the balloon ride with William, while Ava and Jason went on a scarier ride somewhere else, I felt the wind in my face, saw the sun and the billowy white clouds, listened to my son's happy voice chattering away, and I felt the first twitches of recovery, like a very sick patient who squeezes someone's hand and you know that they are going to make it.

Life is so incremental. We move forward at a snail's pace, and sometimes take ourselves backward with increasing speed. It's all a process, and can't be rushed or manipulated to suit our own needs. It's a road, and we walk it, and hopefully learn lessons that will make the next crisis a little easier for us to bear. I want to keep walking, with one foot ahead of the other, and be as honest as I can in my relationships. All I can do is what I know how to do, each day, and be as kind as possible to those around me. Where I fail, I offer grace to myself, and get up and try again.

Let Go and Let God

September has been rocky for me so far. I feel anxious, off-kilter, and have the tell-tale signs of tension in my body: stiff neck, canker sores and zits on my chin. I'm so glad to be home, after the month of August where I wasn't even home for a full week, but a lot of conflict and change occurred at the end of the month and I think it all hit me with the force of a Mack truck when I returned home.

Then there was the tension of getting Ava settled into her Grade 2 classroom, and knowing that William's preschool start date was drawing near. I finally took a few quiet moments this weekend to think about what is really bothering me, and I realized that I'm holding too tightly to my kids.

Over the summer, when I wasn't working and home with both of them, I got into the swing of their company, and enjoyed being responsible for their safety in a way that I can't manufacture during the school year. Now I have to loosen my fingers, believe that God will hold them in his hand when I am not physically present to do so, and understand that this is an important part of parenting.

The hanging on is much easier for me than the letting go. I'm sure with all Type A's this phenomenon applies. Control is where I thrive and excel; surrender is deeply uncomfortable to me. As children grow, they need independence in small, manageable chunks, and it is my job as their parent to offer them this space and freedom to grow without any guilt or caretaking for me. I believe this deep in my soul, but it's harder to practice than I thought it would be.

"Keep Calm and Carry On" applies here, as it does in so much of life, as I learn to take deep breaths and relax into all that I cannot control. I remind myself that God is in control, and he loves me, and will take care of me in a way that I cannot replicate. My kids are not my possessions. They are people in their own right, and need space to grow and develop without me hovering over them, crying because they are growing up so quickly.

They need encouragement and freedom to be who they are meant to be. I don't want them to be laden down with the responsibility for my anxiety. I have to manage my own process and leave them to develop into the unique people they are destined to become. Recognizing that I am not the only person who will speak into their lives and shape how they grow is an important first step.

When children are at home for the first few years, we have such a deep imprint on them, and we have to hope that influence will go deep into the soil of their hearts and grow there. When they reach school age, their teachers and friends will water those seeds and everyone will see what is actually blooming in their lives. If I can embrace how exciting this process is instead of mourning what is over and cannot be again, I will be happier than I am now, and my kids will relax and be more content. It's better for all of us.

That is my new learning curve. Letting go, and letting God watch over them, and rejoicing in their growth and beauty instead of fearing what is coming. I can't go back, so I may as well go forward, and learn the lessons that this new stage is trying to teach me. I don't want to fight what is coming, but instead accept it, and understand that there will always be more changes on the horizon, and all that I can really control is my attitude toward them.

Screenplay Update

A few people have asked for an update on what is happening with my screenplay, and I'm coming to terms with the fact that it's a long process, filled with exciting moments, panic-inducing ones, and many dull days in between. I think the best part is that it is proceeding, albeit at a tortoise pace instead of with hare-like speed, but I'm trying to be okay with that.

I'm on my seventh draft, and for three months I have been trying to find an agent. Most of my e-mails hover in the stratosphere, unattached to anything concrete, and I don't ever hear back from anyone. I've sent a few letters by snail mail, to directors or producers whose work I admire, and have accepted that I probably won't hear back from them, but find a certain satisfaction in trying.

Recently, I had a friend visit from out of town, and she read my latest draft for me, after being one of my first readers for my initial draft, which was about as abysmal as anything ever put on paper. Of course, she was more than gracious in her feedback the first time around, and I'm thankful that this seventh version bears little resemblance to the drivel that she first read for me. She was significantly more enthusiastic about this last draft, and kindly offered to show it to a friend who is an actual living, breathing, functioning screenwriter in LA.

He took it, read it, and sent me back a long e-mail with many helpful suggestions. He put way more time into his feedback than I expected, and after my initial burst of disappointment that he didn't love it, ask to show it to his agent or possibly Steven Spielberg, I realized that his advice was the best I've received yet, and I was immediately flooded with ideas on how to improve it. At a certain point, you get stalled out when revising your own work, and you need new eyes, and his are the most knowledgeable yet on the language of cinema. His advice is going to end up helping me immeasurably.

Almost every day I remind myself to hold loosely to the outcome of this process. I need to focus on the writing, and not waste too much time daydreaming about the paycheque and the glory of the screenwriting career. Without a finished product that has value in the marketplace, I have no real starting point. Writing and re-writing is my job right now, and I'm so glad to have new directions for the story and the dialogue; a burst of fresh air to breathe new relevance and excitement into the script.

I'm still at the beginning of this exciting journey. Any time I try to get ahead of myself in the process, I become discouraged. In the meantime, I'm branching out and writing a memoir, and articles for magazines and other publications, and I have had several short stories published this year in online magazines and printed anthologies. There are plenty of milestones to celebrate as I put one foot ahead of the other to make my screenplay as strong and as noticeable as possible, before trying to position it in the marketplace.

While I'm extending gratitude to those who have read my script and taken the time to give me their feedback, I'll thank my blog readers, one more time, for all that you have given me. Knowing that you are reading every morning means so much to me, and lifts up my spirits when they are low, and encourages me to keep improving in what I write. As I'm hoping to attract editors and publishers who know I have a built-in audience, I'm requesting that you create a Google profile to follow my blog if you haven't done so already. If you read everyday, please take a second to become a follower, and while comments on Facebook are much appreciated and mean a lot to me, if you comment directly on my blog, then all readers can interact with what you say. Thank you again. Your support is incredibly inspiring.

Identity & Dreams

Today I'm heading to a youth retreat hosted by our church, and speaking to the teens about identity and dreams. In a moment of weakness, I volunteered to speak instead of planning a game (the initial request), as games for youth cause me to feel existential dread mixed with sweaty-palmed fear. Speaking seemed easier at the time, and I'm passionate about the topic, but this week was very busy with the back-to-school rush, and I decided with specific intent not to obsess over this, and simply speak of the cuff.

I am not a person who does much of anything spontaneously, and now that the appointed day and time is upon me, I'm wondering if I'm going to freeze up like a deer in the headlights, or if I'm going to rise to the occasion, and command the attention of a group of young people who would probably prefer to be somewhere else rather than listening to an oldie like me drone on.

I'm trying to keep it short and sweet - thirty minutes at the most - and start by asking them how they would define identity, and how they think identity is created. I hope that they answer, but if they look down and stay silent, I can always provide the answer I'm seeking, and have a discussion with myself. To me, identity is knowing who you are, and while it may be influenced by outside sources like your family, society, the media, and friends, it is ultimately controlled by you. Each person is in charge of who they are, if we can access the courage not to be pressured or overly influenced by anyone else, and trust that who we are is always enough.

This is a hot button topic for me, because I didn't truly understand who I was until my late twenties, and it took me many years past that point to actually walk out who I really am, and stop apologizing to others for my own opinions and ideas. I had to stop thinking about what other people wanted, and focus on what I wanted. It was not an easy process, but easily the best and most rewarding thing I've ever done, and I would give my right arm to see the kids I speak to complete this process much earlier than I did, so they can experience their twenties as themselves, and not versions they create in a losing attempt to make others happy.

Identity and dreams are the flip sides of the same coin. If you know who you are, and have the confidence to be who you are, your dreams will flow from your identity, and you will end up doing something you love instead of something you feel pressured into. We all know people in their thirties, forties, fifties, sixties or beyond who didn't bother to carve out their own identity, and ended up in a job that made money but they hated doing, and they didn't find the spark of joy that would've set them free to really enjoy their lives. And then we all know people who currently do what they love to do, and have the freedom to change careers if they aren't satisfied, and they experience a contentment that can't be manufactured.

It's impossible to love what you do in every moment of every day. That's not the goal. But getting out of bed and having a sense of purpose that you are doing what you were created to do, and filling a need that only you can fill in this world, that is the type of joy I'm referring to, and I know for a fact that it is possible to achieve, but you must know yourself in order to find it.

I hope to inspire the youth to accept no substitutes when it comes to their identity. We all have to resist the pressure we feel on a daily basis - from our parents, our friends, our teachers and society at large - and work hard to develop our own likes and dislikes, and stand behind them when they are questioned. That is the way to character, and to purpose, and eventually to making your dreams a reality.

Imperfect is the New Perfect

I watched this video yesterday, called "Reflections of Motherhood", via a friend's Facebook page. I was thoroughly inspired by the messages we could all send to our former selves, before we had our first children. None of us were instant experts as mothers - no matter how many books we read, how many children we spent time with, or how knowledgeable we were, we all started out with zero experience, and built ourselves up from there.

I was moved by many of the concepts in this short video, but the one that stood out the most was "Imperfect is the new perfect." I have spent years embracing this as a parent, but also in my overall life, because there is so much beauty in spontaneous mess, way more than in tidy order. Embracing this truth has been one of the greatest liberations of my life, and I could never go back to perfectionism now, because it's a soul killer.

Children are wonderful at mess. They paint, eat, bathe, play and even sleep in mess, first as babies wetting their diapers and later as children twisted up in their comforters, arms flung wide, as disorganized in sleep as they are in their waking hours. Dirt and chaos do not bother kids in the slightest. They thrive in it, finding new ways to experiment within the borders they create for themselves, and don't waste time worrying about what other people might think.

Embracing all of what I've learned as a mom has set me free from the self-centred woman I was before I became pregnant. My heart aches for my friends who long to experience this transformation for themselves, but who find road blocks where they crave green lights along their road to motherhood. Sometimes I long for the time and space I had for myself before I became a mom, but I know, beyond any doubt, that I am a much improved human being because of the sacrifices I have made for my children. I would never want to go back, only forward.

If I could give myself some parenting advice, I would say, "Don't be so hard on yourself." I would also caution, "Don't judge other moms." I would have taken more of the advice on these cue cards earlier on in my mothering life, instead of waiting until I'm seven years in to realize that I must forgive myself, take time for myself, and trust my instincts. I understand those things on a deep soul level now, in a way I wasn't able to before. I've also given myself more permission to fail, to be imperfect, and to accept that I am the best person on this planet to be a mom to my two uniquely beautiful children.

Tell Me Something Real

Amy Grant has a song with a lyric which says, "Tell me something real and nothing more." This line spears me in the heart every time I hear the song, because that's the only way I want to live my life anymore. I don't want to deal strictly on the surface, with fake platitudes that have no meaning to me. Life is too short to live with that kind of waste.

The older I get, the more valuable my time becomes to me. I want to look people in the eyes and be honest with them, telling them how I really feel and not bowing to any pressure to say or do anything that doesn't feel true to me. When I look around me, I see people everywhere who are happy to stay on the surface, creating a reality that feels true to them, but doesn't seem genuine to me.

Searching for truth, and finding it, causes me to hunger for more truth. It makes the false things of life more glaringly obvious. It's like finding a real diamond in a sea of cubic zirconia and instantly recognizing its true value. I want my relationships to mean something, my discussions to lead me somewhere, and for honesty to ring out in my dealings with all people.

I'm slowly coming to terms with the fact that not everyone is comfortable with this way of life. I can't force it on others any more than they can make me shy away from my focus on deeper truth. We must all respect each other, and where I have freedom in one area, I recognize that I have limitations in another. It's all a learning process, every single day, and I have discovered that I grow when I push myself beyond what is comfortable for me, and that's the place I want to live.

I choose to surround myself with as many like-minded individuals as possible, and where my life intersects with those who struggle to "tell me something real", I will have to remember when I was younger and had a hard time being honest, and be understanding of what they can and cannot give me. I can adjust my expectations accordingly, and try to manage my disappointment, and work to get those needs for truth met elsewhere.

Darkest Before the Dawn

Yesterday was an emotional day. We walked Ava to school in the morning, settled her into her classroom, met her warm and lovely teacher, and I felt like a million bucks as a parent when I walked home with William. Ava was beaming, and excited, and I knew she was going to have a wonderful day.

William's mid-afternoon appointment with a child psychologist loomed over me like a date with the firing squad. I set it up with the best possible intentions of helping him manage his anxiety about preschool in particular, but as the time drew near I tried to talk myself out if it. "He's not as bad as I thought," I whispered to myself. "He's only 4, and he'll outgrow this clinginess. Maybe I jumped the gun."

The allotted time arrived, and we went to the appointment. The psychologist asked me to leave the kids in the waiting area and come to talk with her on my own. I was under the impression that part was only going to take a few minutes, since we had discussed the issue at length on the phone when I booked the appointment, but she wanted to spend the whole appointment just with me, offering strategies to try at home to better prepare him for his first day of preschool.

I told William and Ava that I would be right back, and followed her down the hall. We sat down and began talking, and I had that creeping feeling of dread, for I knew there was no way he was going to stay in the waiting room without me. Sure enough, five minutes in, the door opened and there he was, tears on his cheeks. He ran to me, snuggled in, and wasn't going to budge without a fight.

The psychologist asked me what would happen if I took him back to the waiting area, and I said, "He'll scream and cling and make the receptionist very uncomfortable, and we'll end up going home." I was there to find help for this exact issue, and when she asked the question, I realized how deeply judged I felt for William's behaviours, and how hard this summer has been for both of us.

We are engaged in a dance. He is afraid, and clings to me, and I feel like a bad parent, and I try to take a tough approach, and a bad situation goes quickly to its worst extreme. I told the psychologist that all summer long, family members, friends and complete strangers in stores have been giving me advice on how to handle William's attachment to me. I feel like I've tried everything I know how to do, from tough love, to giving in, and every variation in between, and I'm getting the strong message that I haven't been doing the right things.

It's hard for my personality type to fail. I prefer to succeed; to try new approaches until I find the one that works, and then hit it out of the park. I haven't had that "Aha!" moment yet with William, and I'm deeply weary of the endless advice from others who have never experienced what I'm going through, but who feel entitled to tell me how I should improve on handling it.

William stayed with me while we talked, and when I came home, I took a few minutes in my bedroom by myself, to let go of the excess shame and devastation through the wonderful outlet of tears. I thought that calling the psychologist was the end of my rope, but it turns out that facing my own limitations and embarrassment in the middle of the session was the lowest point I've had in this process. I know it will improve from here, but I needed to confront my own fears and sadness head on. I want things to be different for William, to help him build his confidence, but I recognize that I must accept him for who he is before any lasting changes can be made. Sometimes we do our best as parents and it's still not nearly enough.

After dinner, I practiced some of the psychologist's excellent suggestions with William. We role played pick up and drop off at preschool, with him playing both himself and me, and I think it was a powerful exercise for both of us. I felt his worry, and I hope he felt my capability. I nearly cried when he reassured me, "Don't worry, Weeum, I'm coming back for you after lunch."

We'll keep trying variations on her suggestions, and if I feel proactive, like I can actually do something, I don't feel so handcuffed to help my beloved boy. It's always darkest before the dawn, and if I squint and use a bit of my imagination, I can see light around the edges of this problem, just enough to let some faith in.