Tag: Self-discovery

On My Way to Somewhere Else (Revisit)

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights

This post was originally published on December 9, 2021.

Losses in our lives happen in many ways, and my greatest loss happened while I was trying to get to somewhere else that wasn’t on my agenda, or at least not in print. It happened in a way I won’t forget: a walk downstairs to find an altered life. A note on the dinner table telling me where his body was. That was the part of the promise he did keep.

We write scripts for our lives, and when they are interrupted the jolt can be confusing and difficult to understand. While we’re making our way along the road, the demons interrupt our peaceful walk and give us the boot off our carefully manicured path into something more like sludge, mess, and unexpected confusion.

At first, we panic, and then we try to extricate ourselves from this place, only to find ourselves pulled further into the mess of the sludge. When we realize that we can best exit the sludge by remaining calm, relaxing, and working with it, we’re free to embrace it. We can then deal with the mess in this new place. We figure out that the best method for getting free from where we are now trapped is exploring it for alternative exit options. That is how most grief and loss journeys begin: a surrender to the unknown.

I got out of the immediate sludge state and realized that there was a mountain in front of me, and that I needed to go through it to reach the place I needed to get to. That was both a relief and rather terrorizing.

With the unwanted interruption to our lives, we forget where we were headed, focusing on the path before us that has become cluttered with boulders, fallen trees, and strange critters that inhabit the once pristine path we thought we were on, and realizing that we’ve been transported to a much different place altogether. Where are we? What is this about, and will it be a help or hindrance?

No, we’re not in Oz or anyplace like it, though a part of us may wish for ruby slippers that we can click to take us magically back to before we wound up wherever this is now. We don’t get the slippers. Instead, we receive a walking stick that will come in handy in turning over the rocks, giving us leverage to lift the heavy trees that block our route, and in testing the strange new critters to see if they are friend or foe.

It’s taken several minutes to construct this, and yet the descent into this place happens instantly. We’re just not aware that within seconds of hearing they’re dead, “I’m leaving you,” “I’m moving out to pursue…,” or whatever the loss is, we’re sent by our mind into this place. As we grapple with it in those first few moments, we realize that our control is gone. Will we ever be the same? Will our world ever feel the same?

The Answer Everyone Wants

In this place we ask: When will it end? And when will things return to normal? The honest answer that we eventually discover is that we’ll develop a new normal, discover a new life path, and renegotiate what our personal universe looks like and what it is filled with. We forget about the old somewhere that had held us captive and begin searching for a new somewhere else. The catch to this search is that things no longer work the way they once did. The topsy-turvy has flung us into the unknown. All we can do is thrash around until we find something to grab onto that feels stable. 

We start to learn that the tears, the missing, and the uncertainty will fade over time, and in their place the texture and quality of what is present in our lives changes. Slowly, we stop asking when and start focusing on the how to of this new place. This leads us to finding a support system, a new village of people that is populated with those who will become our new friends. They understand where we are! They’ve been in the sludge, gotten out, and faced their own mountain. They’ve dismissed some old village residents due to the fact that they left the village or are not able to attend to the needs in the village at this time. We find a therapist who speaks our language and we seek out spiritual direction, or stumble into another path altogether. As we gain strength and our concentration returns, we begin reading books and are able to question and act on those questions. 

This new place of discovery is exciting, scary, and wide open. Oh, the options that we can explore! Slowly, the places we were headed fade away, and we’re left only with new things to discover. 

You know how people say that we’ve changed? We have! If we do the work of grief, loss, and pain well enough, we reinvent ourselves. There are old things, new things, and a bunch of creation waiting to spring forth. It can all be good. In the meantime, the question we wanted answered disappears as we become involved in the process of creating new life within ourselves. New life and meaning are unique to each of us.

The tears and the missing are still present. They’ve taken on a new form and texture. For me, it was somewhere in my year three that I noticed the real change. How did this happen? It wasn’t about time; it was processing and a world view change. It is something we experience and understand due to the work we do around our grief, loss, and pain, effecting change deep within. 

Noticing the Gift

For some people, the loss and the grief that are encountered become a gift. What? How can this be? I’ll admit that on August 29, 2016, if you had told me I’d be typing these words in 2021, I’d have had said something to the effect of “You’re nuts!” I’m typing this and I know I’m not nuts. Telling someone at the beginning of the process that change will happen is counterproductive to the process. There are some “please do’s” and “please don’ts” that are essential to observe.

Relationships can trap us, cause us to shortchange ourselves, or make us second-guess what we want in our lives—to name just a few of the things that can happen. The fact that she cheated on you and didn’t want to work it out is sad. After the heartache passes, a new discovery of freedom comes.

He or she is now gone; the love you once had will always remain, and now you are asking new questions. You want something different from before, and finding it is a good thing. You haven’t changed; you’ve grown! You are beginning to trust your own knowing, and this is an essential component of finding the new place of existence.

The gift of the tragedy is not pleasant. We are called to understanding through the unveiling of new options that we truly have choices if look and access them in the present. It is what we find buried in the rubble that was once sitting out in the open, waiting for us to discover it for the first time. 

We couldn’t see it where we were because our understanding of our lives was focused on the life we had then. We weren’t stumbling along the path, attempting to find the new points of entrance into the new place that we need to get to.

I know some who have needed to step into employment for the first time in their lives and now report feeling fulfillment in a way they never have before. I know others who took the chance of a new career. Somehow, the lack of security allowed them to risk big! For others, it is doing the same thing with fresh new insight into the things they value most. For me, it resulted in several things. My favorite is that I returned to school for a certificate in spiritual direction. I love the program! Would I have discovered this had I not been widowed? NO! It took me moving to a new place and finding a new path to walk to do what I’m doing now.

Along the way, we employ new navigation strategies, discover our “rose rooms,” and come to an understanding that the interruption that occurred on the way to somewhere else, while tragic, has become a touchstone in our lives.

Pearls

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights

When I was a child, my mother and I went to the Japanese cultural center in San Francisco, and I selected an oyster that had a black pearl inside. Eventually, that pearl was turned into a necklace. My understanding of how pearls are made increased, and I found I related to the pearl in many ways.

As a child, I loved to look at my mother’s pearls, and I enjoyed the box they were laid out in. The pearls lay in a spiral, and I thought they were beautiful. On my wedding weekend, it was those very pearls that made up the “something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.” The blue were the shoes and the bow on the dress. The borrowed and old were the same things: the pearls. I would inherit her pearls a few years later.

I had purchased my own pearls when I was single, but her pearls had deep meaning to me.

Then there were the engagement pearls: a necklace and a set of earrings and a pearl I had for an engagement ring. The earrings became a part of me and were my favorite things to wear most days. They were a constant reminder of the journey I had taken, and was still continuing on, in my self-discovery. 

During the past few months, as I’ve rediscovered who I am in this phase of my life, I’ve found that my pearl earrings are a reminder of the me I was and the new self I’m evolving into. Discharging loyal soldiers is hard work. I’m finding that, with the healthy goodbyes, there are also some refreshing old yet new hellos. The pearls that had been an old “Gail wardrobe standard” are now a new reminder of the strength that comes from taking it all down and rebuilding. Last week the call within my heart to wear the pearls again could not be ignored.

Engaging in life, with its many colors and possibilities, is a delightful journey, though sometimes we’d rather wish it away and stay cozy in our beds.

The downside of the process I’ve been engaged in is that I must rediscover and claim parts of myself that I haven’t wanted to see and live with.

The upside of discovering the self for the next new time is that it is liberating. It’s kind of like going grey when you’ve been coloring your hair, and you think, “Why didn’t I do this sooner?” We go grey when we’re ready to reveal that part of ourselves. Freedom from the bottle is a liberating experience.

The journey from where I was to where I am now has softened me, taught me patience with others, and enabled me to be called out on my stuff in new ways. We deconstruct and reconstruct in wonderful new ways.

My pearls have been with me for most of my life, and I don’t think I’d want to be without the message they remind me of. Our lives generate the stuff of pearls in all their colors and splendor. I’m glad I have all my pearls, and the memories they hold for me.

Morning Has Come

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Everything Mental Health

The shouting, the screaming, the yelling that carries through the halls and walls of a home: the children cowering in rooms behind locked doors, curled up in balls at the bottom of a bed, hoping that if they do so, the noise will go away. It never does. They live in hopes that their parents will see the error of staying for the kids and end the terror of days and nights. They didn’t ask to be a part of this.

This is how you come to see me. This is how the secrets of lives get unbottled: slowly, gently, until they all spill out in their ugly horror. They fall to the ground for us to inspect, and when we dare to look, because we can no longer ignore what is present, we must come to realize and understand that the path we’ve been on can’t be walked alone. If we try to do the walk alone, it falls apart. We understand this because that is what we tried the last time, and it didn’t go well for us.

It is not reasonable to attempt to fix trauma by ourselves. To do so is risky. When you are in the forest, where it is dark, you need a light held for you so that you can navigate through the trees. The forest has goblins, witches, and wizards waiting for us. Some sit quietly, waiting to see what the trees tell us; still, others would cast spells. With the light, we see dimly to the next safe spot, and as we weave our way forward, the cries of the darkness begin to recede.

At times we stumble, and at other times we run forward, believing we see the light in its fulness, only to fall and injure ourselves. It is then we understand the value of the person with the flashlight. It is the guide who has been in the forest before. Guides understand the nature of the darkness. They run rivers and are willing to return to offer safe passage to others. These guides may or may not have run your river or walked through your forest. What they have faced is their own journey, and come out on the other end. 

We stand at the place of boarding, waiting to connect with the one who joins with us. We gently clasp hands, at first in timidity, and then more surely. Then we jointly launch ourselves into deep exploration.

In our transit to another place, there are codes that are both spoken and unspoken. It’s a sensing that the guide, able to transit us to new places, understands. In this place we learn from each other. We both have things to teach and to learn. 

Trauma is a teacher and guide if we allow it to be. It teaches us to be brave enough to heal and to listen for the lessons of the hidden passages. In healing, we discover unknown strengths and weaknesses, and we encounter questions that we didn’t want answers to and yet need so desperately. 

In discovery, we come to understand who we may have damaged along the way. We realize those we must part company with for our own well-being. We must also seek forgiveness from others we’ve harmed. The brokenness that we entered with is healing in ways we couldn’t imagine. Our bodies and our souls are made stronger for this experience, and as we see to the full light of day, we raise our heads high and walk slowly into the light of a new beginning, for morning has come.

I Miss (Revisit)

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Beyond Grief, The Suicide and its Aftermath

Originally posted on June 1, 2022.

Last night while reading, my mind was blown by what was on the pages. It seemed as if I had been sent sailing into the outer limits of my mind, and that I was needing to process all the fantastic thoughts that were coming to me. I realized that my out-of-this-dimension-process-person was gone. OUCH!

In realizing this, I also noticed that I wasn’t shedding tears, I wasn’t angry, or even sad: I just missed him and the easy access to processing wild thoughts. Now who do I do this with? The one person who might go there with me no longer speaks to me due to where my life has gone. (That’s an entirely different post.) What do I do now?

The prospect of finding a new conversation partner for exploring the out-of-the-box things that need to be spoken, pondered, turned over in the mind, and configured into working theory and thought is difficult. He is gone.

I began to reflect on those long conversations that took us into first one and then another subject, until the wee hours of the morning when my intellect was stimulated and all we could do was collapse into bed, not remembering exactly where we began—only knowing where we wound up.

While walking on the treadmill this morning, I realized that somehow, without my knowing it, something inside of me had shifted. What piece of the grief puzzle, the loss, the resolution, had gently moved into place?

Is it that in our journeying and self-discovery and the multiple examinations of the past relationship, we resolve the ugly, the painful, the hidden along with the happy and joyous parts of the relationship?

In contemplating this, my thoughts turned to the fact that death is for the most part traumatic. It is traumatic for the dying and for those left behind. We don’t expect it will happen when it does, or how it happens. We don’t get to have closure. Yes, if there is a terminal illness involved, we might be able to have some of those conversations—but not all of them. We move forward, and in time, shifts happen and things change.

There are no certain answers with the grief process. There is no ready formula that creates resolution and stops the tears. There is no end point. Time doesn’t resolve the pain and loss. There are people who are in the same struggle ten years after they’ve lost someone—the pain is just as intense. I think there are things that can stimulate forward movement. I’ll talk about a few of them in no particular order of importance.

Be open to the tears, because tears tend to cleanse our souls and open new paths of healing. If we fail to care for ourselves by honoring times when we need to let the tears flow by pretending that shedding the tears is weakness, we shut ourselves down to legitimate growth. It is natural to cry in pain, to feel the hurt fully, and to allow our bodies to respond naturally when we’ve been assaulted by physical, mental, or emotional pain. Tears are a cue to the self that all is not right within us.

Shrines are damaging, so don’t build them. Shrines to anyone tend to block progress. They stifle our development by keeping us in a memory loop that can lead to not being able to move forward. We become trapped in the past life we had with this person.

Reclaiming a space that may have been the domain of another person is difficult and emotional work. It is a good idea to go into a bedroom or workspace with a supportive friend or family member to enable the beginning of the process of restructuring the new space.

Photographing things we want to remember enables us to move forward and hold onto memories. It also allows us to create new spaces for the living. I think people create shrines in fear of forgetting. This doesn’t mean that we go in and take everything away. What all of this means is that we give careful thought to finding some of their possessions new and loving homes. We become selective about what will really mean something to us. We might store some things in order to determine at a later time what we want to hold onto. There is an element of realism to this. In sorting through things, we can remember and face some of the work around remembrance that must be done in all relationships. I had sufficient space to store some things until I could realistically come to terms with what I wanted to do with them. Intentionally packing things away, asking others about some of the items, and coming to terms with how I felt about things enabled me to not erect any type of shrine that would be unhealthy.

In stating the above, it does not mean that I’ve wiped my husband out of the home. There are photos and other special memories tucked away that I can enjoy when I want to do so. No shrine.

Stare it all down. If we’re not willing to look at something, we need to as ourselves why we’re avoiding doing so. If we’re in a rush to explore everything, why is it a rush? Would allowing time and a gentle approach serve us better? There are some realities that we’re forced into dealing with, and meeting them with courage rather than denial does wonders for us and others. Denial, in its own way, is a shrine to the unknown.

Recognize that if you listen to your heart, your head, and your gut, you will gain insights into the when and the how of looking at issues. You will also have a better sense of when you are stuck and need to seek help in moving forward to the place where you become unstuck. For most people, the process of looking at it all and facing the reality of whatever loss it is seems to be the most difficult. We’re not animals who are designed to move on. We’re humans, and we function differently than out pets, who may remember and miss their pet housemates or human companions, but who will move on as the scent fades with time. We’re wired to remember, and we should!

Speak the person’s name! Speaking of memories and uttering their name is a good, healthy thing. Burying the person is one thing and keeping them alive in a healthy way is another area of work. Out of sight is not out of mind. Talking helps us all process the loss.

There will come a time when you will be able to remember and reframe the relationship that was lost in a better and clearer manner. Allowing for gentle time, courage, and uncertainty as to when it will all come together is key in moving on. Yes, I miss him in a different way now, and it is both sad and good at the same time.

The Secrets We Keep

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights

Since coming home from the rehab center, I’ve been playing catch-up. This weekend I binge watched Netflix. 

Why? There are two reasons. My birthday was this last Friday, and I needed a break to reboot it all.

The physical therapist is doing house calls right now because I’m not walking distances yet. In talking with her today, I told her what I’d done, and how good it felt. She commented on the fact that I’d been through a great deal with it all. Yes, I have, and no one has asked me about dealing with the stress of it all! I commented on this fact, and her response was that it’s different for each person. Here I am writing this, because someone should ask everyone about the stress of such injuries.

The fact is, injury that requires a rehab stay is hard, and dealing with it all is difficult. I knew the signs and still felt that I couldn’t ask to talk to someone! I will now.

This is all about understanding our needs and tuning into ourselves, and yet I was overwhelmed and couldn’t ask. When you’re in the soup, you can’t see out of where you are. Trauma of all sorts causes us to need assistance. A grieving person is stuck in the soup, and they need people to come and “please do” for them. It might be the dishes, the garbage, a meal, or something else.

I try to be independent, and I need help at times. My enneagram type eight can be a hindrance if I don’t get to my two arrow, which softens me, and then I can ask for what I need. So now I’ll go there and get what I need. 

This makes me think of all the things that are hard, that we don’t speak about, and that we keep in until we discover that we’re not alone in our thinking. I get that we need to hold things confidential. Confidential isn’t a secret, and we keep things secret to ourselves. There are many things that we all fail to process in the time period they are happening to us. Then it makes it easier to hide from the facts. My spiritual director has been a real resource for this. She calls me out and asks good questions, and in reflection I learn where I am. My therapist makes me work to fix what is going on within, and I go there when I need to do short-term work and fix-it work. Both are helpful.

My hunch is that we don’t talk about some of the stuff we need to talk about because of old taboos. In the past, depression and sexual assault and molestation were two of the biggies that got buried deep down. Addiction, and all of its variants, was another area that was not to be spoken of. Here we are in a time when we can speak, and we hesitate until it gets so bad that it may be critical. Opening up about what ails us can be good for the soul.

Sometimes we wind up on a new soul journey, and as we navigate the river, it feels like we might be evaluating old relationships with all areas of our lives. I think we’ve crossed a river of time in how we talk—and don’t talk—about things. We’re distracted, and so, maybe we hide it all. What a wild web it all is.   

We’re distracted by tech, the fast pace of life, and the stuff that happens automatically that we don’t see. We’re caught off guard by the global pace of change. What we need to do is build in time for ourselves to reflect. This weekend was all done on instinct. My psyche knew what I was ignoring: I needed to vegetate and do nothing. Today I can face the world again. The time not thinking seems to have reset an internal clock that needed resetting. This week, the catch-up will hopefully move to the caught-up phase. This week I’ll ask for more help. Lesson learned.

Just As it Should Be

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Living With Disability

About ten days ago, I walked-rolled through my front door. My front door is still a mess; I can’t lock it well. I can’t go out because my left leg is still weak, and I’m playing catch-up here at home. It could be worse. 

What I noticed was how everything seemed shorter, as I was able to stand up again. The sink, the toilet, closet shelves, and the bed! For someone who must live in a wheelchair the rest of their life, the world is seen from a different angle. When I was using wheels, it seemed normal, and when I stood up again, my world changed.

The physical therapist just left. I have to climb the stairs differently, do some chair exercises, and all of this is to build strength.

When I went to the surgeon, I saw that it was a busted femur with two long screws inside. OK, that makes sense. I’ve been so out-of-whack that my logic hasn’t worked well. Painkillers mess you up. These painkillers don’t work like they used to. 

Back to playing catch-up. The only way I know to do this is to do one project at a time. Next are the taxes and finishing up a project that began in early February. I’m hoping to get these done this week, along with the normal stuff.

Why is it that when our lives get interrupted, it is hard to hold the focus on where we were? Maybe because where we were isn’t quite where we left it. Stuff moves around, and we move around, and we change. My kerplop on the landing, by its necessity, moved me into new territory.

This is like the funeral bubble, and kind of not like that bubble. The difference is that you don’t go to thin places—you go to new places of self-understanding. This time I’ve grown, and I’ve experienced an area of disability that I’ve learned from.

The first night I was there, the nurse got in my face and said, “You can do this.” Well, of course I can—I must. When I think back on all of it, I must have looked really scared. She was using a wheeled device to transfer me to the toilet. I was irritated by her telling me what I knew I had to do. I did set about doing it. Not rapidly. As I gained confidence that I could do a spin on one leg and not fall, I picked up my momentum. Then dressing became easier, and so did other things. 

People often say that the disabled are courageous, and maybe there are times that we are showing courage. For the most part, I believe that our acts are a part of daily living, and this is what we need to do to survive and live our lives.

Maybe there are “please do’s” for the disabled that I should list here. Just as with grief and loss, there are some helpful things you can do for us.

Do:

Allow us to do what we do normally. Things like crossing the street are second nature to low-vision and blind people. If you see someone in a wheelchair who can’t reach an item high on a shelf, ask if you may reach it for them. Do ask, and if you don’t know about a specific disability, ask us if we can explain things. Sometimes this is doable, and at other times it isn’t welcome. Use common sense. Be polite and, above all, accept the answer given. It is also OK to tell us you’re asking because you’d like to become informed. Can we refer you to a good source? With a phone it is simple to jump to a website.

Teach children how to interact with all diversity. Kids pick up queues from adults. When adults can teach proper manners and behaviours, kids learn. Kids want to be smart.

Don’t:

Don’t try to force us to do something. Being helpful also means that the person needs to do the simple things him- or herself.

Don’t rush someone. You might be able to do it faster, but it feels awful to be made to feel like you need it done to suit your own pace. I’ve had people do this with me, and it feels degrading. 

If you think it is rude, don’t do or say it.

If you mock, your children will mock, and in the long run they’ll be seen as ignorant. Kids want to be seen as fitting in appropriately.

I’m home with a new way of thinking—just as it should be.

Dancing in the Sunlight

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights, Soul Peace and Journeys

The paths we walk are each different, and sometimes we are so engaged with our own selves that we are brought up short when others make fantastical progress. And so, it was a client this week, who went to that place. For some time, I’ve noticed that movement from the past and into the present. Then, like the wind carrying the leaves to new places, the miracle of change blew in, in its full color!

“I want to know more about…” The words caught me off guard. I’d hoped for these words, and as a therapist I understand that I can only watch, and lead, this person to new waters. Drinking is their choice. All a sudden, they were ready for the next step, and it was a moment to bask in, not for myself but for someone who has done some very hard work.

Insight therapy is about becoming acquainted with the you that is locked deep inside and for whatever reason hasn’t been able to dance in the sun. This week a client made the break to enter into the warm sunlight. This week, someone stepped off the old conveyor belt and into the unknown. They don’t know that yet; I do. I’ll continue to watch and to learn from them. I try to learn from everyone. Some of the lessons are easy, and others are hard.

There is something about growth that has always energized me. I’ve never been able to pin it down; I just understand that it causes me to burn with passion. Whether it is myself or others, it is the process and progress that ignite amazing things in our souls. It is a soul journey that takes us to new places of the heart and mind. Growth feeds our souls and our spirits. It causes us to gaze back for the WOW moments, and to look from our boats out on the river of life. Yes, we have crossed into new places: new territory that opens its arms to welcome us to a new and brave uncertainty. Sometimes, we’re on the river, and at other times we’re inland. It seems that our souls intuit where we need to be and move us to the places of exploration.

Growth is friendly, painful, and wonderful, and it is always a challenge. Growth calls us to the crossroads of being and enables us to question our past and our present, and then wisdom takes hold and we understand that we can’t go back. Going back is self-betrayal.

When you see this on someone’s face or hear it in their questions, you understand what this work is all about. It isn’t about the research, the studying you’ve done that has delivered you to this point in time. It is about the gift of standing with someone in their courage, and having your eyes opened to their sun dance. I can’t claim this dance; all I can do is witness what is now, and hope for what will become.

I entered therapy to grow, to change, and to discover my own path in life. I became a therapist for reasons I thought were good, and I thought that I would walk a different path than I have walked. Tonight, as I type these words, I marvel at my own journey and maybe, just maybe, I’m doing my own dance in the sun.

As I sit here, the tears come, and I’m gratified by them. They are tears of joy and thankfulness. I’ve been given a gift of a dance in the sun, and I feel alive!

Who I’m Becoming

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Soul Peace and Journeys

Lately, I’ve been on a spree of noticing the good people in the world. As I’ve put the sledgehammer down, it has opened up a pathway to the understanding that there are so many good souls in the world. This is liberating! I’ve noticed that focusing on the good in the world is creating space within me to reduce stress. That is a huge discovery for me.

The path that I’ve been walking since making the transition from the Eight who was the warrior to the Eight who is learning to see the world from its peaceful and gentler place is illuminating. In the past few months, my life has become calmer and more creative, and I’ve seen the old rainbow in powerful new ways. I’m finding I’m an all-around better soul for the switch. I see more goodness in the world, and in the general population as a whole. I see more goodness in myself. The feedback from others is that they are seeing it in me.

I’m willing to offer up more generosity and new ways of viewing others’ actions. This doesn’t mean I’m an easy sale. I can still question and think things through. There are still ways that I’m a skeptic. I choose to question my assumptions and to pause to act from trust and insight. I’m trying to think before I “fire” at someone. The joke about enneagram type Eights is that we speak or “fire” before we should. While we don’t do this all of the time, we do do it, and I’ve noticed that my stress levels are down. I need to work on getting better at it.

I’m open to the positive of less stress and more peace. While talking with my spiritual director, I mentioned that what I’m feeling is a good “weird,” and that I like it. It is growth that I thought I’d never do. I was invested in my Eight type in so many ways. Growth in every way is good. What makes the growth journey so worth the price we pay for doing the work is that there is always a wonderful surprise hidden inside. I’ll take mine with a creamy chocolate center filled with mint. This reminds me that I need to run to my favorite chocolate shoppe for a taste of what I love to celebrate with. Self-care is important.

I admit that in many ways I’m stumped by all of this, and I don’t know what to think or write. 

Enneagram type Eight behaviors stem from feelings of needing to protect others as well as ourselves. We are vigilant warriors who observe those around us. In our not-so-healthy places, we don’t stop to ask ourselves, or others, if they want our protection. We react. We skip the ready and aim, and we jump straight to the fire portion. And then we pay a price.

Recently, I tried to protect someone who didn’t want me to step in to protect them. I realized what I’d done, and in noticing the error of my ways, I am attempting to notice when I feel the urge to do this unwanted firing thing.

I’m learning to offer up space that allows for someone to do what they would do without my interference. Oh my, I’m learning from my mother. She was good at setting this boundary with herself and others. While she had her share of stress with two disabled children, she didn’t have time to cross the boundary with others.

As I think about all of this, I wonder why I didn’t see it sooner. I didn’t see it sooner because I didn’t understand what I was doing, and how it affected me and others. Sometimes, the only way to create change in ourselves is to do the thing in such a way that we can’t help but notice it. The last few weeks I’ve been noticing the not-so-helpful behaviors. I’m not embarrassed; I’m thankful that I at least caught myself in the process and can begin to change it all.

Often, when people catch themselves going to these uncomfortable places, the tendency is to run a negative script that berates the self. I have a family member who would exclaim, “I’m an idiot.” While it was said in humor, it wasn’t, and isn’t, funny. By now my regular readers know what’s coming: cut yourself a bit of slack and practice some grace for yourself.

How do I fix things? The first step is recognizing that there are no bad people, and that mistakes are present for us to learn from them. As we learn, we can do better. It helps to step back and think of someone in our life who showed us they cared about us. We can ask ourselves if they would want us to get into a place of blaming ourselves.

Breaking the negative cycle of self-talk is difficult, and the longer we put it off, the more it builds within us.

Changing requires getting feedback from those you can trust. It doesn’t take a village to offer the feedback: a few good people who you respect and trust will do the job. One observation is that the more we can learn to trust ourselves, the more we can create an attitude of trusting others. I realize trust is an entirely different post. Trust is about creating solid relationships, and relationships take time, and hard work. Relationships are a good place to learn and grow, and they are a place where we should be free to make mistakes. Relationships are laboratories of learning. We become more of ourselves when we engage with others. Who I’m becoming is a better person, and that is good enough.  

The Because Place

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights

How does it feel to not be believed? Think about it for a minute. It’s infuriating and humiliating, and it can raise self-doubt. When another human being or institution denies someone’s reality, there is something wrong.

I had to go into the hospital yet again, and yet again deal with people who did not believe me about having bad veins. Once again, medical staff proceeded to make multiple attempts to start an IV. They left me bruised and looking like I was the victim of domestic abuse. I kept telling them to go in with an echo, find a vein, and all would go smoothly. Finally, they did just that. I should have been believed. As I write this, my right hand is still injured and there is pain when I touch it. It has been over a week.

The multiple attempts at IV placement caused me to feel so many emotions. The question I ask is this: Why don’t medical personnel learn to believe a patient’s reality? I wasn’t spinning a tale. I was telling them outright that there is a right and a wrong way to do this with my sorry veins.

Believing the Person

My clients are important to me, and believing their reality is also important. As a therapist, I honor the realities clients present. Sometimes the reality is skewed in some manner, and my job is to help the person see it clearly. I need to call it out. Sometimes I’m gentle, and at other times I’m blunt. What people fail to think about is that they are paying me to enable them to make life changes, and sometimes the change process requires me to point out some uncomfortable realities and have people sit with them. It isn’t easy sitting in the shadows.

Shadow work is the hardest work of all. It requires of us the ability to sit in uncertainty. We don’t know where we’re headed. Much like crossing Styx, we must journey to the new shore to discover what our soul’s treasure is deep within. This journey is voluntary, and it is one we make multiple times in our lives because shadows are a constant.

My hospital stay has put me in a place of looking at what I know about myself, and the truth of my physical state. Due to PXE, my veins have taken a powder. I might build them back up with walking, and it will take time. My treadmill is waiting for me. How do I deal with not being believed from the beginning? I now have a shot of what my hand looks like. You’ve seen it. I plan on showing it as evidence, and not consenting to an IV unless it is done without trauma and pain. There is a time when a person must say “ENOUGH!!!” I’ve reached that point in time.

Validation

What do you do when your reality isn’t validated? The gift of being heard is the greatest gift we can give to each other. To stand as a witness of another’s truth, and to validate another human, is a powerful happening in any life. It is the title of this blog, and I will forever be thankful to Jon’s psychiatrist for the validation he offered me.

I wish validation were the norm. I wish that children who disclosed abuse were always heard, believed, and protected. I wish women who suffer the daily insult of abuse in all of its forms were always heard, believed, and helped to find their way out of such relationships. I want for people who see the moon purple to not have to argue their reality—even if it is impossible. Somewhere in their words there is a truth that much be heard. I think of my five Anns, and how important it is to hold every person in high regard.

I believe that more often than we think, we fail to validate each other. People are left to sift through the experience on their own. It is hard work, and it is made more difficult when the lack of validation causes one to fantasize about ways of getting back at someone. I’ve found in sitting with my hospital experience that finding an evidence-based response is helpful. 

Here are some tips for how to get deeper into the self:

  • Play detective with yourself by asking questions.
  • Become a kid and keep asking why. “Why?” is a curious question. Sometimes the why question takes us “I don’t know.” This leads us to the BECAUSE place. “Because” leads us to realization due to the fact that it can be a place where we think we’ve hit a brick wall, and in facing that wall we push just a wee bit and dislodge one of the bricks. Once that happens, other things fall, and suddenly we have more information than we ever thought we’d have.
  • Sometimes sitting with the non-validating aspects of our lives moves us to new places. It isn’t that we didn’t need the validation. It is that the lack thereof requires us to rise in defense of ourselves and take constructive action. Rosa Parks and the Civil Rights actions are a great example of this. An entire race, blacks in the US, shouted in unison, “No more!” While this is a highly simplified explanation for one event during the Civil Rights Movement, deep reading and exploration of its planning will show its genesis to have been well thought out. Sitting with the question, and realizing its solution within ourselves, can cause an upheaval. Movement is good.
  • Sitting with it all is about being on the way to someplace else. We discover in our process of thought, and deeper reflection, that going deep inside is rewarding, and getting to the “because” of it all is a process of liberation.

It is true that some statements are easy, and others require time to sort out. Find a therapist if you need to.

The bruising from the multiple IV attempts hasn’t turned to the lighter colors yet, and there is still tenderness around each of them. I have the shot, and in a weird kind of way it is a multi-level touchstone. The thought process that spans out like a web began because of lack of validation, and it has carried me to new points on the horizon because I got a brick to leave the wall.

Slow-Cooked Relationships

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights

I’m stating this up front: I’m going to write on the state of relationships. Really, I have to bring this up because I’ve started laughing about two statements that have changed with time.

Statement 1: “This relationship is no longer serving me well.”

In the past this would have been put into words such as this: “I don’t think we’re right for each other.”

Here are some other things the statement could be about: We all grow, and hopefully grow together. In saying that, I must also state that a couple’s growth is most likely at varying speeds, and in differing areas. When we merge, it is unifying, and then the growth and exploration cycle begins anew. There is no end to growth, as it is the stuff life is made of.

Growth in a relationship stops when both partners fail to hold space for the other to explore. When we fail to consider the needs of our partner and understand that they are on their own schedule, and so are we, we prevent progress and halt the growth process. When we stop wanting to expand our knowledge base, we might fall out of sync with the one we’re with.  

Jon and I shared a value of self-improvement. For us it was important to be in motion in this area. The relationship might not work if you are mismatched in this area.

Can people change? Yes. Can relationships end? Yes. My experience in seeing relationships end is that they got together for the wrong reasons in the first place. This also falls into the “We may not be right for each other” category.

While going through my own faith deconstruction, I witnessed couples who had married for the wrong reason: a church. As beliefs and values were explored, these couples awoke to the sad reality that, while they might be friends, the marriage they were in was all wrong because the reason for its existence was wrong. It wasn’t that they grew apart: they had never been together. They were a mismatched couple, and getting out changed it all.

I think there is a difference between a relationship not serving you well and a relationship that you’ve come to understand is based on differing values. Meeting each other’s needs, and communicating that to each other, is a major part of the relationship process. It is a dance of weaving in and out. It is a dance of joy and celebration, and it is difficult to make it happen correctly. Each dancer must do their part.

We enter relationships as individuals and slowly come to understand the needs of each other because we talk, learn, and ask questions. We come to understand how to meet each other’s needs. Assume nothing until you inquire of the person.

I believe that one of the things that has happened in the past two decades is that people have become complacent. We’ve forgotten that good things take time and there are no shortcuts. We’ve settled for fast or instant everything instead of savoring a slow-cooked soup that has simmered for hours. This fast pace has caused relationships to end rapidly. The “getting to know you process” is like the slow cooker that spreads its scent throughout the entire house. It creates anticipation and desire, as well as curiosity. Slow cooking a relationship is a wonderful thing!

Relationships, no matter what type they may be, should create healthy spaces for all, and when those spaces are not there, the reasons for the lack thereof need to be explored by everyone involved. This is why a healthy understanding of red-flag issues for ourselves, and for others, is an essential part of the relationship formation process.

The notion that opposites attract comes to mind here. Personally, I’ve never seen that to be the case in a deep and long-lasting relationship. Healthy relationships are built on common values and hold space for differing views. We can come to respect a person for challenging us in constructive ways. One of the things that I appreciated about Jon was that he would challenge my thinking, and it was the type of challenge that enabled me to clarify my own thoughts and values. I was confronted with my own need to do some deep exploration into my own thoughts and beliefs about my past faith tradition. We both did this, and it enriched our relationship.

I take all of my relationships seriously. I value them, and have chosen a small group of people that I take delight in rather than many who I can’t know well. I’ll admit that finding that things aren’t a match is usually a sad place to have to go to for me.

Statement 2: “We need to take our relationship to the next level.”

This one really makes me laugh and cry at the same time. What? What does this mean anyway? Are you playing a game? Does it mean that you are going exclusive, or that you want to move in together or marry? Twenty years ago you might have sat down and asked each other about how you felt about the other person.

I have a cousin who was dating five guys at the same time. She liked them all. The guys, on the other hand, wanted to spend more time with her. Back in the late ’70s, that meant “dropping” someone. And so, she got honest with herself, cut it to three guys, then two, and then one. Her ability to face the issue honestly created a lifelong relationship. Her ability to sort out what she wanted and needed in a vetting process enabled her to make a choice she was happy with.

It isn’t a game. Deepening our relationships is, as I’ve stated above, a process. It is two sided.

US relationship culture is different from European relationship culture. For some reason, maybe it was my father’s relative proximity to a German community that held those values for our family, even though we were in the US. My older siblings and I were fairly exclusive in our relationships from the beginning of each. Jon and I were exclusive from the beginning. We set some ground rules. We were also in our mid thirties when we met, and then married four years later.

Like my cousin, US culture tends to promote fun and loose connections at first. Putting yourself out on the “market” is a thing. Is it any wonder that people struggle with finding a match?

This brings me to my confession: I’m doing my work so that I can find someone new. I expect that I’ll go exclusive as I did before. For me, it’s about values. It’s about saying it straight. I do exclusive, one at a time. I’m not playing a game here because relationships are not a game.

Seasons (Revisit)

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights

With Autumn here at last, my thoughts turn to this post, originally published in 2020. Enjoy!!!! 

-Gail

The air was crisp and the trees were colorful. I was happy because my favorite season of the year was present. Autumn was present in every form including the warm colors of clothing that I loved so much.

For me autumn is what I like best about the year. The northern California Indian-summer days, and the crisp feel that you get when you are out and about, are wonderful. As a child, going back to school—which I didn’t like because I had to stop reading what I wanted—was only tolerable because it meant AUTUMN was in the air. For me the world was then, and is now, perfect in the autumn.

As you age, the seasons melt into the cycles of time. The playfulness of life and a budding spring and its excitement give way to the learning of summer. Oh, and summer is filled with exploration and the joys and perils of adventure: the challenges and joys of learning on your own, as you discover that the lessons of young childhood and early adulthood must become a basis for your fast-but-seemingly-slowly-approaching full onset of adulthood. There might be some true “yikes” moments during summer. Those “yikes” moments, when you catch yourself about to make a life decision that is better rethought, can be a good thing. “Yikes” means that you are aware of what is going on!!!!

Summer brings discovery of your real “self” emerging into view. Summer also brings a desire to have it all. You don’t want to see it end. You want to play hard and never see the sun go down. Summer brings a growth that you learn from trial and error. The lessons of spring and the early summer remain with you as you feel the time now fast approaching when autumn is on the way.

If you’ve had those yikes-type moments, and have taken the time to repair what needed fixing, you are in good shape now.

Autumn is the season of wisdom. Autumn is the time when the lessons of a young spring and summer are played out. Autumn is a time of realization, regrets, new focuses in life, and a time of hopes, as well as sorrows. Before autumn ends, and the onslaught of winter comes with its powerful resolution to destroy all that you hold dear, you must navigate through the autumn.

Autumn is, in a sense, “karma collection,” or payback. Realizing that I could have made better choices has only come because I made the not-so-good choices. I took risks in life. The thing about autumn is that you can’t turn back. And, you can’t avoid it, because everything we do in life has a price attached. You must adapt, accept, let the leaves of autumn fall, and move on.

Autumn still offers me time to change, to learn, and to grow. I love autumn! Raking up autumn’s leaves is important, and like it is for a child who jumps in the pile of leaves (you know, the one he or she is told NOT to jump in), it can be exhilarating. I like to inventory the leaves and really see what is there. I learn from this inventory and that is always good. I love the process of change, even though, at times, change is an unwanted aspect of life. Getting through the trials of change still brings me hope. I am better for it.

As I now reflect on my spring, and the innocence in which I lived it, I’m amazed I did as well as I did. I look at my life and realize that it has had its challenges. Challenge is what it’s about. I’m not always thankful for that which has kicked me from behind or punched me in the front. But, I can honestly say that I’ve knocked down the walls that have sprung up in my path. Tearful days and nights have made me stronger and wiser when it comes to life. It is the mistakes that make you think about the new stuff in a self-confrontational manner.

If my spring was innocent, my summer was an adventure in learning. By being able to make both good and bad choices, and dealing with the consequences of those choices, I grew. Summer is a time when the life bank account is in “deposit mode,” and what you put in will, in the future, be withdrawn. You will have to pay for your summer. Some payments will work well, and others will hurt like having a tooth pulled without the Novocain. Life is like that, and you can’t turn from it. Sooner or later, the crisp days of autumn roll around and you enter that time when all accounts begin to go into “withdrawal mode.”

I am amazed when I hear someone say that they really haven’t had any challenging stuff happen in life. I wonder to myself what they haven’t been doing. The fact is, life is a series of challenges. Making mistakes is a good thing because it can mean that you are engaged in the life process. Learning from your mistakes means that you are progressing and committed to doing better as you move through life. Autumn is that time of the year when one can reflect.

I’ve come to the serious conclusion that few are blessed with all the wisdom they need to make life decisions at 20 or even 25 years old, and yet that is what is demanded of the young. I hear of more and more adults in their 40s or 50s who embrace the unknown of what they really want to do. They are happier for it. Autumn is a time to rethink, to take a risk, and to change the course of life. “If only I knew” becomes “Why not?”

Autumn is when you realize that it isn’t “too late” or “hopeless.” Grab the brass ring and do it!!!

Healing from the springs and summers of life makes everything more valuable. Reflection during our autumns causes us to sober up, to appreciate our youth for what it was, and to anticipate the future for what we can create as vibrant adults. Whether we’ve done it well enough in the past, or are choosing to do it well at this point in life, autumn is that time of life.

I’ve learned via observation that those who seem more at peace during their winters are those who have challenged themselves during their autumns. They are actively enjoying the lives they’ve built, and face with dignity the storms that life will still produce. I will always cherish what each autumn brings to me.

As I look out my window and notice the sun’s changing position, and feel the lowering temperature, I know that once again my favorite season is approaching. Autumn, with its crisp days and warmer colors, is just around the corner. I can’t wait.

Eight

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Soul Peace and Journeys

Two years ago, I began to attend courses on the enneagram. I’m a type eight. Yes, the one that so many look at as “the worst.” But I don’t agree. I claim who I am proudly! Others have differing personality types with their strengths and weaknesses. I’ll own mine.

When I first read the description of an eight, I was repelled. It didn’t feel flattering. I did not want to see it, let alone identify as an eight. It took me some time to accept that I am all of it, the ugly along with the great things, and there are so many wonderful things about who I am!

The enneagram is a spiritual growth tool. One of the benefits of using the enneagram is that a person can learn to work on the not-so-healthy parts of themselves and move forward into health. This is the journey we are all on: self-discovery and improvement. I embrace this journey fully.   

This last week I was asked by another course attendee what I liked about being an eight. To answer the question, I decided to write this post.

When I first read about who eights are personality-wise, all I could see in the words were the negatives. To tell you all the truth, I readily identified with the harshness that we as type eights can hold ourselves to. I possess an inner critic that pushes me to do my best. I’m not a perfectionist: I require that I do my best, and that I be satisfied with being good enough. I’ve really had to work on this part of myself. Accepting ourselves as good enough is a battle because society tries to force a belief that perfection must be achieved at all costs. I disagree, and see the damage that perfectionism can cause. Let there be “good enough” and let it begin with me.

I am thankful that my “knowing” can also cause me to question. I believe that this quality enables me to sit with the uncertainties, and to learn more about what I once thought were absolute truths. I like that in a crisis situation, I can respond with the ability to provide a workable solution.

We’re leaders, and sometimes we fall into the trap of protecting those whom we see as vulnerable in negative ways. We can also speak to the need to protect the vulnerable and hold deep compassion for their struggles. I’m becoming aware of when this is healthy, and when it isn’t such a good thing.

I like the way in which I’m challenged to confront myself in the mirror of life. I believe one of the strengths we as eights have is to come out of our denial, and to look at our weaknesses. We might spend time fighting the truth about ourselves, and when we embrace what we must embrace, we dig in deep and work to understand ourselves better. I really like this about myself.

I don’t like that there is a part of me that goes to vengeance. I do this when I feel the need to protect myself or others. It is ugly. I’m coming to understand that in challenging my need to protect, and to mount the campaign to go to war over what I perceive as unjust, I first need to look inside and explore myself before I aim and fire.

Which leads me to the fact that we as eights have a tendency to fire first before we even aim or are ready to aim. We can be dense and asleep to how our harsh reactions can affect the fragile souls of others. When we come to understand what our actions may be doing to someone, we can challenge ourselves to that part of ourselves that desires to protect in healthy, compassionate ways. Understanding the enneagram is enabling me to be kind and gentle to myself. I can use my two arrow to give to myself in softer and gentler ways. I can drop into my five arrow, which I do often. I use this arrow to observe myself and others. My five arrow is one of the things I credit to bringing balance to the eight within.

I like the part of me that will explore and is curious. I like the fact that people know that I’m dependable. I also understand that if I set a boundary or a limit to what I can take on in life, it is understood that I’m at my limit.

I am learning to trust in new ways. I like the fact that my vulnerability teaches me that I can do this hard thing.

I have done the activism that I’ve needed to do in my life, and I listen to the call to change my life direction and to try a new path. I’m excited for this new thing. I sense that this is the best thing about eights: when we’ve done the work around our knowing and can sense our new direction, we can and do act boldly.

I love being an eight!   

Adult Work Is Life Work

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Living With Disability

This weekend I spent several hours completing some Continuing Education Units (CEU), so that I can renew my license. I’m at the point in the process where I’ve done the required courses and can now attend to the exploration of new things. This is where the fun of learning comes in. This time around, my focus on deepening learning took me to learning something I know something but not enough about: LGBTQ2s or LGBTQIA+, the choice is yours. 

I have friends and know people who claim identity in this community. I work with those who claim residency in the LGBTQ2s community. The weekend of learning was helpful, and I learned some things I didn’t know from an instructor who really knows his stuff. It was time well spent. 

All of this got me thinking about the process of coming out to oneself, and to others. Coming out isn’t a one-time event: it is a constant. There is risk in uttering the sentence that includes the words “I’m lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans or queer.” The person speaking those words in a conversation of one or one hundred is putting themself out there in a way that you might never have to, or need to, do. It’s a risk. Then I got to thinking about my own truths. 

I’ve been a part of the disabled community all my life. How much do those I work with and associate with really understand about my daily life and what it takes to do what I do? 

I’ve made mention here that I have a spiritual life. I don’t talk about it; it’s private. We’re in a time of Lent, and this season I felt the need to add to the process rather than fast from something. I added in the need to interact more, and in many ways come out fully as the disabled person that I am. My faith community accepts everyone. LGBTQ2s, the person of color, and the disabled. At times it challenges us to have some difficult conversations. Last night, after a month of services around service and giving, and bringing in the voices of my sisters who are disabled and a part of this community, I came out. 

Speaking my truth was soul wrenching. It took six takes to produce a video that I could share—a video where the tears weren’t streaming down my cheeks. A video in which I let anger, but not rage, show. A video where I could speak my heart and soul, and let the words stand. It was raw. I’ve done raw before, and this was raw. 

Most of the time, when the disabled explain their disability, we tend to work up a pleasant presentation that informs and instructs. This wasn’t that type of pitch. This caused me to really think about what I wanted to say, and not say. Still, at the end of the service, I found myself sitting with the tears streaming down my cheeks. I’m still raw. 

Coming out is about sharing, embracing, and being embraced. Coming out is also about risking something new, and discovering where the support in your village resides: who will stay, who might need to leave. And leaving the village has to be an option for safety reasons. At some point, the former resident may do the work needed to return as a productive village member. Hold the option of leaving and returning, and the hard conversations around that as a possibility: it happens. 

If coming out is a process, it is also seasonal. We mourn in different ways throughout our lives; we reframe, rethink, and return to explore places we thought had been completely explored and thought through. In our exploring we discover new ways of being, and new places to dig deeper. The work of life is not done until the last breath is taken. 

If the work of life is never completed, if coming out to ourselves and to others is always a work in progress, what options do we have to get on with the work in all of its wonderfulness? How do we embrace the joyous, work through the difficulties, resolve, rediscover, and then move forward?

There are two ways that I will talk about. Both versions of self-discovery are useful. Both can lead to the same outcome. Both are lifelong. The first is to find a therapist who does long-term growth or insight work. This is about depth, and not running from your personal truth. It is about putting someone on your payroll who will walk with you as you discover the places in your life that you need to move to. It has nothing to do with behavior and everything to do with relationships. The greatest area of focus will become the relationship you’ve built with yourself. 

The second option centers around spiritual direction. Spiritual directors, like therapists, have various areas of focus. As our spirituality is as individual as we are, so is the direction. This isn’t about an authoritarian person telling you what to do: this is about you discovering how spirituality is working in your life, and where you are feeling pulled, led, or, for some people, called. It works the same way as therapy in that we sit and talk. Maybe I light a candle, ring a sound bowl, or offer a prayer, if that is what the person desires. Sometimes we both sit in silence and reflect on what has been said. The sessions usually happen once per month, last an hour, or sometimes longer. SD is a place that is well suited to come out to yourself on multiple issues. If you need to do some therapy around something, you’ll be told to seek out a good therapist to do that portion of the work. 

Both therapy and direction can focus on the spiritual if the therapist has the ability to do spiritual work. SD, on the other hand, doesn’t touch that type of change or “fixing.” Directors don’t look to fix. 

I now realize that my life would have been deeply enriched by spiritual direction. I’m glad I know of it and can offer direction as part of what I do. 

At the end of this writing session, I sigh, breathe deeply, scan my body to see where I’ve gone, and how I feel. Not so raw, and somewhere else. Where have I moved? I don’t know. There will be more to come on this, I’m sure.