use your ears in yoga

I was a yoga newbie once, too, so I’m trying to extend my compassion and empathy toward the newbies I’ve seen lately, but sometimes it’s really hard. I see them in the mirror and my focus breaks. I try to telepathically send them messages, but none of them pick up on my frequencies. And I notice that their fledgling practice has a big impact on my own practice, and for that, I’m annoyed (mostly at myself of course, but a teeny tiny little bit at them, too).

It’s not the out of shape newbies that bother me. Or the ones who come dressed in completely non-yoga appropriate dress (one girl was wearing an outfit best for strolling down the Santa Monica pier, and one was wearing a non-breathable track suit in neon purple, and yet another wearing a dress and leggings…yeah…). The “bad” dressers provide a moment of amusement or extreme compassion (I worry about them overheating and dying in their fancy outfits), but it is the bad listeners that really drive me crazy.

Like tonight, in the back row, perfectly aligned with my vision, was a a guy taking his first class next to his girlfriend who seems to be a regular practitioner (so I would have thought she would have given him some instruction prior). But I struggled watching him. Because he didn’t listen to the instructor. Bikram yoga is all about doing things in a precise, controlled order, to get ‘maximum benefit’ and to keep safety in mind. I’ve seen new students struggle in this way a lot, trying to get their body to bend into the bendiest pretzel position without regard to their personal safety. And in their newness they aren’t even aware that they’re putting themselves in danger. I am mentally shouting at them PAY ATTENTION! but they don’t listen. They hold their positions too long and then get winded when they could be resting. It throws the energy of the room off, and I sometimes get annoyed. And like tonight, I sometimes get worried for their safety.

I haven’t yet come to a good conclusion for how I should handle myself. I know that I wasn’t perfect as a newbie, but the one thing that I focused on was listening to the instructor and tried to follow their directions as much as I could. So it is hard for me to see people struggle with postures when it appears that they aren’t even listening to a word the instructor is saying!

I think the biggest muscles used in yoga are the ones for listening…

What Happens in Vegas…

…gets blogged about!

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We’ve been planning this trip for months. Ten days after the last tax return was filed, we headed out (super early, I might add) to Vegas with my friend Mari and her husband. The last time I had been to Vegas, I was 14 and playing in an AAU basketball tournament, so the experience was a little less than…debaucherous (to say the least. I ended up with heat exhaustion for the water park and barfed the last two days of the trip). 

At any rate, we landed in Vegas, dropped our bags off at the hotel, and headed out on the town. It was 10 am, and we were STARVING! So we headed out to the Fremont district, where we got some breakfast and spent our time playing nickel slots at Mermaids. 

Because Mari and her husband have visited Vegas enough, they have their favorite cocktail waitress, Ling Ling, and boy did she not disappoint! I won a few good payouts on my own (to the tune of $14), but Ling Ling found me a machine that someone had abandoned with a whopping $16.50 on it to claim! Woo hoo!

 

After a few hours of nickel slots, we headed out to the Tropicana to see my buddy Adam Ray headline at the Laugh Factory. He and I went to elementary and middle school together, and he’s now blowing up (starring in movies like The Heat with Sandra Bullock), and he got us into his show for free! It was fun to ‘shoot the shit’ with him after his show, before he went to his next set. We then stumbled into our hotel around 12:30 pm, and I realized that parenting has made me the perfect candidate for Vegas…able to function off a little sleep and still manage to have fun! 

 

On Saturday we had breakfast buffet at the Bellagio, and wandered the strip for awhile, which made me angsty and sweaty. We headed back out to Fremont district to see my college roomie Marie! I love introducing my friends to my friends, and so we had a lovely evening drinking and eating and then finished the night off with some dancing at an old school arcade. All around amazing getaway, that I hope to repeat again in the future!

 

Easter…in Pictures…

I think the bunny went THAT way mom!

Emotional Blackmail by our Daycare!

I hitched Potamus onto one hip and entered the door code early yesterday morning. We were running late because of the rain and traffic, and Potamus was dawdling in the parking lot wanting “up, up!” instead of splashing through the puddles like he normally does. I set him on the counter inside, signed him in, and was cheerfully accosted by the daycare director holding out a packet from Lil’ Buckaroos photography.

I had seen the signs for the past few weeks, about the pony ride and pictures happening, but assumed it was something that parents had to opt in to participate. Not needing pony pictures with my kidlet, I just ignored all the paperwork. But there it was, in my hand, 7 prints, of my son on the back of a pony, dressed in cowboy gear, and the instructions to pay $25 within a week, order prints online, or return the proofs to the office.

How could I return such adorably overpriced western posed pictures with my one and only? He looked so cute perched on Dakota the pony, tipping his hat, and staring moodily into the camera. I’m a sucker for photos, anyway, and so I ponied up (pun intended) the $25 to pay for the proofs. I won’t even go online to see the package options, because I might end up spending his entire college fund on pony pictures.

But it made me laugh, because it was the best marketing strategy ever. How many parents are going to return the already printed photos of their adorable children riding ponies? I’m guessing not many. The strategy worked, though if it had been something else besides pony pictures, I might have been legitamtely mad. Or if I had an aversion to ponies and felt like I should have been given the option to give permission for my son to ride atop those sometimes vicious little creatures.

I came home and showed Boof the pictures, and he agreed they were cute. Though his heartstrings are not tugged nearly as much as mine, though he loved the idea of giving one of them to his dad for Father’s Day, because Potamus is in love with his “Buppa” and they do manly cowboy things together, like tromp through yard with tools, and I think he’ll love the picture. And who wouldn’t, because my child is adorable, ammirite?

 

 

Compassion for Difficult Family Members?

Last night my mom left a voicemail to call her back. Assuming that a voicemail like that was bad news, I called back pretty immediately. And she proceeded to say:

“Your Uncle Matt is currently in the hospital. He lost his voice last week, and they went in for a checkup and turns out he has a really large tumor in his neck. And two tumors at the base of his skull. And so they’re operating on the one in his throat, first, because it’s the biggest. They’re not sure if it’s cancerous, but it’s probably a side effect from the radiation he had as a kid for that tumor in his face.”

I tried to muster some compassion. This is my mother’s youngest sibling, twelve years her junior, and she was calling to ‘keep [you] in the loop so you don’t hear from the grapevine.’ But honestly…honestly? I couldn’t muster compassion. I tried to imagine my mother’s perspective, caring for her younger brother, especially since she was a mother figure to him growing up, but I just couldn’t do it. I thanked her for letting me know, and got off the phone quickly to head into my yoga class.

And before you start labeling me a horrible human, for taking this news so lightly, I must explain:

My uncle is an asshole.

I mean, not your average run-of-the-mill asshole, but like a certified ASSHOLE of asshole extremes.

It’s hard to put all the stories into one blog post. But he’s 50 years old (ish?) and lives next door to my parents…in the upstairs part of my grandparents house. He hasn’t worked a job in 30ish years, and spends his days sleeping and his nights playing pool tournaments. He is the angriest person I have ever met, and has done shitty things like strangling my parent’s pitbull (not to death, but still), calling and cussing out my family on their voicemail, dispatching the sheriff to the school my mom works at to complain about ‘noise’ (aka the dog barking…note, my parents live in the countryside), disowning his daughter because she married a black man, screaming obscenities at his 3 year old nephew for not shutting the door quick enough, etc. etc. etc.

These incidents have been happening since I was a child. He is angry, probably mentally ill, and has caused HUGE tensions in the family. The most difficult part is seeing my grandparents enable his bad behavior, and justify it, though now as a mom I wonder if I should be less hard on my grandma, specifically. And while his ASSHOLE behavior is no reason to wish cancer, or tumors, on him, I am still having a difficult time mustering up any compassion for his condition.

I am wondering what to do about this feeling. Not going to lie, there have been times in the past that I wished ill upon him because of how awful he has treated members of the family. But lately I have mostly felt neutral. Like, if I don’t have to think about him, or experience him in any way (can you believe it, after 8 years of being together, Boof has still never met him?) then I am much happier. At the end of the day, though, he is my mother’s brother, and she is worried about his health.

 

Thoughts? How do you have compassion or empathy for assholes difficult family members?

On Being Vulnerable

Is this what vulnerability looks like?

I feel like vulnerability is such a catch phrase lately. Maybe it’s because I spend hours a day in my office googling TED talks, and listened to Brene Brown’s videos (here ) on vulnerability and shame recently, but it feels like a word that’s in the air. And it’s a word that I often have difficulty with, even just in definition, let alone in practice. I get squeemish thinking about letting people see my soft underbelly, because that could leave me wounded and hurting.

“Vulnerability is about showing up and being seen. It’s tough to do that when we’re terrified about what people might see or think.” –Brene Brown

But recently I have been compelled toward vulnerability and connection to others in a way that I have been afraid to be before. With my coming out post, and sharing it with non-anonymous people in my life, I opened myself up to friends and family in a way that is often foreign to me. I risked judgment and scrutiny. And in recent conversations, as well, I have found myself both hurt by some, and completely blessed by a connection and intimacy with those who haven’t understood, but have sat with me in the revelation and loved me regardless.

And so I’m reaching out, and up. And making connections that scare and excite me, and letting myself embody the person I have always been, but was afraid to show the world. It’s nice to know I’m surrounded by so much love from my husband Boof, and friends, like Mari, who sits with me drinking wine while our kiddos tear around the backyard. I feel like my marraige and friendships and family life is in such a good place right now, that I am bursting at the seams.

these ‘dresses’ have nothing to do with vulnerability. but we now know where to go if Mari and I were to start a cult…

In what ways are you vulnerable with those in your life?

Panic at the Disco

anxiety…it’s SO awesome (not)

The summer after high school graduation, I had a panic attack. It was disguised as an asthma attack (an illness I had been battling for a few years), and left me feeling ‘freaked out’ and short of breath. I had taken my inhalers, a nebulizer treatment, and finally had to have an ambulance called to take me from my job as a lifeguard to the local hospital, where they pronounced me fine. It wasn’t until I was in graduate school, studying mental health, that I realized oh…that’s what that was.

I have known for a long time that depression has been present in my life. But it wasn’t until my mid 20’s, when I went on antidepressants, that I realized how much a bigger problem anxiety was in my life. When my parents would ask “what are you worried about?” I didn’t have an answer, other than “I’m not worried.” Because I didn’t realize that thinkingalotofthingsalotofthetimeespeciallyinthemiddleofthenightwhenishouldbesleeping was anxiety. It was all I knew. My brain and I didn’t have any other point of reference, and this random word WORRY had no meaning to me.

If we’re getting technical, my diagnosis is Generalized Anxiety Disorder, which basically means everything and nothing specific make me anxious. It’s not a conscious thought process, more like a hum in the background of my mind, like listening to the radio in-between the dial of stations. It only is pronounced sometimes, like at night. Medication helps.

But lately I’ve been having unexplained symptoms. Painful stomach aches. A shortness of breath. A heartburn crackling fire that radiates from my breastbone out into my ribs and feels like my chest might shatter like an egg or a rock hurtling through a window. A swirling of thoughts that make me feel like I’m running around the room doing crazy off the wall things, while I also know that I am really just lying very still. With exception of that one “asthma attack” as an adolescent, the only other time I’ve had an episode like this was during labor, where the pain spiraled my mind into a complete crazy mess and I had to take meds to calm-the-fuck-down so I could birth the baby.

Maybe it’s a new manifestation of my anxiety disorder. Maybe it’s something else entirely. I don’t know. But in reading over the definitions again, of panic attacks, it seems to fit the criteria. So why is this happening out of the blue? And why, when the literature talks about this sudden wave of fear happening, don’t I experience that? I feel all these physical symptoms, and am bothered, uncomfortable,  want them to go away, but haven’t (yet) spiraled into a fear of them happening or even register what I’m feeling as fear, more of just a general annoyance.

So frustrating. I know I’ve been off my medication for a few months, and maybe going back on will help. It’s just weird that my body is reacting like this, especially since I know, and utilize, all the good relaxation techniques and have been avoiding triggers like caffeine. I then wonder…am I really just having an asthma attack and not knowing it? Am I sick or sensitive to foods and that’s why my stomach keeps hurting? WTF body, WTF?!

 

 

**********UPDATE**********

In graduate school, one of my instructors made sure to emphasize that if a NEW symptom of an already diagnosed disorder, or if a NEW SET of symptoms (indicating possibly a new disorder) presents themselves, then it is most like a physical issue that can be addressed before jumping to the ‘I have a new mental illness’ diagnosis.

After waking up from my nap, feeling the tell-tale signs of post-nasal drip, I decided to google sinus infection + anxiety. Apparently others have dealt with sinus infections exacerbating anxiety, and even causing (contributing to?) panic attacks. Whoa. Guess it’s time to up the neti pot…sudafed…and possibly get seen by my Dr….

Oh, and start back on my antidepressants, too. 🙂

Ten Thousand Angels

…the disciples came to him and said, “This is a remote place, and it’s already getting late. Send the crowds away, so they can go to the villages and buy themselves some food.”

16 Jesus replied, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.”

17 “We have here only five loaves of bread and two fish,” they answered.

18 “Bring them here to me,” he said. 19 And he directed the people to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then he gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the people. 20 They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over. 21 The number of those who ate was about five thousand men, besides women and children. Mathew 14: 15-21

 

I’m overwhelmed. This morning as I was scrolling through Twitter, I cam across a tweet stating that last week 10,000 sponsorships were dropped at World Vision.

Wait, let me stop using shiny language: 10,000 kids weren’t going to get their next meal, or school day’s education, or clean water because  evangelical “Christians” didn’t like a policy change. Ten thousand. Let that sink in for a second. A news story goes out, and in less than 48 hours is reversed, because 10,000 kids weren’t going to get fed. As a former-evangelical-Christian I want to ask…where was the prayer? I mean, I grew up praying over almost every decision (not quite like “God should I buy this prom dress?” but close), and so I want to fucking know:

WHY DIDN’T THOSE DUMBASSES FUCKING PRAY FOR FIVE MINUTES ABOUT WHETHER THEY SHOULD FEED A STARVING CHILD OR GO ON SOME POLITICAL POWER TRIP?

Whoa, sorry, got carried away there for a second.

But seriously.

In the passage above, Jesus is out, doing his thing and some people get hungry. You know what he does? He feeds them. 5,000 of them (just the men, clearly more with children and women). Last week the evangelical ‘disciples’ turned away TWICE AS MANY legitimately hungry children because of a political agenda. Jesus didn’t ask questions, he just fed them. The disciples wanted the families to buy their own damn dinner, but Jesus didn’t turn them away, and somehow multiplied a small amount of food into enough to feed all of them.

I’m angry.

Part of me feels relief that I no longer subscribe to evangelicalism, that I’m one of the ones who has left (escaped?). But another part of me is sad that the reason I don’t is because of how shittily their doing this whole Christlike thing. Because there was a time, and I miss it greatly, where I sat in the pews with good people and felt love and peace and a longing to follow and belong forever. I’m not in that place anymore, but have resonated with blogs like this on those who stay in the church.

I hope those children got their sponsorships back, and that they didn’t go hungry. I hope those people who pulled their sponsorships can face themselves in the mirror each morning.  I hope that I can figure out how to be more than just angry about this whole mess.

 

 

Driving gloves & domestic violence?

 

look at our boys playing games

He moved with the energy of a stretched rubber band. The black pleated khaki pants, paired with a short sleeve button up tucked in shirt, were worn like a costume.  The fidgety  adjusting and re-adjusting of  his sunglasses. The quiet strained way he barked orders at the two boys, to look for quarters in the arcade machine’s slots. How he grabbed the joystick and gloated “this is how you do it,” as if he needed to show them who’s boss at these fucking machines. How he slammed the second beer glass into the first when he was finished. The way he strode outside and smoked a cigarette hastily, after telling the woman to just ‘take a damn picture’ of all the art on the wall. And then, he got into his black Toyota, kids buckled into the back, and his wife texting in the front seat. I watched him pull on gloves, and speed away.

Our Monday night solo-mama dinner out had been punctuated by witnessing this strange interaction between a man and his family. There was nothing overt. He didn’t touch anyone harshly. He barely even raised his voice. But the strained energy was like that gas smell right before an explosion. My gut screamed danger, but my eyes said ‘normal family eating dinner at Zippy’s Giant Burgers.’ Sure the kids seemed angrier than other 8 year olds, but they could have been having a bad day, right?

My gut says domestic violence.

But my question is…what do you do about it? If you ever witness something…off…in public (or not), what do you do (if anything)?

When I worked as a crisis counselor I felt prepared to go into situations that were volatile. When I’m out for dinner with my 2 y/o I don’t expect to have to put up emotional boundaries about what I will experience and how I will react. There’s no law against being an asshole, and the guy didn’t DO ANYTHING. But my gut said a different story. My mind starts to race, thinking that when he was in the bathroom I could have struck up a conversation with her. Or asked her outright if he hurts her. Or just given her the Crisis Line #. Or I could have said something to the kids. Or I could have gotten the license plate and reported a drunk driver (because I had just seen him drink a beer).

Instead I stood gape-mouthed as he drove away. Even hours later, the icky feeling in the pit of my stomach lingered. I know that legally I didn’t have to do anything. I don’t even know if ethically or morally I needed to do anything. I do know that if Candid Camera was filming I would have felt like an ass for not doing something. But…but…what would you have done? What should I have done?