I got hit with a major case of ‘too much information’ over the weekend. I found myself totally overwhelmed with all the ‘input’. I tried to keep up by matching ‘output’, but between my unfortunate choice in ‘background viewing material’ (conspiracy theories about the New World Order, among other scary things) and various bits and bobs of awful news popping up on Facebook, I lost the battle and entered into a  ’woe, woe is the world’ state of  mind.

Last night the spousal unit and I fantasized about what life would be like if we just unplugged altogether. No more news of the kind we can do nothing about that feels like trauma. No more having our heart strings tugged by manipulative videos. No more flame wars. No more stress over having to deal with figuring out who to trust and invest in and who to keep at a distance. No more killed time. More reading of the kind that actually feeds the brain. More walks. More work done on the little house that could. More camping in the summer.

A total rejection of the Internet from our lives is not going to happen. There is, along with the mixed bag of stuff to hate about it, a lot to love about it. Some of my closest friends came to me through this screen, and I’m not willing to give that up. All the beautiful classes I take that inform my art practice come through this screen, too, and I’m sure as hell not giving that up.

When I first discovered internet, there was no ‘instant publishing platform’ and no social media. We were all little islands in a universe of islands and finding one another wasn’t easy. Then Web 2.0 exploded and while it enhanced my life in many ways, it also occupies my time in ways that aren’t, in my opinion, all that good for me.

I want to pare down. I want to focus on the simple pleasures that come through the screen ~ one on one interactions with people I care about. Writing without worrying about pleasing an audience. Sharing art. Learning ~ and leave the stressy bits behind.

Can I do it?

I don’t know. I have such a virulent addiction to Facebook and that is, bar none, the greatest source of discord AND connection in my life. There’s a part of me that is nudging me in the direction of ditching it and focusing on this little spot and the Studio exclusively. There is another part of me that is screaming and kicking about how much less FUN life would be without it.

Fun, though? Is it fun?

Well, sometimes. I like keeping up with what the people I care about are doing, but to be honest, I’d rather read blogs than quick status updates. I like the ease of the messenger system, but I’d rather send a heartfelt e-mail than a drive by smooch.

So…I don’t know where this is leading me. I know that the world feels too big, too scary, too heavy for me right now. I know that I’m intensely sensitive to what’s happening ‘out there’ and that it can powerfully impact my ‘in here’ even when I have control over it.

Melody Ross of Brave Girl Club took a 90 day hiatus from Facebook, and felt better for it. I’m considering the same. I’m also considering one of those computer programs that locks you off social networking during pre-set hours of the day, just as a reminder to be gentler with my brain and eyes and live a little less ‘out there’ and a little more in my heart of hearts.

Impulse control fail, right? *laughs*

I want a simpler life. I love what I do and I am still in the very early stages of developing it so that it is sustainable. I’m still kind of flailing about trying to discern how best to live this pajama clad mystic den mama life in as healthy and balanced a way possible. It’s easy to get lost in the fray (because there is a lot of ‘fray’ out there!), to forget your mission, to be overwhelmed with a sense of powerlessness over all the information that comes streaming in ~ some of it breathtakingly ugly, some breathtakingly beautiful.

While I’m still up in the air about how to simplify my life, I’m not undecided about this: the best way to rebel against this sense of powerlessness is to expand, not contract. The temptation is to shrink under the weight of things, to go into hiding. And I am very tempted (which is why I have to be so careful about decisions to abandon social networking until I’m certain of my motive).

But my heart is singing a different song. It doesn’t want to shrink. It wants to shine. So I plan to shine, even when it seems futile. I plan to bust out all over the place with kindness and glitter, even when the world seems hostile. I plan to attend to what brings me joy and make informed and conscious decisions about what doesn’t. I plan to be the change I wish to see.

That doesn’t mean I turn the other cheek. It doesn’t mean I tolerate bullshit. It doesn’t mean I just lay myself out there like a welcome mat for the wiping off of shitty shoes. But it does mean I think before I open my mouth. It does mean I extend myself as often as possible in compassion and kindness and acts of love.

So, I’ll try. And we’ll see how it goes.

In the meantime, I’m still on Facebook, but lightly so.

My husband suggested in the car last night that our default position as human beans is ‘to forgive’. That when an apology is offered and the gut check indicates that it is sincere, we leap to forgiveness. I’m not sure I agree with him. I think he has the blinders of his own goodness on. I know people who can hold a grudge.

My father hasn’t forgiven anyone who has ever wronged him. His default is bitterness and perpetual enmity. Whenever he talks about his past, it is laced with vitriol and hostility. I recognize myself in that and catch myself doing the same sometimes, but the difference is, I catch myself. He is oblivious.

My mother is very unforgiving, as was her mother before her. She practices ‘shunning’, as did her mother before her. I recognize that in myself as well, because I do find it very easy to walk away from relationships that aren’t working, but I find that the relationships I walk away from easily are relationships that I don’t really value. Harsh, but listen: I know a lot of people. People come in many flavours. Some are flavours I really enjoy, and some are yucky to my palate. I don’t choose to spend a lot of time trying to acquire a taste for people I find yucky. (I get a lot of flak for this because, you know, we’re all supposed to be everyone’s cup of tea and everyone’s supposed to be our cup of tea. Or some such nonsense.) I do gut check, though, before I throw in the towel. Sometimes my instincts are absolutely spot on and sometimes, they’re not, but whatever the case may be, the results of gut checking and going with my guts are always *good* in the end.

As a survivor, forgiveness has been a bone I’ve gnawed on for years. And years. Forgiveness is, in some therapeutic settings, a goal of therapy for survivors, as though it is some kind of panacea. I think the questions around forgiveness ~ ‘to forgive or not forgive’ ~ are a total waste of time. I think they’re a waste of time because the language is completely misleading.

Forgive. What does it mean? To give as before.

Well, when it comes to the man who took my hymen at age six, that does not apply. To the man who choked me unconscious and molested my child, that does not apply. To the woman who knew her children were being harmed and let it happen, that does not apply.

Right? Because who in their right mind would ‘give as before’ to someone like that?

I don’t think the word is appropriate. I think a better word (and goal) is ‘release’. I think working through all that we feel about what happened and then releasing the person, the bitterness, the rage ~ releasing being a process and not a sudden decision or an easily uttered phrase ~ is a more appropriate recommendation for people who, like myself have suffered at the hands of some truly depraved human beings.

I’ve learned this: Releasing is appropriate in some cases and forgiveness (giving as before) is appropriate in others. I can release my attachment to a lion who swats at me while I try to remove the thorn from his paw, but I am not fool enough (anymore) to get back into the cage with him and ‘give as before’. You know? I can release any anger or bitterness (because that shit poisons *me*, not the person I’m angry with) yet still maintain my boundaries and standards around how I’m treated. Misunderstandings, I can forgive. Lapses in judgement, or someone ‘not knowing better’, or triggered behaviour…those things, I can forgive.

But repeated, willful harm-doing?

Nope. Release, yes. Forgiveness? In my opinion, continuing to ‘give as before’ to someone who repeatedly hurts you is self-abuse.

I know the fruits of both forgiveness and releasing as intimately as I know the palm of my hand. When I forgive, I open my life to deeper intimacy because there is no intimacy like that kind that comes out of a rip-roaring, head busting, dramallama fight and the subsequent sheepish time spent making up. Nothing. Easy relationships, in my experience, tend to be shallow. It’s the ones we have to fight for that are *worth fighting for*. When I release, I stop giving energy to something that sucks the life out of my life. I move forward into my own journey without a ball and chain of resentment attached to my ankle, but I also do not offer myself up as a door mat upon which shitty shoes may be repeatedly wiped.

Because, this has been my experience: some people are so damaged, so oblivious, so completely unconscious that you might as well forgive a scorpion for stinging you. The nature of a scorpion is to sting. If I take that personally, it’s *my failure*, not that of the scorpion. Forgiveness isn’t helpful or appropriate in cases where people are just not capable of better. Distance and enough self-love to protect myself, and empathy and enough compassion to simply release any and all expectation of better from these people seems a more sane and effective approach.

Where I forgive, I give as before. Where I release, I drop kick that shit right out of my life and never (if I can help it) look back.

xo

Effy

I took some hard hits this year ~ hits that were meant to teach me something, I think, and since I am who I am (expert navel gazer, etc.) I am bound and determined to look at what’s going on with a steely eye out for the lesson. I mostly succeed. I journal and find bits and pieces of what my soul is reaching for ~ love without possession. Self protection without isolation. Self-love and nurture.

More fun. (I’m not having any fun!)

There has always been a part of me that feels guilty about not liking people. There is this little voice in my head that tells me there is something morally wrong with picking and choosing who I want in my life and who I don’t. Intellectually, I know this is bullshit. We all pick and choose and most people (like my husband, goddess bless him) pick and choose without having to spiral into the depths of despair over it. My husband doesn’t think it’s complicated. If you think someone’s an asshole, that’s that. There is no need to analyze it because hey…some people are assholes. I want to adopt that attitude (and sometimes I really think I should) but there is a small still voice inside that reminds me we are all one and the ones who come off as assholes are mirroring something to me that I MUST look at, MUST attend to, MUST deal with…

It’s exhausting.

It would be easier, I think, if I learned when it is *helpful* to say what I’m thinking or feeling. If I think someone is being douchey in a way that trods all over my carefully erected boundaries, I usually say so. I usually say it as diplomatically as my limited social skills allow, but it almost INEVITABLY leads to drama. Except with those who love me. Those who love me GET it, and they get that I speak from a place of love. The thing is, I consistently throw my pearls before the proverbial swine. I don’t have to tell the random person who steps all over my boundaries the exact degree to which they are upsetting me, yeah? I have a policy in place that allows me to use my own discretion and bin them. Simple! Except I have this twitch where instead of just binning and moving on, I assume they want information, that they want to work it out, that if they understood the degree to which this or that upsets me, they would *stop doing it*.

Maddening.

In my attempts to mitigate just how polarizing a person I can be, I’ve been shoving myself in to this tight little skin: the glitter flinging, ever positive, always on the ball, tribe-before-self skin. It is a good skin to wear *part of the time* because it helps me get shit done, and a positive attitude is really powerful when one is working towards goals that require faith in oneself. But, this skin also leads me to keep on keeping on long after it’s healthy for me to do so. It keeps me handing out the benefit of the doubt long past doubt’s due date. It keeps me in relationships with people I really don’t like or trust. (Because see above about feeling guilty about not liking people!) So I wear this skin and I deal and I cope and I let people trod all over my boundaries (read: ALLOW, which means it is totally my fault and not the trodders fault and I think blaming other people for your own choices is pathetic, so I don’t do that.) and then I go all “FUCK RIGHT OFF” in the end because I *can’t deal anymore* and I’m the one that looks like the asshole.

Oh Em Gee….what a fucking ramble. Anyway…

I think I’m needing to shed that skin so that I can grow a new one that includes all of the above and also fierce protectiveness over solitude, the ability to walk away when I know it’s time, gut-trust, down-time, truth-telling *only when it’s worth it*, and flow.

I have not been flowing.

I’ve been walking around with my fists and jaw clenched trying to hold myself together so I don’t open cans of whoop ass on the internet. I’ve been counting to ten and suppressing anger and letting my frustration take root in the tender depths of me.

Frustration is not good for flow. It chokes me up. It makes everything hard.

I wondered out loud if I was depressed last night. I do suffer with a rapid cycling form of depression that medication can’t touch: by the time the re-uptake inhibitors kick in, I am cycling out again and re-uptake inhibitors make this non-depressed person psycho. (I speak from experience!) I could take anti-anxiety medication during the down swings (since anxiety is a very prominent factor when I’m depressed) but they make me feel a thousand times more fatigued than depression alone makes me feel, and that leads to frustration and that leads to a much longer downswing.

So I swing down. I let myself go there. I cry whatever tears need crying and I walk around with bed head and b.o. and I don’t shame myself over it. I consider it fallow time and as soon as I begin to feel frustrated, I talk myself into taking a long hot soak or crawling into bed with a book.

I downswing four or five times a year and stay in that bottomed out place for about 3 or 4 weeks. Autumn is the hardest fall I take (no pun intended). Winter sucks, but I find it easier to weather (hah! Punny!) the winter downswing because I have a built in excuse for the desire to do nothing but drink hot chocolate and hide under a fleece blanket for weeks at a time.

That means that four or five out of twelve months in a year, I’m in a downswing.

That sucks.

I’m in one now, which isn’t helping with the need to shed old ideas about who I have to be to run WPS, teach soul-stirring classes, make beautiful art, and function as a wife and mother. It feels too hard right now. It feels like the tight coils of ‘ideas I have about who I should be’ are easier to deal with than deconstructing it all and figuring out what my new skin should look like.

(I know what it should look like, actually ~ it should look like me being exactly who I am, f-words and all without shame or guilt or undue pressure to be ‘better’ or more ‘evolved’ but how to *live* that ~ that’s the question!)

So, I’m resting.

Fallow.

Not producing anything except what I deeply wish (and have the energy) to create. Not worrying about dust bunnies or lip gloss or leaving the house. Not making pencil notes in the margins of self-help books. Not pushing.

*Catches her breath*

xo

Effy

This thing happened tonight after I gave up trying to sleep in favour of NOT listening to my husband snore loudly enough to wake the neighbours. I came downstairs and found Sarah here in the comments being her wicked self (she called me a cuntiferous wench because she *knew* I’d love that!) and I remembered where I come from

That’s what happens when you have friends who’ve been following you around the interwebs since 2000. You have flashbacks.

I am a blogger. I started my first on line diary in 1997. It was on Geocities. I actually wrote some HTML for that blog, and kept it up until I moved to draknet. And then, I found Xanga (which has devolved horribly and is not even a speck on a speck of what it used to be) and my life exploded.

Blogging kept me sane (even while it drove me crazy) and it was my very best friend until 2004, when I fell deeply in love with a seriously decent man. While things weren’t perfect, they were *better* and we had a lot of work to do to keep our little blended family together. Blogging became less and less of a priority. My *kids* were on the internet! I started worrying about over sharing. I stopped feeling safe about being as candid as I need to be for blogging to feel like I need it to feel.

But here’s the thing. I love blogging. I love journal art and holding space for women, too, but I totally forgot how much I love blogging.

And not just blogging, but reading blogs.

Since I started WPS in January, I haven’t made much time for anything else, including going through my feed reader in the morning with my coffee (like I used to). I spent a good two hours just now link hopping, finding blogs that rang my inner bell (thank you, Mel, for providing such a lovely list!). I made a decaf mocha and I just read.

Sank into reading.

Melted like butter.

I’m adding blogging (for real, yo! Not just art blogging, but real, live, my life in words!) to my list of ‘things I must do to stay sane’. Reading blogs, too.

Thanks, Sarah, for the reminder.

(You cuntiferous wench! xo!)