Beauty for Ashes Part 10

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Holding on for a Hero

She's got an inner child
A little tame and a whole lot of wild.
But as crazy as it is, it is who she is.
And she smiles and she frowns.
She's sunshine and she's clouds.
Emotional to say the least, but that's ok with me.
 'Cuz when I fell, I fell hard for every part.
From the beauty in her eyes to the love that's in her heart.
The good, the bad, the happy and the sad.
Her perfections, her every little flaw. I want it all.
And she found some new laugh lines.
But whenever she asks me, it's only beauty that I see.
 'Cuz when I fell, I fell hard for every part.
From the beauty in her eyes to the love that's in her heart.
The good, the bad, the happy and the sad.
Her perfections, her every little flaw. I want it all.
And when she falls asleep I know she'll dream a little dream of me.
And in the morning she will see that it's easy to believe.
 'Cuz when I fell, I fell hard for every part.
From the beauty in her eyes to the love that's in her heart.
The good, the bad, the happy and the sad.
      Her perfections, her every little flaw. I want it all, the good the bad,

The happy and the sad (repeat until end)

(I Want it All by Edwin McCain)

I lay on the floor of my bedroom listening to music.   I like to listen to music while letting my thoughts meander; twisting and curling around whatever concept or idea they came in contact with.  In the middle of such processes, a quiet voice whispered through my thoughts like a wisp of smoke.  “I call you beautiful.”

It seemed so long ago that I had asked God to show me what He called me, His name for me.  Then one day, when I least expected it, there was my answer.  I lay on my bedroom floor barely breathing.  “You call me beautiful,” I asked, tears running down my face as a card catalog of ugly moments spun through my thoughts, nullifying what I’d just heard.  Suddenly, it was as though a large hand reached into my mind and slammed down on that catalog of memories, squashing them flat.  I could almost see the dust flying up from the floor of my mind by the impact.  “Why,” I ventured, tentatively.

“Because I see your heart.  Your heart is beautiful.  Your heart makes you beautiful,” and that was my answer.  Then God began to show me my beauty, because though I was loathe to disagree with the God of the universe, I wondered if maybe He had not confused what He called me with what He called someone else.  My whole life had seemed to pivot from one awful moment to the next, and just like the little child who plays in the mud, after spending much time around such ugliness, I felt I was wearing it.  Because of my problems with anger, I had become closer to a robot than a woman.  I was missing all the softness and loveliness women possess.  I needed to learn how to feel emotion and express emotion.  I needed to have beauty in my life in order to feel beautiful and give beauty to others.  The training tool God used to help me relearn about myself in that area was gardening.  I have always had a knack with plants.  My mom does not have a green thumb, but my dad does, and so did both my grandmas. 

I love flowers.  I love their colors and cheery dispositions.  I love that no two are alike yet they have no problem getting along—well, for the most part they get along.  I find them incredibly durable in spite of their paper-thin leaves.  Working with plants gave me such joy, and joy was a new emotion for me.  So was contentment—something else I experienced while covered in dirt on my hands and knees. 

The more I dug in the dirt, the more grounded I became (pardon the pun), reconnecting with my own earthiness as a woman and one of God’s beautiful creations.  I began to surround myself with things I considered beautiful.  I had a picture by Gustav Klimt called The Kiss, which is a depiction of a man and woman wrapped in a blanket, only their heads and hands showing as they are kissing.  I loved the intimacy of the picture, the trust.  I also had a picture by Waterhouse called The Shrine, a painting of a young girl leaning over to smell flowers.  I had several others I collected and put on my walls.  I also had a saying Jayme had gotten me that was called Bella.  It spoke of beauty its attributes, and how it encompasses so many traits. 

I was experiencing a Renaissance in my life. I could feel my heart again.  I was learning how to express other emotions, though I still had difficulty crying when I needed to.  I began to get my body in shape, taking 100 inches off.  I made exercise habitual, understanding that it could do as much to help me maintain moods as taking medication.  I made it a point to know things I like and things I do not like.  I decided that “I don’t know,” should never be part of my vocabulary about myself.  If I did not take the time to know myself, why should I expect others to?

Such self-assessment takes time.  It is, in fact, an ongoing process.  I realized that just as I had incorporated other habits into my life such as scheduled sleep habits, exercise, and the practice of setting boundaries with others and myself, keeping in tune with my heart was vital to being confident in who I was.

 Many of the women I came in contact with over the years I worked in salons were in a rut.  They were avoiding themselves.  They would immerse themselves completely in their children, their lovers, or their jobs, so that they did not have to look inside.  Many were avoiding hurts they had sustained for various reasons throughout their lifetimes, and were crippled because they had been too afraid to address the pain of living and loving while it was happening.  In short, they were running.  As a result, I dealt with a lot of older women who had no clue who they were or what their own thoughts were on a given subject.  They were ineffective in their current relationships because they could not be authentic, and they did not know how to be the women they were designed to be.  I determined I did not want to be that kind of woman.  Life happens, and it is painful, but it is the vehicle we have to funnel all experiences through.  I would much rather live my life than just exist in it.  I firmly believe self-knowledge is the starting point.

Finishing my bachelor’s degree was a miracle and a blessing.  I never thought I would finish my schooling.  It had seemed a fool’s errand during the many years I was knee deep in mental fracture, but it was the first dream that came to fruition.  I remember staring in disbelief at my diploma wondering, for a brief moment, how I had gotten to such a point in my life.  But even as I felt my situation a bit surreal, I knew it had all really started on the northern most tip of Alaska on a little spit of land where I had seen God’s awesomeness personified in dark icy waves as the danger they posed was eclipsed by seals having a joyous romp.  I realized He watches over all his creations and hope began to take root.

            When I speak to others with mental illness and their families, I stress hope.  I encourage the nurturing of hope for it is the light one needs to find the path through the labyrinth of bipolar disorder.  I have never found my way out of the maze, but I have discovered I can live in it.  I have given up thinking about what my life could have been had I not become mentally ill.  I have instead accepted I was meant to have it all along.  I was meant to be changed in a mighty way by a malady.  Most days I choose not to see my life as having been cursed.  How can I when most days I feel very blessed?

            I think that the one area where I have struggled most for victory has been in the area of relationships.  Maybe it is that way for most.  Relationships are difficult, because they require us to step outside of ourselves.  They require sacrifice, and human beings tend to be selfish.  For me all that has been true, but it was also difficult to find someone who can handle my maelstrom of stormy moods.  For a while I thought if I allowed someone into my life who had what I had things might work, but I found myself carrying the weight of the relationship because the individual was unable to rise to such responsibility.  One of my dreams as a little girl was to get married and spend my life with my best friend.  I spent most of my life with Jayme, and she is my best friend.  If that were all there was for me in life, I would have been fine with just hanging out with her for the rest.  But I hoped for something else as well.  I hoped for someone who could tolerate me, love me for all the things I had become, and just be with me in life.

            It was spring and the boiler wasn’t working.  I put in a call to the plumber and waited for someone to show up.  The plumber was early, making it unnecessary for me to wait around all day for someone to show up.  I liked him already.  He was friendly and came in, mindful of the carpet, which was another plus on his side.  I showed him the boiler and he went to work.  When he had finished, he gave me his card to call him whenever I had problems with anything.  I paid him and that was that.

            Not too much further down the road, the boiler had something else go wrong.  I pulled out the card the plumber gave me.  Jim was his name.  I dialed the office number and asked that they send out.  They promised they would and a few hours later he was at my door, still mindful of the carpet.  I watched him as he worked on the boiler educating me on what he was doing.  I was not listening.  I was wondering if he was married or had any kids.  I found him attractive, then mentally slapped myself as reminder I was involved with someone else, a long distance relationship that was looking more and more like a nuisance the longer I stayed in the room with the plumber.  Jayme.  I was always theoretically looking for her.  He would be a great candidate for her.   I paid him and he left.

            The next time he had to come to my house, my dad was there staying with us for a bit.  The hot water heater pump had to be replaced.  I told Jayme, “Hey, check this guy out.  I think he’d make you a good husband.”  She made a face saying, “You don’t even know if he’s married.”

            “I’ll find out,” I promised as I led her into the room where John and my dad were discussing the boiler.    He had thick dark wavy hair and a goatee.  He was six feet tall with chocolate brown eyes.  I have always liked big guys, and Jim did not look like someone to get into a fight with.  I kept reminding myself I was doing research, as I casually asked him if he had kids.  He told me yes, but not all the time, as he was divorced.  I did a mental jig, then felt chagrined as I remembered Jayme might not want children, her own or otherwise.  We all chatted a bit and he told us about his house he was selling and all the stress that went along with it.  He said he was going to go fishing to shake it off.  I wondered if he would be going with a bunch of friends or by himself.  I found myself wondering outside the limits of what I knew about him, guessing at his life.

            One day my friend Kate who owned the condo next door came over to ask me for the name of a plumber as she was having some sink problems.  I called Jim’s cell number he had given me to call if I needed him to come back to my house.  He told me he had a little time between jobs and he would be right over.  When he arrived I showed him over to Kate’s place and then went back to finish getting ready to go to the college bookstore where I worked part time.  I walked next door and told Kate I had to leave.  Then I said, “Jim, I’ve gotta get to work.”

            He came out of the back room saying something like, “Huh?  Oh, okay.”  He had the funniest look on his face.  He said, “I’ll talk to you later okay?”

            I nodded then thanked him for helping Kate out.  I left feeling like I had missed something but shook it off as I geared up for a few hours of hauling books.  Later, Kate came over and said, “He likes you, Lael.  I’m telling you he would have asked you out.”

            I shook my head, “Naw.  He’s just a really great guy.”

            She smiled knowingly, “I’m telling you.  He’s going to call you.”  As I thought about what Kate said, I felt nervous and excited about the prospect.  I was still technically with someone, and having not finished that off put me in a bad place.  I told myself I could not really be that interested in Jim.  I did not know him all that well.  We talked when he had come over and I enjoyed every conversation.  We seemed to get on well but that did not mean we should date.  Dating.  I had not actually dated anyone for years.  I was not sure I remembered how, not that I was all that good at it before.  I had had lots of relationships, but they were mostly dysfunctional, and dysfunction did not really require dating.

            It was two days later when I walked in the door and Jayme said with a smirk on her face, “There’s a message on the machine for you.”  I went over and played it.  It was Jim saying he just wanted to check in with me and make sure everything was okay.  He said he would call back, and later that evening he did.  Jayme answered the phone, and then handed it to me, a big smile on her face, “So much for finding me a husband,” she teased. 

            I felt myself go weak at the knees.  He asked me out and I told him I could not because I was in a relationship with someone else.  I could hear the disappointment in his voice.  Then I made an idiot of myself by asking if something changed could I call him.  He said, “Sure.”

            After I got off the phone I was seriously conflicted.  I wanted to go out with him but I could not do it without ending the other relationship first.  I consulted my dad who had met Jim.  Somehow that made him more qualified to help me.  He told me it was just dinner.  I agreed.  So I called Jim back and asked if I could change my mind.  He said, “Absolutely.”  We set it up for Friday and then he said he would call me later in the week.

            During that week I had plenty of time to work myself up into a lather.  First I was worked up over ending the other relationship I was in.  It had been over for some time but I had not wanted to hurt the guy’s feelings.  I had been hoping he would end things, but he did not, which left it up to me.  I would much prefer to be the victim rather than the villain.  It was a role I was not familiar with, and it humbled me to have to inflict pain on someone else.  I tried to be kind but firm.

            Then there was the worry that once I told Jim what was wrong with me, because, let us face it, there is something wrong with me, he would not want to see me any more.  I was worried that what I had might frighten him down the road.  Such was the state of my concern, that when he called later in the week I told him there was something I wanted to tell him about so that everything would be above board.  I told him about my bipolar disorder and the agoraphobia.  At the time the panic attacks were out of control.  I explained how limited my social situations were and how that might be a drag for him.  I laid it all out for him then drew a silent breath as I waited for a verdict.

            He simply said, “Okay.  I’m not afraid, and I like to stay home.  We’ll get by just fine.”  I thought to myself, “Boy you have no idea what you’re getting into.” 

            He came and got me on Friday night, looking handsome and reassuring.  We went to a nearby restaurant and talked for five hours.  It seemed in that time we learned everything about each other.  He was a great storyteller, and I liked hearing about his youth.  We both have big families, though his is bigger as his heritage is Sioux so his relatives are numerous.  I discovered many things about Jim that night, my psychologist’s background kicking in to compare behavior with circumstance.  I think I loved him the day he came and fixed Kate’s sink. 

            When Jim entered my life, it was as though a light came on.  I know no other way to explain it.    I was ready for something real, and he is most definitely that.  He amazed me on a daily basis with his thirst for knowledge and his curiosity.  He shared life’s daily conflicts with me, but he did not come to me with reasons why he could not be the man he was supposed to be. 

Having a healthy relationship is the hardest thing I have ever done.  Every other day I wanted to walk away from it, because I had to allow him to see all the broken bits, all the screwed up stuff, and that was difficult to exhibit.  I had to let him see me swing from one state of terror to another of euphoria in the span of a day.  Showing him all the mess every day while I was trying to clean it up made me feel very vulnerable and flawed. I wanted him to see me as whole, confident, and a woman, not a creature who is mired in a power struggle with her mind still grappling with the vestiges of a damaging past.

Then there was the fear he would take what I offer him and say, “This is not what I thought it would be.  You’re just not enough; not good enough.”  My parents were very cautious on my behalf.  They were afraid, probably more than I, that a relationship would be too much of a strain for my mind, and that the stress of it would cause me to lose my mental alacrity.  They worried that they would die one day, and I would not be provided for.  I know that was a concern.  They worried, and they were right to. 

             I used to have to talk myself out of ending the relationship.  I thought it was some psychosis in me, but looking back I realize it was some small part of me looking out for all the other parts.  I had difficulties trusting him.  I just boiled it down to my own issues with my background and did some work on the concept of trust in my life.

Trust is one area where mindfulness factors in.  I used a method based on the book Full Catastrophe Living by Jon Kabat-Zin.  I liked his method of not adding any judgment to thoughts that move through one’s mind.  Not having to determine whether a thought was good or bad freed me up a lot to invest my energies in concentrating.

I am practicing mindfulness and being in the moment.  Mindfulness is about taking the fullness of any given moment, ripe with joy or devastation, and allowing it to breath itself into a life.  I know I am living when I experience the devastation of rejection by the one I love dearly.  I know that I am alive when I laugh to the point of crying with my best friend.  I believe I’m still here when I recover from an episode of my illness that leaves me shaky and uncertain of my abilities to function in this world.  This is all a part of life and being mindful means taking a slice out of it and just experiencing it in its entirety, no preconceived notions and no holding back.  I am not proficient but I get the concept.  I understand the deeper meaning and have made the correlation to my life (Kabat-Zinn, 1990, p. 280).

I kept telling myself that my trust issues with Jim were due to being hurt at such a young age.  I had developed unhealthy practices to get what I felt I needed and yet protect myself from being too close to someone where they may hurt me.  I have a hard time with the idea of trusting someone.  It has always seemed like such a huge concept, mushrooming over the life of the relationship. 

             Reframing the majority of thoughts that come into the mind is exhausting.  Some days all I register is white noise, because I have been so overloaded with thoughts that I can no longer perform the processes necessary to be rational.  It is not only my personal relationships I must reframe input from, though they are definitely the most significant.  It is also input from my outside world.  It is as though environmental stimulus and input walk onto a springboard waiting to be hurled in through the sensory portals of my brain, instead of waiting in line to be ushered in.  I often have a sense of being pelted with stimulus that very quickly turns into thoughts of concrete as they enter my mind, taking heavy permanent landings in areas where they may feed my already obsessive processes.

            What I found was that with mindfulness, I was able to focus on a given moment, which allowed me to become more centered mentally.  Then I was more able to pinpoint where I am struggling and hit that area with the practice of cognitive therapy and reframing to a better thought pattern.  It was a lot of work, but I made progress

            I waited well into my thirties to find someone I thought was the right person, and when I did find him, or he found me, I was sure of it.  Then I was not.  We were together for a few years, and during that time our relationship went from one of being immersed in each other, to living separate lives.  When I finished my schooling, he had already left to go to Colorado where we were supposed to meet up, but I knew long before Jayme and I left Anchorage it was over.  I did not want to believe it, but I knew it.  I think much of the problem was him, to be honest.  I would take full responsibility, but it really was mostly him.  He could not get out of the clutches of his ex-wife.  It was an interesting dynamic, and had I not been involved, I would have been fascinated.  I had never seen a man so controlled by a woman.  Finally he did make a break from her, but once he did that, he wanted to explore his new found freedom, and I was another anchor keeping his freedom in check. 

            Our break up was ongoing for a couple of years.  It was very strange, and I will not expound any further, except to say that I extricated myself from the situation but it took a very long time.  I fell victim to an old vice of wanting to make something great out of material that just did not have greatness in it. 

            During the long break-up period, I left Jayme in Colorado where we had moved after our time in Anchorage.  I had two degrees and could not find work.  I finally decided to go home to Montana to live with my parents.  Leaving Jayme was so hard.  She and I had been through such a rough journey, and I felt part of my heart tear away as I drove out of the driveway of our apartment complex.  I hated to leave her.  It nearly killed me, but I knew she needed a life that did not center on me and my illness.  Too long she had been indentured into the war on mental illness, and I wanted her to have her own life.  In this instance, certainly, I am so glad I did not put myself first.  I put her first, and she has blossomed in her own journey.

            My journey was interesting.  I lived in Montana with my parents for a time.  They had retired from the Arctic and back to working in Montana, but my mom was unfulfilled in her work, so it was no surprise that when we went back to Wyoming, where my whole adventure started, she accepted a teaching job.  The move was to be a full circle experience, because not only was I back in the place where I began, it is where I met my husband, whom I had known as a child and who had traversed the same circles growing up as I had without my ever knowing it. 

            Funny how one can go a lifetime and not really know what is going on.  I talk about being mindful, but I certainly was not the majority of my life.  Chris and I went to the same elementary school, were in the same class, even attended the same church.  I found a recipe book the kindergarten classes did as a project for the moms for Christmas and Chris’ signature is one down from mine on the page.  We attended the same high school, though he moved back and forth.  We rode the same school bus.  The opportunities for us to have met in our early years are bountiful, but we did not.  We met through a blog I write.  He read my blog and says he fell in love with me through my writing.  So, I may not make a lot of money as benefit of my writing, but the payback I got in him has been exponential. 

            We were together a few months long distance, which was difficult but the only option available to us at the time.  He lived in Rapid City, SD and I, of course was still in Riverton.  He came to visit, and we knew that we wanted to make life together permanent.  We planned a wedding for July, but when I went to Rapid City to drop off a load of stuff, we just decided to elope.  We got married in Sturgis at an eye glass shop.  The owner was also a Justice of the Peace.  My parents were there as were Chris’ two sons.  In one day I became a wife and mother, and after 39 years of being single it was a huge change.  Now, going on three years of marriage, I am so thankful God finally had our paths cross.  There is no other man for me.