- Over the weekend, two of our favorite ladies from the Twin Cities came and stayed with us. We cooked a rather ridiculous amount of food. We went to Zoo Lights. We enjoyed hot cocoa with peppermint schnapps. And we spent a lot of time just hanging out. It was really wonderful. I am so incredibly grateful to have friends who are such lovely and charming houseguests of the sort who don’t leave me feeling particularly drained when they leave. My people are the best people.
- There’s so much going on in my brain that I feel like I don’t even know what half of it is anymore. I really, really need to be more consistent with taking time to meditate in the mornings. I’m also thinking I maybe need to start utilizing some meditative techniques outside of tarot – focusing more on breathing and on posture.
- Last week, without realizing it, I hit the two year anniversary of this blog. I’ve posted something damn near every Thursday for two whole years! Sure, a few posts went up late, and one or two maybe never went up at all, but on the whole, I’ve been consistent. I often feel like I don’t have a lot to say; I’m often scrambling to come up with something to write about on Wednesday evening. But it’s a good exercise, getting myself to write something each week, and something I feel like I can be at least a little proud of. Thanks for being along for the ride, folks!
self-care
Thinking
I’m doing a lot of thinking these days.
I mean, I do a lot of thinking all the time. It’s a big part of who I am. But lately, my brain’s feeling a little crowded.
I’m thinking about privilege, particularly all of the privilege I have always had as a white person, and more recently that I’ve acquired as a white man.
I am thinking that I need to use all of that privilege to more constructive ends.
I’m thinking about family, about the ones I chose who also chose me, and about how my feelings surrounding my choice to step back from my family or origin have evolved over the past several months. I’m thinking about my grandparents, two of whom are still living but all of whom I’ve lost. I’m thinking of my uncle, my father’s best friend, who had breakfast with me a couple of weeks ago and whose father passed away this week.
I am thinking that grief is complex and unpredictable.
I’m thinking about identity, and how I relate to my body, and how desperately I’ve been trying to ignore the growing presence of body-related dysphoria in my life. I’m thinking about how top surgery is still unscheduled and likely won’t happen for close to a year, and about how it will put me even further in debt but how I can’t even care about that anymore.
I am thinking that I am grateful that my identity as a man came after and was shaped by twenty-odd years of identity as a girl and as a woman.
I’m thinking about knitting, and how many projects I’ve managed to finish this year, about how most of them were very small but two of them were sweaters for me (though only one of those is wearable), and how that’s a lot for me.
I am thinking I want to knit all the sweaters.
I’m thinking about tarot and insight and intuition, and about how much I want to help people, and whether those two things should be more connected in my life. I’m thinking about burnout and spoon theory and whether my desire to help people should sometimes take a back seat to helping myself.
I am thinking about the value of selfishness.
I’m thinking about friends, about the ones that I’ve lost and the ones that I’ve gained and the ones that I’ve kept despite distance and regardless of the infrequency of contact. I’m thinking about an upcoming weekend of manicures and chick flicks and cooking and domesticity and some of my favorite people.
I am thinking that I am grateful for my newfound ability to appreciate my own femininity.
I’m thinking about books, and how I used to read all the time, and how over half the books I’ve read this year were books I’d read before. I’m thinking about stories and escape and education.
I am thinking I should prioritize making more time for books in my life.
I’m thinking so many things about myself and my home and my hobbies and the people in my life, and my brain is often feeling like a very crowded place. The fact that I’m entering into a manic phase is amplifying that feeling, and it’s a little overwhelming. But it’s also encouraging.
I am thinking, therefore I am growing.
Sweaters and Self-Care
Last month, I probably mentioned once or twice that I was working on a sweater, one that I hoped to have finished by the time I went on my camping trip.
Well, I finished it…but when I blocked it, it grew at least six inches in length, and didn’t gain the couple of inches in circumference that I needed, and long story short, it doesn’t fit at all.
I was so disappointed…I’d put so much effort into the sweater, and the finishing work (reinforcing the button band and sewing on the buttons) was spot-on. A lot of friends tried to give me suggestions of ways I could try fixing it, but…well, I’d have to remove the buttons and reinforcing ribbon from the button band to try any of them, and I really don’t think anything is going to make it fit the way I want it to.
I finished the sweater on a Wednesday. Thursday is knit night at our favorite local yarn store, and I decided that, rather than be totally demoralized (or, you know, work on any of the other three sweaters I have in progress…), I was going to buy yarn that I had used before (and therefore could predict how it would block out), and start a swatch for a new sweater.
I didn’t get started on the actual sweater itself until this past weekend, but I’ve already got one sleeve done, and have started on the second one. It’s a very basic pattern (the only particularly interesting feature is a couple of cables on the front panel, which I’m saving for last), so it’s been some very soothing knitting that I’ve been able to work on while reading and thinking (and, sometimes, just staring off into space).
Sometimes, self-care looks like mindless sweater knitting.
And sometimes, self-care is finally contacting the therapist whose business card you’ve been carrying around for two weeks, and making an appointment.
As of this past Monday, I am officially back in therapy. I’ve got some shit to work through, some major emotional processing that I’ve been avoiding for months. It’s a little overwhelming and scary, but I know in the end it’s exactly what needs to happen, both for my own sake and the sake of everyone I interact with.
Returning to Reality
Last weekend, I finally went on the solo retreat I’d been planning for over a month. I went camping by myself up north near Lake Superior.
Before I left, I had sketched out a rough plan for what I wanted to get done while I was away. I was going to spend a lot of time meditating and playing my guitar and hiking around the north woods.
Almost none of that happened. The weekend wound up being somewhat different (at least in terms of activities) than I had planned…but it turned out to be exactly what I needed:
- I didn’t talk more than was absolutely necessary. (I was appropriately charming with the waitstaff and cashiers I encountered, but other than that, I didn’t say much.)
- I didn’t check social media at all. (I had my phone on so I could use the flashlight feature and keep track of the weather, but it spent most of the time in airplane mode.)
- I rested. I went to bed ridiculously early both nights I was camping, and spend a fair bit of one of the days napping as I listened to the wind ruffle the leaves of the trees.
- I spent a lot of time thinking, but not much time worrying.
- After I was done camping, I spent a little bit of time debriefing and catching up with a couple of particularly dear people.
And then I came home, feeling much more human and much more alive than I’d felt in several weeks. I have a lot more thinking to do, and there are other things that need to be done in order to stay in a place where I feel human and alive. But taking time to be quiet and relax seems to have been an important first step.
Help
I’m writing this on Wednesday evening, feeling pretty rough around the edges without much reason. The dysphoria monster has been hanging around a lot lately, which is not something I’m good at dealing with. I’m finding that no matter how great individual moments may be, my days have been feeling a little dreary overall.
I’m doing things to change this, slowly but surely. My little solo camping retreat is fast approaching, which I think will be a big help. I’ve had setbacks, but am (I hope) getting closer to finding a therapist. My partner and I went to three different shows to see two bands last week, which included a whole series of adventures and a lot to be grateful for.
One thing I find to be enormously helpful in the moments when I am not doing well is to try to do something to make someone else’s life a little easier. With that in mind, rather than write the long-winded, whiny blog post that my brain is trying to get me to write, I’m instead going to use this week’s post to boost support for a friend.
There are plenty of details at this link here, but what I can tell you is that my buddy Billy is one of the most genuinely wonderful human beings I have ever had the privilege of meeting. I would be hard-pressed to think of anyone else that I know who is so committed to investing in their community as much as Billy gives back to his. He’s hit a rough patch recently, which has not stopped him at all from being an incredible, generous person (which, knowing Billy, is at once impressive and predictable).
I know a lot of people are going through some stuff right now and money is tight, but if you can give Billy a hand, either by throwing a few dollars his way or by signal boosting the fundraiser, I’d appreciate it, and I know he would, too.
Faulty Coping Mechanisms
Sometimes (and this should come as a surprise to no one)…I make mistakes.
I knew, all through last week and most of the week before, that I was starting to run low on my medications. I put off sending in the refill request, because my new insurance card hadn’t come in the mail yet. Last Thursday morning, I took the last pills I had. My insurance card still hadn’t come, but I didn’t really have a choice; I put in the refill request.
Unfortunately, my insurance card continued to not show up, and the pharmacy didn’t get going on the refill right away, and I was feeling very overwhelmed and low on spoons and doing a terrible job of expressing to my partner what was happening, and, long story short, I had no meds over the weekend.
I’ve been on the same duo of medications for six years. There have been times when I’ve run out of one or the other (never both at once), or missed a day, but neither of those things have happened often, and neither have happened at all in probably two years. I had no idea what to expect. I assumed that I had a day or two, at least, before it really started working its way out of my system, but beyond that? Not a clue.
I felt increasingly off as the weekend progressed. I finally told my partner what was happening on Sunday. Monday morning I overslept (in part because it was stormy and so dark outside that I think my brain decided it couldn’t possibly be day, and I turned off all but my last alarm in my sleep), which meant that I was already not in the best place when I got to work. A few hours into my day, I realized I was feeling pretty shaky. I started sweating profusely. My head hurt. It gradually dawned on me that the withdrawal had finally hit.
I logged into my pharmacy’s online portal and saw that the one medication that was most likely causing the worst of the withdrawals had been filled, and my old insurance had covered it (I’d forgotten that I submitted a refill request when I got a reminder email from the pharmacy a month prior, then realized that, because I only take half a pill per day, I didn’t actually need it yet, and had never picked it up). I decided I’d head to the pharmacy after work and at least pick that one up.
I ended up leaving work around lunchtime, because I realized that the withdrawal symptoms were only going to get worse, and headed straight to the pharmacy, feeling increasingly desperate.
As it turned out, even though I didn’t have my new insurance information, I was able to use a clinic discount to get my other medication at a reasonable price as well. I tried not to beat myself up too much as I headed home with the medications I probably could have picked up over the weekend, before things got out of hand.
Thankfully, in the midst of getting my brain back on track, I’ve had plenty of folks around to help me keep moving. A friend invited me to join a weekly roleplaying game, which meant I got to spend a good chunk of Monday and Tuesday coming up with character ideas. Tuesday evening was the game, and there’s nothing quite like several hours of collaborative storytelling to get you out of your own head. Work has been especially busy, which has been challenging, but has also provided a really good gauge of how quickly my mental state is improving – I felt so much more capable of focusing and getting work done yesterday than I did on Monday, which was encouraging.
I’m still waiting for my insurance card to show up, but now HR is aware that there’s a problem and is working on rectifying it. I’m making myself a list of appointments I need to schedule when it finally gets here (and I’m hoping it comes before the appointment I have scheduled for this weekend). Finding a therapist to help me work through some of the underlying emotional things that are siphoning off my supply of spoons is at the top of the list. I am not letting myself get back into the position I was in at the beginning of the week every again, if I can help it.
Here’s to finding new and more reliably effective coping mechanisms.
Drifting
I’m writing this Wednesday evening, and it’s already been a long week. Between humidity (and who knows what else) causing pain and multiple items of unexpected (and not particularly happy) news causing anxiety and an unusually high level of work drama causing frustration, I’m not in the best place right now.
On top of (and, maybe, because of) it all, I’ve been really struggling to focus. I feel like I’m drifting aimlessly through my universe right now. It’s not so much that I feel lacking in purpose…I just don’t have the energy to devote to moving in any particular direction right now.
I’ve been thinking more lately about belief, spirituality, and ethics. In some ways, I feel like I’m having a super understated existential crisis…there’s nothing particularly earth-shattering going through my brain, and I’m not panicking. There’s something immensely comforting about being able to articulate the basics of one’s beliefs in an organized manner, and that’s something that I feel like I’m currently missing. What I want to do is make a concentrated effort to work through and be super conscious of the belief system that’s shaping how I live my life. Because I’m so low-energy these days, that’s a challenge, but I’m gathering resources and thinking a lot about it, which seems like the place to start. Several years ago I gave myself permission to ask questions; now, I think I need to give myself permission to find answers. I’m not at all interested in organized religion, but I’m slowly identifying which pieces of religious life I miss and feel a need to recreate on my own terms. There aren’t many of them, but they’re there. Meditation and ritual are two things I am finding mean a lot to me and to my mental health, and I’ve been working toward finding ways of reincorporating them into my life, but so far it’s been pretty freeform, and (as much as I hate to admit it) I think I need a bit more structure there.
Fighting Frustration
It’s 10pm Wednesday and I’m finally cranking out a blog post for this week. I’ve been trying all day to come up with something write about, but I’ve been largely unsuccessful – it was an immensely frustrating day at work, in ways that my job is not usually frustrating. I am torn between a desire to bitch about my day (which is something I promised myself I wouldn’t do often, back when I started Accidental Fudge), and a desire to put something positive out into the universe (which is a challenge today, because it’s been so frustrating).
I’m going to err on the side of positivity, though, in the hopes that it’ll set me up for a better day tomorrow. So here are three things I’m looking forward to as we launch ourselves into July:
- Three day weekend! Particularly in light of how frustrated my Wednesday was, I am super excited to have an extra day to myself this weekend. I’m planning to get together with a friend in the afternoon on Friday, but the morning will be me hanging out around the apartment, at this point without much of an agenda – there are some creative projects I could work on, or I might read…I’m going to try to resist the urge to sleep it all away.
- New (and hopefully better) health insurance! I decided last month to switch my insurance plan from a HMO to a PPO, and that kicked in as of July 1. The major thing I’m excited about is being able to go to specialists without needing to get referrals. I want to be more intentional about dealing with mental health stuff and am going to seriously pursue therapy now that I know my insurance will cover it. I’m also (finally) going to talk to my doctor about the chronic pain I’ve been dealing with for…well, years, and I’m glad I’ll have the freedom to choose a specialist in whatever field my doctor suggests, instead of being locked into one medical system.
- A less hectic schedule! This is the first time in two years that I’m not taking any classes at the Old Town School of Folk Music. It’s weird, but I think it’ll be good – I’ll have more time at home to work on projects (read: major reorganizing) we’re working on, and won’t have to ration my spoons as much if I’m not being as social. And I still have my weekly volunteering gig in the school’s Resource Center, so it’s not like I’ve cut the place out of my life entirely for the next couple of months.
Balance
Having an internet presence is a constant balancing act.
I love having this blog. I love that it makes me slow down long enough to write every week, often about things I might not otherwise take the time to think about.
But it’s always a balancing act. How much do I put out into the vast expanse of the internet? How much of my life am I willing to share with friends and strangers? When can I let myself vent about specific people or situations, and to what extent, and when do I need to just keep quiet?
I’ve been dealing with some pretty major emotional stuff lately, and I haven’t known how much to share here. But I think I need to say something, because I have a feeling it’ll come up on its own sooner rather than later, and I want to give some context before it does.
I haven’t spoken to my family of origin since March.
I just wrote 1000 words of explanation, but I am not going to post them, because this is part of the balancing act: I do not want to contribute to further drama. Suffice it to say that right when things seemed to be getting a little better, they turned around and got a whole lot worse, and I had to cut ties in order to maintain my sanity.
I don’t regret the decision to establish some distance. (Boundaries are a thing I’ve always struggled with, and it’s become very clear that I came by that honestly.) But it hasn’t been easy.
I’ve also recently realized that I’ve been avoiding dealing with how I relate to my body. Dysphoria, for me, has mostly manifested in me being very detached from my body…of course, once I realized this, remaining detached got harder, and now I’m painfully aware of my discomfort with my body.
Starting next month, I’ll be on an insurance plan that will make it a lot easier for me to see a therapist, so that’s my plan at this point, because I have a lot of feelings about family and about my body that I need to process, and my partner shouldn’t have to be the only person in the world to listen to me blather as I try to work through those things.
So that’s where I’m at: seeking balance. Whether I achieve it is still hit or miss, but I think I’m getting there. Thanks for coming along for the ride.
Going to Ground
I’m not sure whether it’s a factor of turning another year older, or Mercury in retrograde, or wonky weather messing with the barometer, or just my brain, but it’s been a challenging week so far. I’m on my way up into another manic phase, and thanks to one, some, or all of the aforementioned factors, the mania is manifesting itself as some pretty intense and occasionally paralyzing anxiety. This is particularly frustrating in light of the fact that my ManicBrain wants to DO ALL THE THINGS, but AnxietyBrain is too overwhelmed.
Tuesday morning during my meditative time I was thinking a lot about the need to ground myself amidst the mental chaos. A friend suggested I go through one or more of my tarot decks and pull out a card or two that helped me to feel grounded that I could carry with myself during the day. The cards I have tattooed on my arm actually do a pretty good job of that, but I wanted something else. Which was about the time that I saw, in front of a pile of things my partner had set out to sort, a bag full of rocks I picked up at some point on a trip to Lake Superior…and I thought, if it’s grounding I need, why not carry a literal piece of ground with me?
I am a person of Earth. My roots wind deep into my little daily rituals and my most closely held convictions. I grow in seasons, my greatest sense of purpose comes from providing shelter and shade from life’s storms, and I contain vast capacities for both strength and vulnerability. Much as I love the convenience of living in the city, my soul sings at the sight of trees and wild spaces. Earth is an integral part of who I am.
But sometimes I need an extra little bit of Earth. And that’s when I turn inward, and go to ground, and look for tangible little reminders to stop and breathe and dig in deeply when I feel my brain trying to fly off in a hundred different directions at once – tarot card on my arm, a little river rock in my pocket.
Before you think I’ve gone totally “woo” on you, never fear – there are plenty of other things I do to manage my anxiety, from my regular medications to deep breathing to cutting back on sodium and caffeine so my heart has fewer excuses to race. I try to stick to a schedule, to get enough sleep, and to avoid situations where I know I will feel overstimulated. These are the logical steps to anxiety management.
The trouble is that anxiety so rarely has any sort of connection to logic. It’s visceral. It comes out of the most primal part of the brain.
And when all of my logical options have been exhausted and I still feel like screaming and crying and curling into a ball under my desk, it’s comforting to look down at my arm and be reminded that my body is the home that I have built for myself, or to reach into my pocket and touch that solid little bit of stone.
So when I look at the forecast and see storms predicted every. single. day, instead of caving to the impulse to break down, I’m going to stop, and breathe, and dig my roots into the Earth of my life, and know that somehow, I am going to weather the week.
Accidental Fudge 