Home From Vacation: Part I

I haven't written in awhile. I just got home yesterday from my annual trip to visit my parents. Gone for 2 weeks, but it might as well have been a month. I'm feeling super foggy and disorientated. It's crazy how far from your routine you can get in 2 weeks. It's going to take some time to feel back to normal, to get my body off vacation time. During vacation, everything feels like excess. Too much food, too much drink, too much smoking, too much socializing, too much shopping... It's a time of the year I enjoy the American lifestyle, just as everyone else in this country does. My problem with this is there's not a lot of time for self-reflection. How can you when you are running around all day, constantly sending your brain little jolts of pleasure from alcohol, from food, from shopping all day long... Constantly talking. And talking. And talking. All those words mean very little when you haven't found peace with yourself.

So today, I start trudging back to a clearer mind. Working hard outside, yoga and meditation, regular exercise, and regular fasting. Eating lots of vegetables, not so much meat (we must have ate 3 truckloads of red meat on our vacation), and water more than anything. I think I gained 5-8 lbs on the trip, which is probably also fogging up my brain.

Ugh. I'll feel better in a week or so.

In the meantime, I'd thought I'd talk about my trip. To start with, I have never not wanted to go on a trip as much as this one. I dreaded it for days. I got anxious about it at least a week beforehand. I was nervous about leaving the puppy, and it was such a bad time of year to leave the garden. I knew my husband's aunt and uncle wouldn't feed my birds or change my hummingbird feeder. But the tickets were bought in January, circumstances be damned.

What did I find when I got home yesterday?

The puppy seems to have forgotten all of his potty training. He's going everywhere in the house. He peed in the bed last night, and he's never done that. I spent an hour last night with a roll of paper towels and the carpet cleaner, just roving from room to room cleaning up urine stains. The cilantro bolted in the garden. Something is seriously eating the potato plants. My cucumber plants turned yellow. My bird bath hasn't been scrubbed in two weeks. Something dug up and ate my lavender starts. The bird feeders were all empty, and even though I've filled them, no one has returned. The house is filthy. Laundry is flowing out of the hamper onto the floor.

I. am. frustrated.

Almost everything I thought would happen during vacation, did. Minus one of the dogs getting lost, and I might have actually killed my husband's family if that had happened.

So, I was dreading the trip. But I went. The anxiety seemed to lessen as soon as the hubby and I left for the airport. It's almost like my body knew that there was nothing I could do now. Travel went smoothly and we arrived in Oregon at 10 in the morning. The initial meeting with my brother and dad was a blur, as was lunch soon after. In fact the rest of the day is kind of blurry from jet lag, my husband and I ended up in bed very early.

The trip had begun.

I didn't notice right away, but I did notice soon after arriving how different my brother was acting. He'd last come out to visit us in the South last August, and that trip was pretty jovial and relaxing. Now, my brother seemed angry. And bitter. And lashed out at everyone. He said some hurtful things to me, and about issues that are extremely important to me. One of his comments has been burned in my head, probably forever. My brother is a high school teacher, and basketball coach, and near the end of the school year, one of his players committed suicide. My brother was telling my husband that because he is a teacher, he had to be sympathetic and compassionate to the students and parents. He said he had to "say the right thing". But deep down, he didn't feel sympathy. He said he thought that student was selfish and was trying to become a martyr. He said the kid was trying to make sure that everyone focused on him and talked about him at graduation. He then said he thought that kid was a "piece of shit".

I was floored. Shocked. Rocked.

How could anyone say that? I walked away at this time, but I thought a lot about what he said. Such a lack of empathy, especially for someone I thought was exactly like me. I thought my brother put on a big show of being an asshole and pretending not to have feelings, but maybe it's not a show. Maybe he really doesn't care. Maybe he really doesn't have compassion, and empathy for others. His student drove his car off a cliff. When that didn't kill him, he kicked the windshield out of the car, climbed the cliff, and proceeded to find a tree and hang himself. That is pure desperation there. Pure and simple. Human brains have evolved over millions of years to have systems that protect us from suicide. One of the brain's main functions is to keep us alive. People have to be sick, very sick, in order to override those systems. I know what it's like to look out at the world from eyes that see nothing but pain, destruction, unhappiness, inequality, and despair. I know what it's like to feel like you can't stand a single second more. It's terrifying to have those thoughts. These thoughts almost feel physical at times, like an anchor tied to your ankle in the ocean. When you are at the bottom, it literally feels like you're drowning. How can my brother not see how desperate that poor kid was? That he was sick, and he saw no other alternative than to do what he did?

I feel like I don't know who my brother is anymore. It almost felt like I was punched in the stomach when I realized that my brother is fake.

He says the right things. He pretends to care. He smiles and pats the kids on the back, but who knows what he's thinking inside. He says the right things to me. Is this for real? I found myself, for most of the trip, second-guessing everything he said. Did he mean what he just said, or was that sarcasm? This, of course, let to lots of retrospection on my brother's failed marriage, which ended 1 year ago. My brother got engaged after dating this girl for about 9 months. They were married within 6 months of that. She left about 16 months into the marriage, and they are now divorced. My mom and my brother talk mad shit about this girl. They say horrible, awful things like she was manipulative, a liar, and a bitch. They appall me.

I don't agree with the way my former sister-in-law went about things, but I'll just say this, she is in no way the things that my family says about her. She was a good person, with a good heart. They just did not make a good match. For one, she was very religious and my whole family is squarely in the Agnostic/Athiest camp. This, for me, was the biggest red flag. The second biggest problem was that she doesn't smoke or approve of smoking, and my brother is a stoner. A huge stoner. I think these 2 factors alone are enough for anyone to say that this might not be a forever-match here.

My former sister-in-law said it was ok that my brother was Agnostic. I think that was a lie.

My former sister-in-law said it was ok that my brother smoked weed. Occasionally. I think that was a lie.

But let's be honest, this girl was 22 when they got married. At 22, I still told guys what they wanted to hear in order to have a relationship. You always think you can change someone if they love you enough. I thought this way. I think most young girls do. Does this make them a bad person? Fuck no. It makes them youthful, optimistic, and immature, but that's what the majority of people are at 22. It's a sign of youth, not of being manipulative. And in defense of my former sister-in-law, I'm pretty sure my brother put on his good-guy act until they got married. I guarantee that this girl started to see the real person behind my brother's persona, and she probably realized she didn't even know this person. Put that together with their major lifestyle differences and of course someone is going to pull the plug on this marriage.

I forgive my former sister-in-law. I understand that these 2 people were fundamentally different. Our time on Earth is so incredibly short, we can't waste a second being unhappy. In the long run, I think my brother will be better off. He'll find someone (hopefully) that's also agnostic, and perhaps a little bit of a liberal, pot-smoking hippy. And it will work so much better. So why harbor so much animosity?

If you want to get down to brass-tax, I think my brother is in the "Anger" phase of his grieving. It must have been that he was so busy during the school year that he didn't process any of his emotions, and he's just now having time to think about it. All I can say is, I hope this phase passes. I also hope comments he made were made out of anger, and not out of him revealing his true self.

I've got lots more talking about the trip to do, but unfortunately, I also have quite a long to-do list. Till next time!

Mourning All That Will Never Be

I go back and forth with my mourning. Just when I think I've processed everything there is to process, more shit comes gurgling up. Thrown in my face. Tearing my heart into tiny little jagged pieces.

I mourn for that baby girl that I suspect was abused as an infant. About 2 years ago, I recovered a hazy memory of a baby in a baby bath, one toy navy boat, and my uncle. Due to the fact I was in a baby bath (you know, one of those little baths you place inside the actual bathtub),  I've estimated my age at 6 months, maybe a year. Because I'm so young in this memory, I consistently and constantly question this memory.  But when I'm feeling healthy, I try to tell myself to just accept it, not to question it to death. My point in all that is that I feel I never stood a chance. Corrupted from the beginning. What could I have been if this any of this had never happened?

I mourn for the girl who might have been happy.

I mourn for the girl that might never have suffered depression, anxiety, PTSD, insomnia, chronic headaches, and IBS.

I mourn for the girl who didn't respect her body, or even herself.

I mourn for the girl who may have been outgoing. I mourn for the girl who may have been popular, who may have made the cheerleading squad. I mourn for the girl who may have become homecoming queen.

I mourn for the girl that got bullied for being different. I mourn for the little girl who looked in the mirror, and only saw glasses, braces, chubby cheeks, and a mushroom haircut.

I mourn for the girl that may have been a doctor. That may have gone to law school.

I mourn for the girl that may have had children of her own.

I mourn for the unborn babies she will never have, and the experiences that won't darken her doorstep. She decided when she was 12 that she would never have children, and now she is 32. Childless. Stuck with a biological clock that never started ticking. Only the memory of the day the decision was made.

I can vividly recall that day when I was 12. I was terribly sad that day. This wasn't unusual. It was summer, and I was laying on my back in the grass in the backyard of my parents' house. The clouds weren't flying by especially fast that day, they were just big fluffy air masses lazily making their way across my field of vision. Like large, white cotton balls among the brilliant cerulean sky. I heard shrieks and happy screams of the neighbor kids riding their bikes up and down the street, throwing rocks at each other, playing games. Those happy shrieks felt like a knife to my heart, and in the moment I told myself I would never have kids. I would never subject another human being to the awfulness that was life. How could I willingly bring someone into the world when everything hurt so bad? I could not, I would not. And my mind has never changed.

I mourn that I will never have the experiences that all my former friends are having right now. Some of them have 3 to 4 kids! Pregnancy announcements and baby pictures fill my Facebook feed. Sometimes I smile, with tears in my eyes. Sometimes I just have to close the laptop, the pain is too great. I mourn that I will never experience "the greatest of all loves". I mourn that I will never see my husband's happy face when I tell him I'm pregnant. I mourn that I will never see that grin when his children take their first steps. Say their first word. I mourn that I am selfish and I worry about who will take care of me when I'm old.

I mourn for the girl who only felt hate and anger. I mourn for the people she hurt when she was younger, and didn't know any better.

I mourn for the girl who saw forgiveness as weak.

I mourn for the teenager who could never let go.

I mourn for the girl who spent half her teen years and all of her 20's numbing herself with alcohol, painkillers, and benzo's, with absolutely no inkling of "why?".

I mourn all of this. And then I try to let it go.

This is life, take it or leave it. I could sit here all day with the "what if's?" and the "who knows?". Everything that has come to pass, I cannot change. I can only try to accept it.

After all, it's made me who I am today.

Dear Diary

Yesterday, I did something I haven't done in a while.

I went down into our basement, and into the boxes of my childhood stuff I've kept over the years.  I went down there looking for a journal. It was a specific purple spiral notebook, one I'd filled with quotes from poems and songs, and a few fiction stories I wrote in high school. I was looking for some inspiration for writing. As soon as I opened the first box, I felt a slight twinge that said this might be a mistake. There were so many pictures from high school in that box. Pictures of a young, smiling, goofy teenager. One who was so good at hiding the pain. Too good. There were stuffed animals, candles, dance awards, and trophies. I lovingly, delicately ran my fingers over the spine of a white teddy bear. I picked up the bear, and there it was. My childhood diary. Thoughts and events from my life from the time I was in 6th grade till I was a sophomore in high school.  Maybe I thought the purple journal would be in that big, black binder that was my diary, but nevertheless, I grabbed it and brought it upstairs.

I set the somewhat-crumbling binder down on the kitchen counter, and opened it. There was a clump of small pieces of paper tucked in the front cover. I smiled when I found $5 in McDonald's gift certificates, circa 1997, and a $10 Applebees gift certificate from my high school best friend. 'No expiration date' it claimed on the front. I imagined taking that certificate to the Applebees in my hometown during my next visit, just to see if they would take it. Nestled behind those certificates was a letter with my name on it. My dad's handwriting. It was an apology he had wrote me after "The Toilet Paper Incident". I was crying by the time I got to the end of letter and the words that moved me the most. At the end he had wrote,

"I'm going through a confusing time right now; something I don't understand, but am determined to resolve no matter what. I know it's tearing our family apart right now, but my hope is that it's temporary, and will lead to me becoming a better, more centered person. I have to do this because I don't see any other way right now. If I discover what's going on with me, I'll be home that day, that hour, that minute, but until then I have to keep searching."

That paragraph hit me hard. I didn't understand the letter when I received it, how could I? After all, I was only 17. It sure means a lot now, though. I completely understand what he went through, because that's what I'm going through. Complete and total personal upheaval.  The only difference is I don't have a family that I'm responsible for. I honestly believe that that makes my journey 100% easier than whatever my dad went through. Another thing was made clear by this letter- "the toilet paper incident" occurred when my parents were separated, not when I was in middle school being chased home from the bus. Memory is a tricky thing, isn't it? I'm trying not to beat myself up over not remembering something perfectly, I spend way too much time doing that as it it. And that in itself can cause more pain. More on that another time, though.

I wiped away tears with the back of my hand, and settled in to read the actual diary. The first thing that struck me, that always strikes me on reading that diary, is how much pain is inferred through the passages. The main reoccurring theme throughout the first handful of pages is how unhappy I am. I hate school, my friends don't like me and talk about me behind my back, and I am angry. Lots of scrawling, hateful epithets written in all capital letters. Lots of anger with my mom, and with my brother. The second thing that knocked the wind out of me was a passage written on 12-16-95. It was regarding an incident that was one of the first traumatic memories to boil over in EMDR. My mom was taking me to my first concert that day, a Reba McEntire concert in Portland, OR. On our way, my mom and I saw a German Shepherd get hit by a car. In the entry, I described the scene exactly how it's been burned into my brain since that day. That memory used to cause so much distress, pain, and depression, and it struck me how much that has changed since EMDR. Recalling that memory yesterday was a good way to evaluate that that memory still feels less disturbing since the onset of EMDR. Even though it's been almost a year since we reprocessed that memory. Which is the purpose of EMDR, so that's very positive. Another important issue regarding this memory was that I never remembered the date. I never remembered it was around the holidays. December is, by far, my worst month. I spend the entire month in a funk, every year. I always thought it was just because of the holidays, the pressure, my birthday... Now I'm wondering if this traumatic memory is also involved a bit in my holiday madness?

Another thing became transparent to me upon reading the diary. I've quite clearly had dysfunctional relationships with the opposite sex since the beginning. It was interesting to read about the onset of my first relationship and all the flawed thinking I've always displayed. I saw how elated I was when the relationship became physical, when I was 13. I saw how unstable in the relationship I was- always complaining about how he was obsessed with me and way too nice, so I ended the relationship. At which time, I became panicked and all I could write about was getting him back. And I did get him back. And the relationship became more physical. I noted that I didn't include in my diary that I lost my viriginity to him. I remember my mindset at that age. It was always in the back of my mind that my mom could find my diary, so I never included that. Reading through the entries though, I knew where it had happened.

The on-again/off-again relationship came to its inevitable end. And I wrote about the loss for no less than 1 year, truly fixated and unable to move on. I was in eighth grade. What 13-year old mourns the loss of a boyfriend for a year? I wrote that I felt like I'd lost a best friend, that I missed the closeness, that I felt lost. Empty. Alone.

And then, one year later, I met someone else. And the exact same process started over. Except this time, there were a few more detailed entries to go off of. This time, the boy I was dating went to a different school so I only saw him on the weekends. It was obvious, from reading the entires, that I was ok with the relationship when we were together (fooling around, being touched, etc.) but during our time apart, I got squirrely. I would start to doubt the relationship and how much he cared for me. I would think about breaking up with him, but then if we did break up, he would be all I would think about. And yes, this relationship became on-again/off-again too.

It was obvious. Written in front of me, in black and white. Only, I'd never seen it before. In my young brain, things were only balanced in these "relationships" when they were physical. Sex= Love. That's where I felt right. That's where I felt safe. And let's face it- when you are 13, you don't get a whole lot of time to do these things. So, I spent most of my relationships feeling depressed. Like things were wrong. Like I wasn't good enough.

And how does a young girl come right out of the gate, and behave this way?

The answer is plain and straight-forward- programming. I was taught to think this way, yet I had no inkling of what had happened to me as a child. Not one thought, not one time. Ever. I never thought, "Maybe I'm this way because something happened to me?". I remember how I felt at the time-

Born broken. I would be forever broken. Possibly just bad genetics. Possibly I was just a terrible person.

These revelations have put a lot into perspective. I realize now why my college relationship was so difficult, and why so many other relationships were. I (subconsciously) became paranoid over my relationships if they weren't physical. And during college, I was on Depo-Provera and had zero sex-drive. With the lack of physical closeness, I became even nuttier. More paranoid. Needy. And no successful relationship exists in harmony with that much negative emotion. I was more unlike myself than I've ever been during that relationship.

It's clear to me now why I feel my marriage is in trouble if we haven't had sex in a couple of days.

And while these things are evident to me, now I'm left wondering,

"How do I change this?" How do I break the association of love and sex? As A has mentioned many times, we are only getting older. Both of our sex drives will naturally decrease, and am I going to be thinking he doesn't love me for larger and larger amount of times?

I don't want this to be the case.

What is EMDR?

What exactly is EMDR?

EMDR is a relatively new therapy developed in 1988 by Francine Shapiro. It stands for Eye Movement Desensitizing and Reprocessing. Here are a couple of links in case you want to check it out:

EMDR Institute (this website was touted by my therapist as the only website I should check out on EMDR. I just don't work that way, but it is a good resource).

EMDR- Wiki (Sorry, but I love me some Wiki)

My PTSD (Be careful with this website. It's a community forum, so you may read some triggering information on this site. I searched EMDR and read other people's experiences with the therapy. I suspect the therapy might be different for everyone because some people had experiences that I definitely did not have. So, as I said above, be careful. Read with an open mind and take everything with a grain of salt. Just because someone had a bad experience does not mean you automatically will too).

To be completely un-technical, EMDR is basically a therapy where you think about a disturbing memory while the left and right sides of your brain are stimulated continuously, one after the other, for a short amount of time. Most people report their memories being less disturbing after their brain is stimulated in this fashion. The theory is that emotional disturbance is caused by unprocessed memories. After a session of EMDR, memories associated with the disturbing memory may have come up for processing. My therapist explained it to me this way, in layman's terms:

Say your brain is like a filing cabinet. Some people are able to accept a memory and file it in the correct spot immediately, resulting in an orderly cabinet all the time. Other brains may look like a tornado went through. Papers scattered everywhere. Furniture tipped over, files spilling out. Dust flying up the air, waiting to settle. EMDR helps put the furniture back up right. Picks up those pieces of paper off the floor, and begins to put them in the correct alphabetical order within the files. Runs a duster over the entire room.

In that fashion, there can be lots of memories scattered about that someone is not even aware are out of their files. That's how the whole process has felt for me. I wish I'd written down my very first experience in session, but that was over a year ago. So I thought I'd share my experience from my last session, which was a couple of days ago-

*********Trigger Warnings: Emotional Abuse, Animal (Dog,Cat) Pain**********

Sessions always start with me and my therapist sitting down as she asks me how my week went. If anything disturbing happened, we hash that out. For example, a couple of weeks ago I found out that my mother has to have a double mastectomy, my brother may have congenital degenerative heart failure, and one of my absolute best couple friends is getting a divorce. I learned all this news in 2 days. Needless to say, we spent that session just talking. However, if I'm feeling good, we move along. A year ago, I chose "tappers" as my brain stimulation. Meaning, I hold little vibrating handles. EMDR can also be done with light instead of vibration. So, she hands me the tappers and asks me to begin some deep breathing. To relax. She then brings up whatever memory we are working on that day.

That day, we were working on a memory from when I was teenager. It was a day when I'd been chased home from the school bus by the neighbor kids. I was carrying my tenor saxophone case and in an absolute panic because it was so hard to run with that case. When I made it home and collapsed in the arm chair in the living room, my father appeared from the bathroom. Apparently, someone had used the last of the toilet paper and not changed the roll. My father, face red and angry, asked if I had done it. I honestly didn't know, but I shrugged. Most likely, disrespectfully. With his face even redder, he threw the empty cardboard tube at me and told me I was a selfish little bitch and a horrible person.

We start the EMDR session by me picturing this. My therapist always tells me to just observe the thoughts or memories that flow from here. Like watching scenery from a train. I'm not supposed to actively think, I just observe what comes next. As I was sitting there, eyes closed, remembering this event, my therapist starts the tapper.

Most of the time, memories just flow one into the other. Sometimes, I just sit there and my brain remembers the event in detail. Or my brain focuses on the anxiety of my stomach. This session was pretty normal though, and the memories began to flow. Straight from the memory of my dad throwing the tube at me, a flood wall gave out. Memories came seeping out very fast, seconds of events that slid into seconds of different events. These memories were all related to my college boyfriend. I saw the night we broke up, except I only saw me with tears streaming down my face, standing outside the University library in the rain. Then I saw a night at his house when he told me we'd never get back together right after we'd been intimate. This flashed to the memory of coming up behind his mom at one of his baseball games, only to hear her talking to her friend about her son's "trashy" girlfriend. To taking photos for one of his photography classes where he had to take pictures of a person, and he told me while I was posing that I looked hideous and couldn't I at least try to be pretty? Driving in his convertible to a 4th of July party as he's arguing with me about how much weight I've gained. Seeing him at a party, making out with one of my sorority sisters. Pushing me at a beach party. Telling me his friends hated me. Telling me that no one would ever love me because I was disgusting. When I say the memories flash, I mean flash. There was literally 1 second of each memory, and there were a lot more memories. By the time my therapist stopped the tappers to regroup, I was overwhelmed.

My therapist and I have concluded (long before this) that this college relationship was pretty traumatic. Memories from this relationship pop up repeatedly. As soon as I think I've "filed" all the memories, more come gushing out. I get frustrated but my therapist reminds me I'm trying to file an entire lifetime of memories that may not have been filed correctly. I've only been doing this a year in contrast to the 30+ years of memories I'm trying to muddle through.

After we regroup, we repeat the process usually 2-3 more times. We regroup every time and discuss the issues that arise. We always end with me focusing on my stomach because it's almost always anxious. By doing this technique, I'm usually able to quell the anxiety before I exit her office. I am always exhausted by this process. I tend to go home, collapse, and be completely useless the rest of the day. I don't cook, I don't clean, I can barely take my dogs outside. Depending on the severity of the session, the next day is usually exhaustive as well. I seem to come out of the fog on day 2, and unless it's PMS-time of the month, I feel good until I go back to her office.

It's hard work. But I'm feeling better than I have ever remembered feeling. Things that used to be impossible don't feel the same way to my body anymore. In the past, if I saw a dead dog or cat or even a bunny on the side of the road, I could be emotionally wiped for the rest of the day. The image would be burned in my brain. The image would flash up periodically throughout the day, tears pricking my eyes every time, the intrusive thoughts always picturing the poor animal gasping for its last breath. Completely alone. The thoughts that accompanied these experiences were always the same-

"There is so much pain in the world. So much pain it will never end."

"I cannot keep doing this. I cannot live the rest of my life feeling this way."

"We are doomed. We've destroyed our planet, each other, we hurt everything. What is the point?"

"I do not want to live. I can't do this anymore."

Anyone that is depressed can tell you how nearly impossible it is the live with these thoughts. How heavy and slow your body feels. How dragging a breath into your weary body feels like a 100-lb weight slowly bearing down on your chest. How even looking around the world feels murky and oppressive. However, I've been undergoing EMDR for over a year and I can readily tell you that those thoughts have been significantly reduced. I still get them occasionally, but my life isn't ruled by them any longer. I have also come to completely realize what people mean when they say, "Everything will be ok". I've heard these words my entire life, but they never developed one iota of comprehension until recently. The calm that comes with feeling rather than hearing that statement is truly something that every person can only understand for themselves once they've finally achieved it.

Some people recover repressed memories through EMDR. This has not happened to me. Every single memory that has come during EMDR is one I actively remember. My recovery of repressed memories has strictly come out of session. The reason I mention this is because my therapist and I did CBT for 1 year before we started the EMDR. My therapist wanted to make sure I had the tools to cope with whatever memories may come. Say what you want about CBT, but I'm a believer. The brain is a powerful instrument that we don't fully understand, but I believe there is something to be said for trying to change the way your brain works. A lot of the techniques I've learned from CBT work tremendously, diffusion being one of the most effective for me. In fact, when I had my latest flashback, I was able to diffuse almost immediately. Progress!

Feel free to email me with any questions you may have on EMDR. Please be aware that I am not a psychologist or therapist, I'm strictly a patient who can level with you on personal experience. As I mentioned above, I really do think everyone is different. My experience may not be your experience.

Till next time!

How Did I Become My Mom?

I have been writing and rewriting this post in my head. It's something I ponder quite a bit. I was just looking out the window, as the single-cup coffee brewer roared beside me, admiring the turtledoves that were roaming my garden. It warms my heart to see birds in the garden. I'm trying companion gardening this year, which means I've planted many different varieties of plants to encourage beneficial insects and birds to the garden. Besides the variety, I've added a bird bath. Hopefully to entice butterflies as much as birds to quench their thirst, and maybe stick around for lunch on a cucumber beetle. I catch myself thinking these things, and it makes me smile. If you'd know me growing up, you would find it so out of character that I concern myself with anything that involves being outdoors. And that's a tale that begins with my mom.

My mom and I have always had a complicated relationship. She had always pushed me to be more outgoing, and just generally out of my comfort zone. I begrudged her relentless couponing. Her frugalness embarrassed me in front of my friends. She was always trying to get me to help her outside, in the garden or with the lawn. I hated being outside. I hated getting dirty, and even worse, I had a monstrous fear of bees. A scream-and-run-for-your-life kind of fear. We fought. Constantly. I resented her so much, and the resentment didn't stop until I was 16. When I was 16, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. On top of the cancer diagnosis, my parents were going through a trial separation. It was a difficult time for both me and my brother. Because my father was temporarily out of the picture, I took his place in driving Mom to her chemo and radiation appointments. I also took his place as her confidante. I remember coming home from school so many days to my weepy mom, who would then place her head in my lap and sob. She confided in me things that no mom should have to confide to a child. My heart broke, every time. Silently, I made a vow to always protect my mom.

I can't remember the last time my mom and I had a fight. I can't remember the last time my little brother and my mom had a fight. The world changed when cancer hit.

My mother and father eventually reconciled. Mom and I retained our closeness for about 5 minutes. We didn't go back to a typical mother-daughter relationship, we are more like close acquaintances. I say acquaintances because we no longer share anything real. After what she's gone through in her life, my mom shut down emotionally. She copes with life by watching sports 24/7 and a glass of red wine at night. She'll talk to you all night about football but if I were to ask her to share any memories she has of her mom or childhood, the conversation would be over. Last September, my parents made their annual trip east to visit my husband and I. There was one really palpable moment where my mom and I were sitting on the back patio, and somehow the conversation started to turn genuine and emotional. I think we were talking about my therapy. I was in mid-sentence when I actively saw her eyes glaze over, and then she abruptly changed the subject. To sports.

I was so hurt in that moment. It's taken me a long time to accept that her behavior is not about me. It's about her. I have come to accept that that's just how my mom is. That moment took me back to one from childhood, and it's crazy how that's immediately where my mind went. It was a moment back when I was 13, or 14. I can't remember what we were doing, but my mom had taken me and my brother somewhere. Out of town, maybe for shopping? I do remember stopping at Arctic Circle (anyone remember those??). My mom was sitting next to me, and my brother across from us. My mom turned to me and asked how I got my eye lashes so curly. I was super-excited she asked, because at that age I was obsessed with makeup. I loved to talk about it. I excitedly began chattering away, and again, when I was in mid-sentence, my mom's eyes glazed over. She then turned to my brother and asked him about his cheeseburger. I was crushed. I can still remember, to this day, how stinging that was to me. Tears pricked my eyes, and I felt embarrassed for having shown my passion. Even today, I'm extremely sensitive to when a group of people I'm talking to doesn't care to be listening any longer. You don't have to stop me mid-breath, I know when to stop talking.

The way my mom is, is the exact opposite of how I want to be. My mom pushes her emotions down and in my opinion, doesn't process them. I tried for 32 years to not process my emotions, and I'm paying for it now. Immensely. Feeling a life time's worth of emotions all at once. It can be overwhelming, but I've come to realize, it's necessary. Yes, there is tons of pain that can bring on depressions. Yes, there are some days I do not want to get out of bed. Days I can't even brush my hair. Days where I'm crying from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep. That's life though. These moments and feelings pass. You just have to wait for the feeling to crest, and then it will subside. Depression and anxiety are temporary. They always pass. It's the process of feeling that anxiety build, and looking for an inappropriate outlet that is unhealthy. My typical inappropriate outlets include vodka. Xanax. Vicodin. And more vodka. My mom's is football and ESPN 24 hours a day. Neither one is healthy, because neither deals with the problem at hand.

I'm either so much like her, or I've just learned to emulate her. Because yes, my first instinct with anxiety is to push it away. It's a problem I still struggle with today, a problem I will probably always struggle with. But I'm trying to be different. I'm trying to deal with my emotions in a healthy manner.

But you know what? I'm not just like her in the "bad" ways either. As an adult, I began couponing when A was laid off to save money. I got really into it. I ended up building a stockpile that A and I have been living off for 2 years. Man, did I catch grief on that one. Mowing the lawn became my chore, because I love being outside so much. Being outside in nature provides me with so much relief from all my feelings. It makes me feel one with the wind and sky. It helps me diffuse from emotions, and realize that most of my problems are problems created by society. People problems, I like to call them. I feel so at peace with a yoga playlist blaring in my ears, marching that lawn mower up and down the yard in rows. I love getting dirty. Screw garden gloves, you'll find me planting and pulling weeds with bare hands. I've actually read that getting your hands and feet in the dirt helps stave off depression. Bring it on, I say. While I'm still afraid of bees, EMDR helps every day with that (that's another topic entirely, one I will get to at some point). The more I age, the more it appears I picked up quite a few of her best qualities. Especially the ones I never expected to get.

Every once in awhile, A will suggest watching a movie or documentary and I will hem and haw, grumble, and drag my feet. It's times like those where he bursts out laughing and tells me I'm so much like my mom. 'Shall we just turn on sports?' he teases me. We have a good laugh, and then I change my mindset to watch the movie.

I may have inherited some of her less desirable traits, but I definitely got some of her finest. And some, all my own.