Join me on a journey: Roundabout to truth telling

Posted on May 21, 2013 by Stephanie at Visible and Real

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about Beth’s recent post, In which I stop silencing myself and tell you the truth. And I want to write about those thoughts, though I keep finding myself wandering away from writing this e and on to other places (like Facebook and Ravelry).

I know that it’s fear that keeps me from responding, writing my own Truth Telling post. So, let’s take the roundabout way.

I have three days off from my part-time job and from my graduate assistantship, because today, I was slated for jury duty. I had my summons set out, had chosen the book I was going to take with me (Fool Moon by Jim Butcher), my clothes ready for the morning. And then, Sarah reminded me to call in and see if my selection number was needed. Confused, I didn’t understand that, though I got the summons, I might not be called. And when I checked, my number wasn’t one who had to report.

I’d spent all of Monday keeping in mind that the next day or two would be filled with being in the courts, doing my citizenry duty. Now, here I had two full days with nothing planned. (I may have hyperventilated, just a little bit.)

As you know, I’ve been on the go a lot recently. Finishing the semester, working my new job, working as a graduate assistant, having some side work for a professor, cooking, working on putting a publication out there (it was rejected for the second time, but with a really nice “No, thank you” letter). I’ve been struggling to find balance, to find a way to take care of myself and still get everything done, wearing all of the hats currently required of me. There hasn’t been much unplanned time.

Now, I had two days ahead of me with nothing planned. All of the things I had to do – or could then schedule – started vying for my attention. Yet, there was a small part of me whispering, “How about writing? Meditating? Journaling? Reading? Something fun?” Because, to be honest – I’ve been tired. No amount of sleeping has been helping. It’s been a bone deep tired where I’m feeling burnt out and unable to deal with much beyond the required. (Even some of that has fallen to the side.)

So, after a three and a half hour nap this morning, I decided to spend time with my journal – not just writing, but collaging (also known as dreamboarding, except I wasn’t as specific about it – I simply looked for images that spoke to me). I spent time asking questions like “What helps me celebrate yes?” and “What inspires you?”

I looked for what felt rejuvenating and I followed that path. Yesterday, I had wandered a craft store and picked up a few scrapbooking items and a roll of washi tape (I’ve never played with it). Again, I went with whatever seemed appropriate at the time.

It felt refreshing, just to play, not think about what the words were saying or how it all was put together. So it wasn’t perfect… that was okay.

And here’s where the truth hits the screen: There are times the balanced, grateful, all-put-together self just isn’t there. And I don’t like sharing when I’m like that. (Even though I know it’s as much a part of my story as the all-put-together parts. Perhaps, the not-so-put-together self is even more important to share, to remind myself and others that it’s not about perfection or put together. It’s about the life that’s really being lived, in the here and now.)

You all know that I don’t like sharing when I’m there – how much have I really posted the past few weeks? Yeah, part of it is schedule, but the other part of it? Fear, rearing its head. Fear, taking hold and telling me that whatever it is on my mind is not worth sharing. Fear, telling me that it wouldn’t be appropriate.

What would you think of me, if you saw this? What judgment would there be? When things don’t look so put together, when it’s curling edges of journal and ripped pieces of paper? When it’s misused washi tape, regardless of how I felt making it? It wasn’t perfect. What would you think?

I talk about balance, about self-care, about the importance of storytelling. And yet, I can’t/don’t always practice them with ease. So I worry that labels of hypocrite (and worse) will be slung toward me. So I choose to not write. Because I could find time, you know? Rather than letting fear hold tight, I could simply breathe and be real, tell my story as it is happening.

Because isn’t that what being visible and real is about? Giving “shape to the face / That twists inside both you and me”?

That face isn’t always perfectly put together. And that’s okay. This is life.

This is life, lived. Full of imperfection and uncertainty and doubt.

Weekend Treats

Posted on April 13, 2013 by Stephanie at Visible and Real

Another busy week this week (heading into the end of the semseter). So the links are few, but here are a few to keep you thinking!

Links of the Week

50 Self-Care Ideas from Back to Her Roots
Cassie is an awesome health and wellness blogger. In this post, she tackles the emotional side of health and wellness. (I love the line that it’s not just about eating kale and burning calories.) I also appreciated that she challenges us to make our own list!

Relax! You’re Already Ok. Also: Pimp Suits from Feed Me Darling
A fantastic reminder of what “doing epic shit” often looks like.

My Seven Cures for Creative Block from Judy Clement Wall
This is one to tuck in my back pocket.

On Being a Teacher from Susannah Conway
A post that resonates for me – on so many levels.

Musical Interlude

After writing the post on storytelling over at M. Fenn’s blog, I’ve been thinking about the story I need to tell – that’s prompting me to push against uncreation. This song (and its video, actually) always serve as a reminder of the story and are prompts to write it. Enjoy The Royal We by Silversun Pickups.

Weekend Prompting

Thinking about the trip we’re taking this weekend – and what I’ve worked to do to make it an actual trip away and not as stressful as it might have been otherwise, this question seems appropriate:

What do you need to do to take care of yourself in this moment?

Guest Post: Discovering Worth and Rewriting the Ending

Posted on April 12, 2013 by Stephanie at Visible and Real

When I received this guest post from Clair from Canffirmations, I knew I couldn’t not share it today. (So, check for Weekend Treats tomorrow!)

I first met Clair when I was in my second year of my first graduate degree and he was a first year. I appreciated the care that Clair brought to conversations. I also remember really appreciating his presence in our often chaotic graduate office (one office, ten to twelve high-achieving graduate students). I’ve recently gotten back in touch with him, via Canffirmations, and I’ve appreciaetd that we share a deep interest in and commitment to authenticity (and exploring the challenges that come with that). You can find him writing at Canffirmations, on Twitter (@Canffirmations), and on Facebook.

~*~*~*~

They laughed at me. I bled words onto paper from whatever depth was in my five year old heart, and they laughed at me. I was unprotected, emotionally naked and the shame washed over me hot and sticky. Humiliation. A secret note with my feelings etched in prose and slid into the desk of the prettiest girl in kindergarten was a secret no more. The scornful sound spread across the playground and rang in my years.

How do I make sense of this? I had never experienced a moment so emotionally intense. The vulnerability of seeking connection and the pain of public rejection. They were all looking at me and I had nowhere to run. I wanted to hide, better yet, disappear completely. Relocation program? Can I start over? It is the first week of school and I never want to be seen again. I told her how I felt and her response came in a chorus of laugher while her voice remained silent. What was I thinking?

I suppose I could have made sense of this in any number of ways but I chose shame fueled by unworthiness. Something must be wrong with me. I do not deserve love because I am not worthy of it. These thoughts came subtly built over time from experiences that reinforced the feelings of that day. A bit dramatic? Perhaps. Did it even happen like I remember it? So many years have passed I could never really know. What I can be certain of is that the pieces of that story that flash into my mind are seared with strong emotions that refuse to be denied.

The everyday consequences of a collection of experiences that reinforced those feelings is that I have struggled to fully connect in secure ways to others for many years. My memories from childhood until now are framed not by work or the many years of schooling, rather it is always through the relationships I was in, or not in.

Without a clear sense of my own value and self-worth my ability to love others will remain within the limits of how I love myself. Only then can I be completely open and there for another person. I am not aware of a how-to guide on developing a sense of worthiness. Perhaps it is part of everyone’s journey to discover for themselves, but it is most assuredly part of my journey.

My daily practice of discovering worthiness has begun with the unraveling of how the web of unworthiness has permeated my life. It silences me, stifles the expression of emotion, avoids any hint of conflict, wraps me in the fear of failure, demands perfection, and leaves the burden of responsibility for the success or failure of any relationship squarely on my unworthy and incapable shoulders…… I want to scream Lies, LIES, LIES!! Every statement a poisonous denial of what I know is true, yet each word resonates and finds purchase in a dark place that gives space for those words to dwell. They hide there and then echo inside me with each disappointment or defeat I experience. A sinister but convincing voice that whispers, “you are not enough.”

It is a hard practice for me to recognize those voices and accept that they are not in line with my authentic self. I am learning to hear those voices not as the truth of who I am, but rather the cries for help from places inside me that have been wounded, broken, and beaten down. I can hear those voices as a reminder that until I own my story I do not have the power to write the ending.

I choose to believe that my worthiness is not something that I have to earn or search for, but rather I merely need to claim. I will continue to practice unraveling the web of unworthiness that keeps me stuck and the claiming of my own self-worth. I will not shrink from the pain of past memories. I will own my story. I will share that story and watch as the power of the shame it heaped upon me in secrecy is washed away in the company of those I choose to share it with.

***

Thank you for hearing me and taking time to walk with me on my journey for a few moments. The journey is so much nicer together!

Clair

Guest Post: Sometimes I Notice I’ve Run Away

Posted on April 11, 2013 by Stephanie at Visible and Real

I have the pleasure of sharing another guest post today!

Much as it was a surprise to think about how long M. Fenn and I have known each other, it was a “Wow!” moment when I realized that Erika and I have known each other for over 10 years. We met while both in undergrad at a small liberal arts college. Throughout the time I’ve known Erika, I truly appreciate her curiosity and the gentle and clear ways she understands her world. She brings that same voice to Visible and Real today, talking about practice. A dancer, yarn and cat wrangler, professor, and all around wonderful soul, you can also find her writing over at her account on Dreamwidth.

~*~*~*~

I’ve been away from the dance floor for a little while, and it is starting to show.

I have had good reasons – company visiting, and sickness, and car trouble, and choosing to get enough sleep before sliding into another week of teaching.

I have been juggling that list of things that are all, somehow, my very top priority. There is class prep and grading and showing up for my students. There’s hitting the pattern of medication, sleep, eating well, and moving to take good care of my body. There is time carved out for myself, to be by myself, with books and cat and yarn and music and TV and silence, so I don’t become completely unhinged. There is work that is professional but longer term, pulling papers together, and getting ready for the job market again. And there is dance.

I have been several different kinds of dancer over the years. I took tap and ballet in elementary school. I dance at rock concerts and dances. I started to belly dance in graduate school as a refuge – an hour a week where bodies were important, instead of just brains – and eventually found myself performing. And then I found the 5Rhythms practice, where we dance (in part) because our bodies have things to say, and movement is their language.

I dance to check in with myself. To see where my body is – energetic, in pain, tentative, balanced, lost. To find out what my body needs to tell me. To really be who I am right in the moment. To witness the story that only I can tell, even if I don’t really have the words. When I am practicing regularly, when I manage to get myself on the dance floor reasonably often, it feels like home. It is a deep sigh of relief to take off my shoes, hear the music, feel my feet, and move.

But I’ve been away from the dance floor for a little while. An empty, quiet dance studio is a lot like a blank page, and all the empty space there is intimidating. I never know what I’m going to find in the dance, and right now that’s scary, rather than an invitation to go find out. How will I move when I haven’t for so long? What if in the month I haven’t been showing up, I’ve forgotten how to move? What will come out of my dance? When I’m out of practice, how will I handle what’s there? How can I pile something possibly overwhelming onto an already tall pile of too much?

There’s inertia, too. I’ve survived this past month without dancing. I even made good choices about choosing not to dance in the face of other things, and had good days, doing things that weren’t dancing. So maybe I’m too busy this Sunday, too. Maybe I need that time for other things. Brains are tricksy and sly.

But I’ve been here before. And I know that my body is worthy of the trust I give it when I step onto the dance floor. That my feet have taken me incredible places, but they’ve never taken me too far too fast. That movement is what bodies do when we give them permission; that there’s nothing to forget. That if I give my body space to speak, it will use gentle words and tell me things that are worth knowing. I know that dancing makes me more whole, more centered, more capable. I know that there are ways to be that are better than survival.

And so I start to persuade myself back onto the dance floor. The semester is coming to a close, but it’s not ending NOW. I’ll set the alarm for Sunday morning, and will try not to turn it off. Maybe I’ll usher myself into bed at a sane time Saturday night. And maybe, this week, I’ll find myself moving on a dance floor by the ocean. And if not this week, almost certainly the next. Because my practice is big – and maybe part of what I learn is that it’s flexible enough to let me live all of my life, and will be there, again, when the cracks start to show.

Through the Glass Backwards: Snapshots and Memories

Posted on April 10, 2013 by Stephanie at Visible and Real

English: A photo of a Voigtlander Vito II camera with a 8-speed Prontor-S shutter model made in 1954. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Snapshot: Leaning out of the window and asking how she was. Her face lit up, her sparkling eyes. “He told me he loved me!” Handing her her coffee and smiling the rest of the day.

Snapshot: You telling me how hard it’s been, years before. Then learning you’d died. The circumstances did not surprise me. Rather, it’s how much you come back to me these days, popping into my head for no reason. Feeling deep sadness, one I can’t explain.

Snapshot: The crash to the concrete, the way I limped home. Now, the way the jeans rub against scabs that are still healing, having to be gentle, but wanting to go back out for a run. Test the wings, test myself. Learning to trust my feet again.

Snapshot: Licking ice cream cones in the parking lot, windows rolled down, talking about the things we haven’t said and the things that have been important to us. The air smelled like sunshine.

Snapshot: Underlining text with a pencil, wondering how to apply it, how to keep opening myself to learning while also remembering what has come before. The struggle between storytelling and the righting reflex, wanting and needing to find a balance.

Pushing Against Uncreation

Posted on April 9, 2013 by Stephanie at Visible and Real

Today, I have the immense joy to be guest posting over at skinnier than it is wide, where fantastic writer M. Fenn blogs. Remember when I said we met due to a love of The Dark Tower series?

I’m writing about one of my favourite messages/themes from the series. Go on over!

Look forward to seeing you over there!

Guest Post: Process, Practice, and Learning

Posted on April 8, 2013 by Stephanie at Visible and Real

Today, I have the joy of introducing you to another guest blogger! (If you’re interested, it’s not too late!)

I’ve had the pleasure of knowing M. Fenn for almost exactly eight years. We met through a mutual friend over a comment regarding a joint interest in Stephen King’s The Dark Tower series. It has been friendship every since, including nearly-weekly writing dates. She is not only a published author, but a lover of music, movies, and thoughtful conversation. You can also find her over at skinnier than it is wide, blogging about (you guessed it) writing, music, movies, and engaging in thoughtful dialogue.

~*~*~*~

Steph’s call for guest posts caught my interest right away. Why? Because I love her and her blog. But when it came down to writing something, I wasn’t sure what to do. Steph told me she was curious about how I describe myself on Twitter (@MFennVT) and wanted to know more.

Turns out, I do, too. My tagline over there is: A speculative fiction writer who’s always learning, always practicing. The “speculative fiction writer” part is fairly self-explanatory. I write stories that wonder about things: science fiction, alternate history, horror, stuff like that. It’s fun… when all the voices in my head behave.

The “always learning, always practicing” part, though. Hmm. Besides that it sounds good? That I’m still figuring out. And it’s funny (to me, anyway); I was flummoxed by this post for the bulk of last week. It’s always a challenge for me to sit down and write about process. I think the reasons are multiple. Partly, I’m afraid that it will just be incredibly boring for other folks to read about. Also, there’s something in me that thinks if I point and say, “There,” with regard to what learning and practicing mean to me, it will be like pinning a beautiful insect to a board and all the life will go out of it. The process will die because I shone a light on it.

What’s popped into my head today is that the writing process may not be what I’m talking about, at least not in total. Let me tell you a story.

I grew up in a dysfunctional family with an emotionally abusive, alcoholic father and a long-suffering mom. My dad was also a smart, witty guy who didn’t like to lose an argument, so getting into one with him was a serious matter. I had to know everything, so I could defeat him. There was no room for error, no room for vacillation. Weakness was pounced upon. And that was a habit I took out into the world with me.

What a big surprise to discover that not everybody worked that way and that it was a lot easier to learn (and to stay sane) without that wall of defensiveness. I learned that knowledge wasn’t a zero-sum game. I didn’t have to know everything to stay safe; there was plenty for everybody, and it was even fun to share!

So, the practicing that I do is to keep that communal sense of learning open, to not succumb to my old habits of survival. Old habits die hard, and sometimes they never do, they just linger in the background, convinced they’ll be needed again someday. It’s not always easy to keep them quiet either, because there are a lot of folks out there who do play that game and it’s easy to get sucked in, even now, thirty-one years after my father died.

What does all this have to with my writing? I think it’s that my desire to share what I write combines both sides of this metaphorical coin. I want my stories to be as perfect as I can make them: accurate history, accurate tech, every set-up paying off. All that and more.

Also important, though, is the relief that I don’t have to know it all. Every story of mine is a better tale because of the other people who have touched them, sharing what they know with me. There is arguing at times, certainly (with them and with myself), but there is no defeat.