I'm the kind of person who often needs to think out loud. This blog is a place where I am doing something like that.
Once I heard Ruby Dee describe Spike Lee as someone who was growing up out loud. For better or worse, I am doing the same thing. In one of Maragaret Cho's comedy videos she talks about the phrase "don't go there." I've often thought about that same phrase and thought the exact same thing she talks about, what do you do when you're already "there?" Don't go there? Sorry, I'm in it past my eyeballs, a bit too late for that little piece of advice.
I am a messed up person. I don't find it necessary to keep this a secret. Pretty much every person I've ever met also appears messed up in one way or another. Every once in a while I'll meet someone who seems to really know how to care for her/himself, but that is a rare occurrence. Not messed up looks like this: a person at peace with her/himself. Name any people you know who fall into this category. If you actually know any, I bet they are more attractive than Jessica Simpson.
What I'm saying makes a lot of people uncomfortable. I make a lot of people uncomfortable. I put people on the spot. Not everyone is "there" or interested in "going there." I get that. Sometimes I am irritated by it, sometimes I'm not so bothered. But, for myself, there is no going back. Whether I like it or not, I am the queen of noticers. I'm always noticing how uncomfortable I am (see, I make myself uncomfortable too). I'm always trying to figure out what the discomfort is about. And, while I often find other people's messed up shit a good place to lay the blame, in the end my discomfort is always teaching me about my own messed-upness.
So this blog is a place where I plod along and write about plodding along in this process of discovery--a seemingly endless and continual process. I should add a crucial point: each time that I gain awareness of new depths of my mess, I shed some of it. There is a purpose to what I'm sure many people would term my navel gazing:
-I believe we have been granted a great gift in being alive
-For many years I hated being alive
-I now love my life
-I believe we can live lives of joy
-I want one
What I am doing in my life, in my art, in my relationships, is the only way for me to create a life of joy. In the last few months, particularly since the first Human Body Project event, I have gone through many changes, more than I've been able to write about in this blog. But one profound one has been a stronger feeling of physical health. I have had a much stronger experience in my own body of how old worn-out beliefs affect my health (and this has led me to be able to shed some of them).
This process of the relationship of physical health to deeply held beliefs is a difficult one to write about for several reasons, one being that it is not something I can explain in a linear, intellectual way. Another issue being that our harmful beliefs often originate in our families and I doubt mine is interested in me writing about how I deal with them in therapy. Another is the idea of blaming the victim. I will only speak for myself and say that lately I better understand how my energy has been very adversely affected by ingrained beliefs about how I thought I was supposed to be. I will try to expand more on this later.
Another reason I'm writing this blog is for the same reason I'm doing the Human Body Project. There are other people out there who also want to get beyond their messed up shit and feel a joyous connection to their physical existence. This is my way of reaching out. It may ramble and I probably repeat myself, some days are going to be better than others... it is what it is.
Ecofeminist, inconvenient prophet, artist, activist, cancer survivor, mother. Radical vulnerability on behalf of the collective. Using nakedness—literal+figurative. Processing my pain.
Monday, June 5, 2006
Thursday, May 25, 2006
On Being a Needy Asshole
The other day, in email conversation with a friend I hadn't spoken with in a while, I painfully recollected a memory of myself as a needy asshole. This led to lists of needy asshole recollections.
As I write this the discomfort of these memories and the feeling of overwhelming neediness comes back to me and I feel somewhat paralyzed to recount them.
I am less of a needy asshole than I once was. This is not because I am not needy. First of all, I have big news, which would have been useful for me to learn at a young age, but I was forced to learn this one the hard way: being needy is human. So, yes, I am still needy. But I am less needy and I am more able to ASK for what I need.
Along the way I got the message that being needy was unattractive, pathetic and just plain BAD. But, of course, since I was human, those pesky needs just kept showing up. Needs bad, but needs won't go away... I decided (not what you would call consciously) that I would figure out another way of getting my needs met: passive agression, whining, guilt, submission, mooching, etc. All these tactics sort of worked only in that I thought I wasn't showing how needy I was (which would be BAD but which was sadly obvious, if only energetically). For instance, one of my clever ways to get men to like me (a need) was to act like I didn't need anything, especially love, and it helped that I didn't think I deserved anything anyway. Oh yeah, that one worked really well--I was an unparallelled man repeller/lousy man chooser.
As a struggling artist, I was often broke and really on my own without any typical support structures. I moved a lot. I house-sat. I slept on couches, etc. On the one hand I was ashamed of my predicament. On the other, I expected people to feel sorry for me. I sometimes outstayed my welcome because I couldn't figure out what my next move would be. I might complain about the art world or the difficulty of being an artist but I was never able to honestly and simply say how scary it was to live so out on the edge.
My asshole-neediness was so much about shame and not feeling able to say what was really going on with me. I really needed to be taken care of but that just seemed so unacceptable to admit. I feel that I was often a burdensome friend and I apologize to the many people on whom I unloaded this.
I know I had stuff to work out (and did) to feel less needy. For instance, for a while in my early 40s I was a single mom--talk about needs: try being a single parent. Even though I was ostensibly more needy and, was, indeed, exhausted and overwhelmed much of the time, I felt much more able to look after myself (and my daughter) than I had in my 30s--part of that was having the strong purpose of being a good mother. By the time I entered into my relationship with Dave I had developed some skills which have served me well.
I am now much more able to ask for what I need in the moment. (I also chose a man who wants to be part of the relationship equation). If I need a hug, I ask for one. If I need to be held, I ask for it. If I need him to listen without commenting, I ask for that. I say when I'm feeling vulnerable. I still feel shame around certain emotions or behaviours, but I am often (if only eventually) able to admit it. In other words, instead of energetically and passively emitting my shit onto other people by not acknowledging first to myself what is going on with me, more and more I am able to own what I am going through and ask for what I need. I also try to take it in stride if I can't get what I ask for.
That was also a problem in my needy asshole stage. I mean who can or wants to look after a grown adult? But that's what I thought I needed, particularly in an emotional sense. I've always been resourceful and good at surviving, but I always felt so outside and so alone. I had to fall apart (a few times) and put myself back together to learn that I could support myself. I am still dealing with support issues. Del, my Gestalt therapist says to tell myself: I don't need support.
When Dave doesn't get my art or when I feel like I'm not finding the right people to help me with this project, for instance, I get that all alone feeling. Del says: a) one step at a time and b) do it for myself.
In my needy asshole stage, I would do a good deed but I would expect something back (i.e. I didn't just do it because I wanted to, there was always this idea of tit for tat). Not a good recipe for friendship. I put that on my friends, too. And I apologize for that, too. Lucky that I'm growing up (better late than never).
As I write this the discomfort of these memories and the feeling of overwhelming neediness comes back to me and I feel somewhat paralyzed to recount them.
I am less of a needy asshole than I once was. This is not because I am not needy. First of all, I have big news, which would have been useful for me to learn at a young age, but I was forced to learn this one the hard way: being needy is human. So, yes, I am still needy. But I am less needy and I am more able to ASK for what I need.
Along the way I got the message that being needy was unattractive, pathetic and just plain BAD. But, of course, since I was human, those pesky needs just kept showing up. Needs bad, but needs won't go away... I decided (not what you would call consciously) that I would figure out another way of getting my needs met: passive agression, whining, guilt, submission, mooching, etc. All these tactics sort of worked only in that I thought I wasn't showing how needy I was (which would be BAD but which was sadly obvious, if only energetically). For instance, one of my clever ways to get men to like me (a need) was to act like I didn't need anything, especially love, and it helped that I didn't think I deserved anything anyway. Oh yeah, that one worked really well--I was an unparallelled man repeller/lousy man chooser.
As a struggling artist, I was often broke and really on my own without any typical support structures. I moved a lot. I house-sat. I slept on couches, etc. On the one hand I was ashamed of my predicament. On the other, I expected people to feel sorry for me. I sometimes outstayed my welcome because I couldn't figure out what my next move would be. I might complain about the art world or the difficulty of being an artist but I was never able to honestly and simply say how scary it was to live so out on the edge.
My asshole-neediness was so much about shame and not feeling able to say what was really going on with me. I really needed to be taken care of but that just seemed so unacceptable to admit. I feel that I was often a burdensome friend and I apologize to the many people on whom I unloaded this.
I know I had stuff to work out (and did) to feel less needy. For instance, for a while in my early 40s I was a single mom--talk about needs: try being a single parent. Even though I was ostensibly more needy and, was, indeed, exhausted and overwhelmed much of the time, I felt much more able to look after myself (and my daughter) than I had in my 30s--part of that was having the strong purpose of being a good mother. By the time I entered into my relationship with Dave I had developed some skills which have served me well.
I am now much more able to ask for what I need in the moment. (I also chose a man who wants to be part of the relationship equation). If I need a hug, I ask for one. If I need to be held, I ask for it. If I need him to listen without commenting, I ask for that. I say when I'm feeling vulnerable. I still feel shame around certain emotions or behaviours, but I am often (if only eventually) able to admit it. In other words, instead of energetically and passively emitting my shit onto other people by not acknowledging first to myself what is going on with me, more and more I am able to own what I am going through and ask for what I need. I also try to take it in stride if I can't get what I ask for.
That was also a problem in my needy asshole stage. I mean who can or wants to look after a grown adult? But that's what I thought I needed, particularly in an emotional sense. I've always been resourceful and good at surviving, but I always felt so outside and so alone. I had to fall apart (a few times) and put myself back together to learn that I could support myself. I am still dealing with support issues. Del, my Gestalt therapist says to tell myself: I don't need support.
When Dave doesn't get my art or when I feel like I'm not finding the right people to help me with this project, for instance, I get that all alone feeling. Del says: a) one step at a time and b) do it for myself.
In my needy asshole stage, I would do a good deed but I would expect something back (i.e. I didn't just do it because I wanted to, there was always this idea of tit for tat). Not a good recipe for friendship. I put that on my friends, too. And I apologize for that, too. Lucky that I'm growing up (better late than never).
Monday, May 15, 2006
My Man Dave
Some of my students (I teach Speech at Lethbridge Community College) were very curious about what the Human Body Project event was like for Dave, the guy I live with and to whom I will be imminently married.
Okay, it's one thing to be me: intense, driven, out there. But I'm used to myself. I often sympathize with Dave for being the person who is with me. When I committed to doing this (i.e. it was no longer just an idea), we both freaked out I think. I was panic-stricken at the thought of being so exposed. He did not like the idea of sharing his woman that way.
When I understood where his discomfort was coming from it was easier for me. I had thought it was about him thinking I was crazy and I have big issues with being dismissed that way.
Looking at the tape and photos from the event makes me very happy that I am going to be the wife of this man. In his eyes I see real love, respect and support. How he felt hasn't been a big subject of conversation (I did ask but perhaps you hadn't heard about men and how they aren't overly motivated to talk about their feelings?). But I know that I am supported and it means a great deal to me. Maybe he'll comment about it on the blog one day.
Okay, it's one thing to be me: intense, driven, out there. But I'm used to myself. I often sympathize with Dave for being the person who is with me. When I committed to doing this (i.e. it was no longer just an idea), we both freaked out I think. I was panic-stricken at the thought of being so exposed. He did not like the idea of sharing his woman that way.
When I understood where his discomfort was coming from it was easier for me. I had thought it was about him thinking I was crazy and I have big issues with being dismissed that way.
Looking at the tape and photos from the event makes me very happy that I am going to be the wife of this man. In his eyes I see real love, respect and support. How he felt hasn't been a big subject of conversation (I did ask but perhaps you hadn't heard about men and how they aren't overly motivated to talk about their feelings?). But I know that I am supported and it means a great deal to me. Maybe he'll comment about it on the blog one day.
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