"A named thing is a tamed thing"

 There is a common theme in the older lore of several cultures that knowing a thing's name gives you power over it. In some places, that meant a baby's name wasn't spoken until it's Christening, when it was then firmly under God's protection. In some fae lore it leads to creatures being called my nicknames describing what they do, "Spoon-Licker" or "Skyr-Thief", instead of by a "true name".

A named thing is a tamed thing.

Fears can work like that, too. Naming them may not fully tame them, but it can at least help bring them into the light where they can be fought much more easily. 

So...what am I afraid of?

1) I'm afraid of being alone. 

I don't mean that I'm afraid of not having a partner, or that I'm scared being the only one in my house...I mean that I'm afraid of being alone, where there is no one to lean on when I'm weak, no one who actually knows me, and no one who cares if I'm ok or not.

There are times I can't deal with being around people. It feels like nails on a chalkboard to have people talk to me, or for me to have to engage and talk to them...but I still need to know that someone is there when I'm ready to come back out. Facebook helps a lot with that. While I sometimes worry that my posts seem like pleas for attention, they're not, quite. They are more a "I'm still here". I can do the same thing via instant messenger orvtextvwith some people. I don't need an actual conversation, just a "touch" or smile, to know that I'm not alone.

2) I'm afraid of being trapped. 

I'm afraid of being told I have to act/dress/be/think a certain way. I need to be able to be whoever I am at the time. I need to be able to explore things, at my pace, and decide whether or not I like them without other people's judgement getting in the way. 

3) I'm afraid of not being able to support my children and myself. I'm afraid of being dependent on someone else.

This might be two fears, or just one. They're so tightly mixed together that I can't tell. 

I'm afraid of selling myself short to keep a roof over our heads. I'm afraid of making choices that aren't the most healthy for me, because of the worry that the girls and I will end up homeless.

5) I'm afraid that the example I set for my girls isn't the one I want them to learn from.

I have very intelligent children, who are growing up to be strong women. I want them to learn that it's ok to not always be ok, and that sometimes things like housework will slide because self-care and a social life are important. I'm already glad, and sad, that they were able to point out yesterday that my leaving them home in the evenings so I can have a social life means that I'm happier and that we have a higher quality of time together.

I know there are more fears still to be named, but this is a good start.

A named thing is a tamed thing. 

Wooden Indians

When I was little, we used to go eat at an outdoor fish and chips place in Santa Barbara. There was a life size wooden statue of an Indian in a full feathered headdress...and I was terrified of him. (Yes, I know the politically correct term is "Native American", but I grew up afraid if a wooden Indian. It was the eighties.)

At some point, my mom told me that to get over my fear, I needed to walk up to him, knock on the wood, and say "I'm not afraid of you". That became part of the ritual any time we went to eat there. It is the first lesson I remember on facing my fears. 

Lately, I've had huge problems with anxiety. I have anxiety medication that I'm taking far more often than I like, but it keeps me much more functional. I'm learning to recognize the physical signs of anxiety, (knotted stomach, tight jaw, rushing pulse, whooshing sound in my ears), and now, finally, realizing that sometimes "anxiety" is another word for "fear". 

My world is suddenly filled with giant wooden Indians.

Often, what I need to calm the anxiety is information. I need to eliminate the fears of the unknown possibilities, and work with what is really going on. (Turn on the light and let me see that it is just a statue, not someone waiting to attack me.)

Sometimes, the information I need is already inside me. I need to stop, look at what I'm afraid of and fully admit it. Sometimes I need to write it out, so I have it in front of me. Sometimes, I need to tell someone. Sometimes, I just need to tell myself...repeat it over and over in my head. Admitting it seems to relax the knots in my stomach, at least for a time.

I am a grown-up, but I still need to walk up to those Indian statues, knock on them, and say, with confidence, "I am not afraid of you".

And someday, maybe I'll even believe it.

Thoughts from a Wonder Woman exchange

This started as a Facebook status, but has grown to the point that I think this is a better place for it. At least to keep track of it for later. 

Quotes from the Wonder Woman trailer that catch me every time I see it:

"I can't let you do this"

"What I do is not up to you"

There is so much truth, and strength, in those words, that goes so far beyond the film. 

I've run into the problem lately that when I make a choice by myself, for myself, it is taken as my telling someone else "this is what I'm going to do and fuck your if you don't like it."

This is not how healthy, loving, supportive, relationships are supposed to work. 

"You choosing to do this scares me. I'm worried about you. I want to help."

"I know, but I need to do this for myself, alone."

(Ideally, this would be followed by a hug, not someone sulking away.)

That would seem like a much healthier exchange. No, it wouldn't fit with the movie, but for real life? That's what I want. That's what I need. 

Learn to figtht

I've realized recently...over the last couple days, in fact, that one of the most important skillsets someone can build is learning how to fight.

I don't mean physical fighting. I'm sure that's important sometimes. Knowing how to take care of yourself physically is definitely important, but that's not what I'm thinking about. What I'm talking about is learning how to argue without breaking a relationship.

Reasons Matter

Today at work, I had a very clear demonstration of how, for me, the reason I'm doing something matters.

The cost of sarcasm

A week or so ago at work, I realized something. Hearing sarcasm can reprogram your brain.

At least, it reprogrammed mine.

One day, my boss thanked me for something, and I thought she was criticizing me. It took a minute to realize that she was actually thanking me, and telling me that she appreciated what I was doing. Why did I hear it as a bad thing at first?

This isn't the first time it's happened. It's happened when I was told "Thanks" in a text, and my first thought was "What did I do wrong?" I had to actively decide that I would take the text at face value, and believe that it was meant in a positive manner. (Turned out, that time the "thanks" actually was meant sarcastically, and it hit me that much harder when I found out.)

So, my boss is sometimes a bit brash and sarcastic, or at least her tone sounds like it. On that particular day, there was something that should have been done an hour or so earlier, and she asked for it to be done. (Someone else had said they were going to, and I hadn't realized it wasn't done yet.) So, when I went to do it, and she came downstairs and found me in the middle of it, she said "Thanks for not being lazy about this."

The way my brain interpreted her statement at first was "Why didn't you do this an hour ago? Why were you wasting time folding napkins when this needed to be done?"

What she really meant was "Thank you for coming down and doing this. None of the other servers came, and it needed to be done. I appreciate it."

So, why was my first instinct to hear it as a bad thing?

My only guess is that I've heard people use sarcasm so often that, especially if I'm feeling insecure at the time, it's easier to believe the implied criticism. I've also heard a lot of people be polite to someone in person, then cutting and critical about that same person later when the person isn't around. I've been with a friend when he answered his phone and blatantly lied about where he was or who he was with...and then expected me to trust what he told me.

Whether sarcasm is directed at me or not, I learn from it. I learn that the person is sarcastic, and that the words they use don't always mean what they actually say. I have no reason to expect that I would be treated differently than anyone else, so I will hear things through that sarcasm filter, whether I should or not.

I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one to react that way. So, when your first instinct is a cutting, sarcastic remark...think about what that remark may cause later. Is it really worth it?

The lessons we learn, and the lessons we teach

This has been on my mind this week. More than just this week, actually, but it's been working its way out in my head more this week.

It started with my youngest daughter. We were discussing how to build a new habit...trying to get her to write down things we're asking her to do so she remembers to do them if there are multiple tasks needing to be done. We gave her a small notebook to carry around with her.

The question came up "so, what happens if she doesn't do it."

Hmm.

Instead, we went with "what happens when she does."

Instead of punishing her when she fails, we're giving her incentive to succeed.

No, she won't get incentives or treats for accomplishing things every time...but to begin with, I don't see it as a problem. In fact, I think it's a good thing.

There is a lesson here that goes beyond the skill/habit we're trying to build. There is a lesson here that can go to the core of how she sees the world as she grows up.

Will she learn to do things because success can bring something wonderful? Or will she learn to do things because failing to do them brings something to be afraid of?

Will she learn hope, or will she learn fear?

At some point, I learned fear. When I want to do something, one of the first thoughts that goes through my head is "what happens if I make a mistake?"

I don't think "What new, wonderful thing could I find?" I think, "What happens if I make a mistake?"

I became afraid of failure. I became afraid of any kind of failure...including making people upset. I stopped making decisions based on what I wanted, or pursuing dreams...or even just ideas that could lead to dreams. It wasn't worth it.

The idea of failing, of losing, of disappointing people...of not being what they expected...became too much of a risk.

This happened more with some people than others. The more I cared about someone, the more I feared that person's disapproval, and the more I let the fear of that disapproval guide my choices.
 

"Too long I've been afraid of losing love I guess I've lost. Well, if that's love, it comes at much too high a cost."

I learned not to fight. I learned that my happiness wasn't worth the pain that was caused by disappointing other people, or making choices they didn't agree with. I learned it wasn't worth the risk.

I don't know what, exactly, taught me that. Chances are, it was a lot of little things that built up over time. Eventually I learned that life was easier if I didn't risk disapproval. If I didn't try for things I wanted, if they conflicted with what other people wanted. The possible rewards for success rarely outweighed the likely (in my head) cost of failure.

I learned the wrong lesson.

I never want my children to learn that lesson.

I want my children to learn that making choices and taking risks is more likely to lead to reward than to pain. I want my children to learn that mistakes happen, and that the consequences of those mistakes, most of the time, are not so severe that they can't be overcome.

Yes, there are times that mistakes are deadly. When something is truly a matter of life and death, then it's important to make that assessment and take extra care with the choice. However, most things are not life and death, (for most people. Yes, there are exceptions.)

So...back to where I started...

Which have we learned through our lives? Have we learned to fear mistakes and the unknown? Or have we learned that wonderful things come from taking risks?

What are we teaching our children? Are we teaching them to fear the consequences of failure? Or are we teaching them to strive to do better, and enjoy the benefits of success?

I have lessons to unlearn. I wish I had learned the right ones in the first place, but all I can do now is try to learn them now.