mizarchivist

It's very much on theme to talk about gratitude this week. So, this is the latest---
I feel valued, competent, empowered, and successfully absorbing the parameters of this job. I genuinely love being able to sit at the main desk and be available to answer questions.

The iterative nature of the work means I can and do get better as I practice. I still marvel about it because I've spent easily 3/4 of my life struggling with this, so I'm not yet tired of remarking on the process. It's about navigating the discomfort. It's about not being as proficient as I'd like and expect to be. Of meeting the expectations I imagine others have of me. I'm so grateful to have gotten to a place. The struggle, as they say, has been real.
Highlights of things that are easier now-

• answering tech reference questions where I am not an expert, but have no problem walking people through the steps and asking follow up questions
• pulling books for network requests
• admitting when I messed something up and asking for a refresher on how to do it right
• keeping calm under a barrage
• the &^%$ing photocopiers

It turns out so much of my job is simply being willing to try for an answer. Remembering the patterns I've seen from the previous hour or day or week. I may not be an expert on every aspect of library service, but I'm an expert in searching and I'm an expert at being a generalist here.

The old long-standing job turned into poison. A combination of too much time in one place, of feeling trapped, of too much change but not necessarily the kind wished for or an improvement. Of too many administrative expectations but no support or training. And straight up, just needing a fresh challenge.  I was so scared to leave, but staying was worse than the fear of the unknown. So I left. And it was scary.

But I did it. And now I have a job that feels like I'm supposed to be here. Not a job that's been rounded up from a middling low number. And I'm grateful.

Kat-the-therapist commented today, that for all I am a bit of an iconoclast, I have some very emphatic streaks of TRADITION.

Context.
Young-me looked at her parents and assumed they were pretty much perfect and that it was my job to embody the best traits in them. My mother: empathy, nurture, creativity, and enthusiasm. My father: problem-solving and practicality. Above all: financial independence. Someone who could plan for the future, use the stock market to enrich my nest-egg, and don't rack up debt. But also, share all resources in joint accounts. Failure on this part was akin to moral failing.  My adult life has included:

• Moving to the east coast, to a city notorious for being an expensive place to live.
  
  • Parents moved Back Home because this very town was too much in the 70s. The 90s and Aughts haven't been an improvement. Buying a house happened there by default, because that's What You Do. The only way I/we managed this was with shared resources and living familial inheritance
• My professional training and choice of long term employer => also not hugely profitable.
  
  • Dad at least: CFO, business-savvy person. He has multiple degrees, one of which was an MBA.He figured out this whole "stock market" thingy decades ago. Mom followed his lead and this seems to have worked for both of them.
• My spouse's profession: full of boom/bust uncertainty and several demons to stare down that made financial security pretty much an unattainable dream until the demons could be exorcised and new paths established.
  
  • While there certainly have been challenges, there's some super-power situation happening here for sure. Demons they both have, but their coping mechanisms are the opposite of spending money.
• The national landscape in the intervening years since my parents were at my spot of adult-ness gone on to make even the most resourceful of us stagger and struggle, with leadership and culture that gaslights the crap out of all of us for feeling less-than.
  • My parents are Baby-boomers and have ever experienced an actual living wage, mostly predictable employment. See also, super-powers.

All this means that the bit where I am terrified to spend money and actively avoid doing so whenever possible, and fear of accepting help, because DAMMIT, I should be able to do this by myself. That I've already used up all my good will decades ago and one more bit of help would likely break everything and set everything on fire. Also, moral failure. Remember that bit? Super much that. A failure to be an adult and human.

OK- I think you've managed to infer that I've realized that this basic assumption is not remotely healthy and that the goal entirely unattainable with the parameters set.  And so now I know. And see bit about excellent therapist helping me work through this stuff.

And if that's not enough for one go, here's the other half....

I'm a poly queer woman. The person I married in 1998 identified as a queer cis-male. And then she came out 4 years and 1 week and 1 day ago. (Sept 5, 2015). In some back part of my brain, the same one that equates personal financial turmoil with moral failing also figures that someone who is queer should be able to roll with this diametric change. I'm queer, right? I like people! Yeah. And I prefer masc-presenting. Always have. Ask lifecollage about that time we were in Uno's following the sad demise of Shadowfax, the cat. Ruby Rose, Jason Momoa: if we're shooting for the stars, those are the archetypes that stop me in my tracks and make me forget my name. But here I am, in this place where in order to be the best ally, spouse, and queer, I needed to embrace the ultimate in femme. Or at least that's what I had decided.

If my self-worth as a queer woman was wrapped up in successfully including this aspect of attraction, let me tell you how hard I've been failing. And it has been killing me. Slowly. Genuine proclamations of love and affection would make me feel uncomfortable and like a fake. I would feel like I had no right to ask for more things, for what I really wanted. It was too much and unreasonable and not going to happen.

Please note again: past tense. Not very long past but past.  About 2 weeks ago I was able to express my fear and anxiety on this point to Jaime directly and she promised me that it was OK. I was not required to reflect with the same flavor and intensity the feelz. Did I want to continue on domestically as we are? YES. For sure yes. OK, then. Do I love her? Oh yes. OK, then! Nesties. And so I'm working through.

I'm still luxuriating in the era where if I don't tell my kid a thing, she doesn't know it. Ex: the 4th of July carnival that happens in conjunction w fireworks here in Newton. We spent pretty much all day in the AC mucking out her room, which had gotten to the point you really couldn't see carpet or even really open the door without shoving something out of the way. Most of the time, I intervene before it gets this bad and spend a few hours sorting things out. But that doesn't help her figure out how to do it herself. I think I still did most of it this time, but because there was the excitement of "let's re-arrange the room" when it got cleared, she stayed with it.

So. post dinner, Kid and I head out to the carnival. PRIZES was the goal. Stuffies. Oh, to win a stuffie. She wanted to take kind of all her money, and I told her 5 bucks. She went for the pick up a duck and see what it says on the bottom: S M L - etc, for what size the prize would be. NO surprise, they were S-ducks. She got a snake. Maybe not even a snake, a snek. It was a colorful tube masquerading as a snake. She was deflated. Like, trying to figure out how she ended up with such a shitty prize when there were SO MANY DELIGHTFUL ONES right there. Sloths and unicorns, and owls! So, I say I'll pay for one more game. I had 5 bucks in cash after I bought ride tickets. Water gun race? Ooookay! Maybe it should have been better explained that if you don't WIN, there is zero prize, not even a snek. Maybe better off with the balloon popping game. She did NOT win. And was crushed, crying and betrayed by the system. Sometimes when your parent tells you that the game is rigged, it doesn't sink in til you lose 10 bucks and only have a snek to show for it.  The lines for the shitty rides were long as hell by this point, so I sold back the 16 out of 19 tickets I still had to random strangers and told her we could get a light up toy. But I drew the line WRT +noisy. Nope. You can have a light saber. Not one that whistles.  It's blue and looks amazing in the dark. 

It was such a thing to watch her get frustrated, deflate, regenerate a bit of hope, then lose her shit. I let her be upset and didn't rush the process. She doesn't fit tidily anymore, but she can still sit in my lap and cry, which is a thing I think we all wish we could do sometimes. The prospect of selling back ride tickets, getting a flashy toy and OMG FIREWORKS!! and suddenly The Best Ever. Whew. Mischief- for now- managed.

I appear to have found a reserve of resilience that feels hard won and is deeply appreciated. Here's how I can tell-

I lost and recovered both phone and wallet last week without panicking. Both losses were because I was inattentive but, I did not berate myself for losing them. I stayed calm once I realized they were gone. I was meticulous in searching. I asked for help in both situations which was instrumental in their recoveries. Once found, I was deeply grateful and expressed my gratitude to my helpers as best I could.  A week after the fact and I'm STILL grateful and have taken those lessons to heart and have been more mindful of my belongings.

I'm not fighting the reality of when I am experiencing generalized anxiety. I'm treating it. It's an emotional headache, so I should take medicine to make sure it doesn't turn into an emotional migraine. A half an Ativan at the onset has absolutely kept me from losing my ever-loving mind. It's helped that the physical parts of the anxiety: tense/holding breath are very tied up in where that goes. If I can stop the physical reaction, the emotional part is likely to dissipate. You know, just like the doctors and mental health professionals have been saying directly and indirectly to me. Amaaaze.

Another very important factor has been a shift in visualization, one I developed with  lifecollage: brain weasels. Her particular go-to has been to imagine those anxieties in top hats and canes: Michigan J. Frog style. So, framed in a Harry Potter/Boggart solution: Make the concept of that worry ridiculous. And despite years of practice, I've never really been able to nail this down. Essentially, make fun of them til they realize you aren't bait, and find some other victim. Then! Then: the shift. The new thing. My kiddo volunteered a random bit of her experience with the Worry Bird. In her class, they have a bird that can only eat worries. I don't know if there's a physical representation or not or just a make believe concept used to help the anxious 1st graders, but the idea of this was so powerful to me. THIS visualization is based on compassion. Care. Love. Oh! That I can do. I'd always been frustrated when the top hats and canes failed, but I didn't really examine why it failed. I figured I was defective. Nope. Just not my language. Coming with a nurture and love point of view of having to let go of the worry otherwise it's not a proper meal for the bird.  So now when I'm about to tumble into "they are going to be mad/I messed up/everything is ruined"--  I close my eyes and imagine the worry turning leaving in a big breath and filling up a balloon or bubble that floats to the bird, who can then eat it. I've been able to disengage and realize that I worrying doesn't solve the perceived problem or improve my life. I still get irritated and grumpy. It's now a passing feeling. Not one that stays, builds and turns into an avalanche.

Finally, I had been struggling and anxious about my body and how I'm not fitting in pants that did fit a year or so ago. I've hated this inevitable outcome of stress, depression, minimal physical activity, and aging. Hate and resentment and disgust morphed into doubting my attractiveness -physically and intellectually- to others. Particularly when dysmorphia teams up with the rest of my anxiety.  My lowest point this month was bracing myself for a breakup (EDIT: that I manufactured and never came). Hoping he'd wait until I went home so I could fall apart without him looking at me. (further edit!!) It was all in my head. And... I dunno. I can't figure out exactly what changed in the last week that's leveled me up, but here I am. And I have 2 major examples of this.
Example 1- Jaime is constantly exclaiming over how she finds me attractive. Like, daily, pretty much. And I would say every day I'd hear that (until today/yesterday-- so far?) and I'd cringe a bit inside. Like, "she's just saying that because [fill in the blank reason other than because she genuinely finds me attractive and wants me to know I am appreciated]" - But today I was able to hear that and be happy.
Example 2-The Boot Fairy pinged me yesterday to say boots he likes are on sale, and he'd like to buy me a pair. My instinct was "no, you don't deserve them," was quickly overrun by "C'mon. He wouldn't offer if he didn't want to, and THEY'RE GONNA BE GORGEOUS" -Further, we haven't done a photo shoot in years. That would be fun, too.  I not only shut down that spiral, I actually thought: Why not celebrate the skin I'm in now. This is the skin that got me this far and will keep me going. Would it be nice to be 2 pant sizes smaller? Hell yes. Will I get there someday? Maybe! Hating on myself isn't going to actually speed things along.

I feel like the really hard work of finding the right meds, re-jiggering my comping strategies, therapy, al-anon, practicing a LOT, and failing  A LOT is paying off. At least for now. I'm sure I'll fall into anxiety again. I hope that I can pass through it gently and keep limping along. Thank you to everyone who's been along for this and take care of me every day. I very much couldn't do this without you.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She was an only child. She was mostly OK with this-- she made do. She knew it wasn't ever going to be otherwise. She felt special and loved by her parents, extended family, friends, and teachers. She wanted for nothing, but she still got lonely sometimes. She wanted someone more to love. In that way that small people have no filters or limits, she wanted someone to love who loved her back: someone who was kind, and thoughtful and intense, and weird and funny and imaginative- someone who was in it with her the same way she was.

The first love was the girl across the street. And for a while, it was pretty great, but always a little off balance. Eventually there was a parental divorce, and the girl across the street moved away, a world away, one town over- and it broke the girl's heart a bit. It was never entirely the same, but our little Don Quixote tried to keep things going, through teen years. But it always hurt that the girl no longer across the street just couldn't love Quixote back like that. She kept thinking.... if only she could try a little harder- do one more thing, the girl not across the street would love Quixote back like before. Aw, honey.

High school was hard. So many people to fall in love with, but this time, not the puppy-ish child-version. This was the adolescent flavor, with all the hormones and raw, unfilteredness that entailed- gods help us all. She'd tilt and tilt - and the windmills got big eyes and backed away slowly citing not wanting to ruin the friendship. Her take-away, was to try harder, be better. That she clearly was doing something wrong, so she should write a poem. Make a mix-tape. Pine. A lot. It'd work out eventually.  But high school came and high school went. And then in the twilight before graduation, in the shadow of prom, she landed a windmill. After a year or so of hard campaigning, the windmill agreed to be her boyfriend. HUZZAH!! Cue victorious music and possibly a walk towards a sunset. But the now 18 year old Quixote had already spent over half her life tilting and failing.... it meant it was hard to say no when opportunity showed up. Even if it was a shitty idea: the wrong person, a bad match, maybe she wasn't really into them but they were into her. She'd best make the best of it because who knew when there'd be another chance. Even though she was in an assumed monogamous relationship, saying no was unthinkable. And in the meantime, the landed windmill had his own problems, lots of demons. Great sex, great moments... but still so much to figure out. So much to explore. Adventures to have and mistakes to make.  So a small eternity of three years later, it ends in a crumbling, flaming heap of bad. A small chance of improvement out of all this -- Quixote abandons monogamy as a bad deal. It was a good start.

It never got as disastrous as the adolescent era, but the pattern stayed: keep trying. Give another chance. Don't say no to affection, even if it feels off. Even if it chafes a bit. Modifications and self-preservation would kick in here and there, learned through hard lessons. Some self-awareness of her own part in her pain and suffering, the damage she ended up inflicted because of it. Parenthood, partnerhood, marriage, friendship, career, therapy.... new lessons, new layers- poly & kink, oh my. Partner transition, and partner sobriety.... And finally- in sobriety and recovery can maybe Quixote figure her shit out. Because goodness! How much of her own misery came from her own choices. An addict's partner's recovery is less straight forward, but just as critical as the addict's if there's to be true healing and true growth.

Quixote kept thinking she had to save her partner. She thought that if she just... (one more thing).... and sometimes she still thinks that, but it turns out Quixote really just needs to save herself. Own her shit. Believe people the first time when they tell her something. Take the space. Take the time to take care. To practice. Keep practicing. Have compassion. Say no. Do the next right thing. Keep going. Keep coming back. Life isn't good/bad, right/wrong. Life lives in gray and ambiguity. In small kindness and small cares. Sweeping grand gestures can go fuck themselves. It's all about the next choice. And recovering from slips without adding recrimination to the damage. The urge to tilt will never entirely leave. And she'll tilt still, from time to time. And when she does, Quixote will try hard and assume it's all her fault when it doesn't work. Her hope comes from realizing it's another windmill before being entirely bruised and battered. That she has a choice. Adventures are OK and can be good! Adventures and windmill-tilting can look ridiculously familiar. They have common roots and require certain qualities of curiosity, hunger, tenaciousness, and bravery. And being adventurous isn't all bad when it includes loyalty, compassion, empathy, love--

But know when to stop.
See the patterns.
Know when the adventure is just a windmill, again.
Back up.
Forgive yourself for the slip and correct the path.
Make amends, if you can.
Try again.

.... to be continued....

It happens to be my birthday. It's been good so far, although I've done very little to ensure that any particular thing happen. I was able to tag along on a party so I didn't have to throw one or think about anything other than showing up. And then I didn't feel compelled to greet everyone or stick around til the end. Nor was I responsible for making sure the house was free of random debris before or after. Best present ever! Jaime came with and managed to also have a good time.

Today's been chill. I got a long massage and fubar is making dinner. My downstairs neighbor/landlady got me a cake (she works at Quebrada) and there may *also* be sundaes to go with the cake. Because there's a place that does sundaes around the corner that's amaaaazing.

So this is 41. I think I can do this.

I haven't been writing because it's just been too much to put my brain together, but it's been a long long slog since October 18th when I posted last about Laura-

She had been under sedation, so many things....
But today she woke up and looked at Amy and said "Hi Mom"

Cue all the tears

I can talk to her tonight. Cue more tears.

And she will be awake when I visit her the weekend of the 20th. MORE TEARS

She said "sorry" to her mom (about getting into this accident) WILL USE ALL THE TISSUES EVER

Go hug your loves again and thank the things you thank that our baby woke up and said Hi.
TEARS TEARS TEARS

I'm having a good day. Manic, for sure... I am super-focused and when I start talking, I have a hard time stopping. But with all this positive energy, it's a huge rush! I suspect I'll crash out from all the expended mental energy before the end of the day, but right now it's totally worth it.

The major factor is that I had a hard interaction last night and the requisite hard conversations that were last night and again this morning. The content of that is not particularly important in this story, but what is was that I was able to express myself in the post-mortem clearly. I was able to indicate what I think went well and what I think was not healthy to the other person's choices. This is something that is monumentally hard for me to do, thanks to decades of conditioning and reinforcement.  I am not sure I have ever had such a clear-cut "victory" in using my words effectively on encouraging healthy communication and reinforcing my boundaries. My therapist (and how many of my friends? ::looks at lifecollage in particular::) has of course chided/encouraged me to do so, but fear won out pretty much every other time. What the fear doesn't want you to realize, is that if you actually succeed in doing the hard thing, you come out the other side feeling satisfied, vindicated... in my case today, feeling bullet-proof.

That bullet-proof translated into being excited and ready to work today. I managed to get most of this out (again, thanks to lifecollage who joined me for the commute in) so I didn't feel a compulsive need to write all this out first thing. So, I'm really happy with how much I've done with today. I've had unbelievably great conversations with my intern and my colleague's intern. I signed up for some professional development for June that I'm rather pleased by. I went out at lunch and bought replacement glasses. They'll look almost exactly like my old ones without the liability of being approximately 4-5 years old. Sadly, they were a bit too expensive for me to also get sunglasses at the same time. I will go to the internets for that.

Moral of the story: Don't let fear own you. When you get it right, it's really worth it on the other side of the brave thing.

Did I mention I'm turning 40 in a few months? I am.
I've put together a birthday present alternative project on GoFundMe. I'm feeling anxious now that it's done, and seeing how it goes...  So go read, and yeah, I'm gonna go hide.

Our hero, the Crime Fighter woke up earlier than we would have liked... and horked on our bed. Snot-only. He does that. It meant he won TV time after the sheets got changed, because 5am is too soon. This activity was not documented. You are welcome.
( Pictures! )
Today we had a minimalist party at the splash park. I think everyone had a good time. Even me!