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Big Themes

I Have Experience with Groundlessness…Here Are My Tips

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First, on the practical side, if you’re going nuts spending this much time with your kids, I have a small little way to help.

Everyday I’m releasing a new episode of the Mommy’s Pen podcast where I read a chapter from my kit lit novel, The Cat, the Cash, the Leap and the List. I’m hoping it will give your kid something to look forward to each day, and provide a moment where you can go drink a glass of water and breathe.

Now, on the emotional side, we’re about a week into this mess. How are you holding up? Are you over the initial shock and grief? 

Frankly, I feel like I have an unfair advantage in situations like this. No, I don’t have a storage shed full of toilet paper, but I have had the metaphorical rug pulled out from under me several times in my past.

To give you just a taste—and without getting too heavy for a family blog—in my early thirties, shortly after having Nora, I developed type 1 diabetes. I’ve been insulin dependent ever since and I spent about a year struggling with grief and anxiety. These days, I consider it one of the biggest blessings of my life.

The most important takeaway from experiences with groundlessness is this: I cannot control the universe. I can only work to control my own mind.

And I don’t have to let my mind spin out of control and add a layer of suffering to an already painful situation. We cannot know what our lives will look like on the other side of this, even though our brains are busy fabricating scary stories about it. We do not have to believe those stories.

Here are some dos and don’ts I set for myself during this, er, experience. Maybe they’ll be helpful for you, too.

Do:

  • Use this is a character building opportunity — who do I want to be on the other side of this?
  • Be compassionate—to myself as much as others.
  • Journal my thoughts, notice how they create feelings.
  • Challenge each thought — is it really true? Or am I creating a story to scare the pants off myself?
  • Make art! Make things!
  • Maintain my best habits.
  • Keep a gratitude journal. I put a jar on the kitchen table and everyday the kids and I write things we’re thankful for on little slips of pink paper and drop them in.
  • Make decisions—don’t just sit in confusion—and don’t second guess myself. 
  • Find ways to help others. I’m getting a kit from a local hospital system to make face masks.
  • Set goals for my time.
  • Get outside.


Don’t:

  • Constantly read the news! Set boundaries around media consumption.
  • Let my brain spin-out without questioning it.
  • Let myself spiral into bad habits that won’t serve me.
  • Judge others. When I judge others, I lose.
  • Try to control others. Same deal, if I try to control others, I only make myself crazy in the process.
  • Argue with reality. It’s a direct path to suffering.

Ultimately, my guiding principle is this: when I don’t know what to do, I choose something that strengthens me. Even if it’s only drinking a big glass of water and taking some deep breaths.

For most of us, if we look at this exact moment, we are just fine. Take it moment by moment and remind yourself of that as many times as you need to.

Sending virtual hugs.

Sue
 

Stories We See and Stories We Don’t See

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Photo by Nong Vang on Unsplash

As a writer, I feel like my brain is both my biggest asset and my biggest liability. I suspect this is true for most writers.

We are storytellers, and we’re really good at it. And when we’re sitting down to write a work of fiction, we know that we’re writing a story. It may feel like truth to us—and it should. That’s what we do. But on some level, we always know it’s fiction.

Here’s the thing, as we’re going through our days with our families, at work, everywhere, we are also telling ourselves stories. All day long. We’re creating stories in our minds about what’s possible and what’s not possible; how good we are, and how terrible we are. But we often don’t recognize the fact that they are also essentially fiction. There are so many stories constantly swirling around our heads, and we don’t recognize them as fiction that is synonymous with what we do when we sit down to produce a book.

But I submit to you, even if you’re not a writer, that many of the things that you think are fiction. And those thoughts are interfering with the opportunities that we see around us or that we don’t see around us.

So, I’m working on identifying when I’m just telling myself a story. And then consciously choosing to tell a story that serves me better.

We are really good at creating barriers that don’t need to be there.

So much of the work I do as a book launch coach (my day job) is about helping writers create healthier mindsets and get past their mental blocks about finding an audience for their books. There’s so much fear and so many stories that are shackling us to imaginary limitations.

One of the things I’m starting to do is ask writers to start at their preferred end.

(I tweaked this exercise from the amazing life coach, Martha Beck.)

You can try this too, even if you’re not a writer…

So we’re gonna flip to the last page of our story…

It’s five years from now, and you’ve hit it big. Whatever big looks like for you. I want you to close your eyes and really think about waking up and having everything you want. Everything you’ve been dreaming about. What does that look like? How does your day go? Who do you talk to? Where do you live?

Just revel in it. What do you feel like as this future you? What does your body feel like? Does it help you relax? Does it help you not to grasp? Just sit with that for a minute.

The crazy part is that you don’t really want whatever it is you just imagined. You want the feeling state you think it’s going to create.

And you just created that feeling state. And it’s no less real and no more real than the feeling state that’s created when we tell ourselves, “I’m no good. I can’t do it.”

Those two feeling states are both the result of fantasies, right? So if we’re gonna delude ourselves with our own mind stories that are always playing, let’s use our powers for good, okay? Let’s use our storytelling powers to actually lift ourselves up, and create a feeling state that’s going to serve us throughout our day so that we can come from a place of that quiet confidence.

Let’s replace that nagging voice of resistance and shame.

On purpose.

Let’s start recognizing that voice of resistance inside our heads is debilitating and it’s not real.

If we’re gonna be debilitated by something that’s not real, we can make a decision to shift that and say, “All right, I’m going create something else that’s going to help me feel better.”

None of our stories are real, but they have the power to create a feeling of truth inside us. So choose your story carefully.

What Does it Take to Get Big Things Done?

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How long does it take to learn how to motivate yourself to get things done?

In my case, about forty-two years.

I don’t mean that I haven’t been able to get anything done until now. I can unleash a can of whoop ass on a project with the best of them. But, until a few months ago, I wasn’t really clear on why I can sometimes get a big thing done with no drama and other times I set goals that go absolutely nowhere.

I’ve read tons of advice on how to be more productive and reach your goals. Sometimes the advice worked for me and sometimes it didn’t. It was always extra frustrating when something that worked for someone else didn’t work for me.

Then, a few months ago, I was working on developing a quiz for one of my book marketing clients. She sent me an example of the type of thing she was looking for. It was The Four Tendencies Quiz by Gretchen Rubin. The Four Tendencies is a framework (and a book) that looks at your innate style of meeting expectations.

The Four Tendencies are:

Upholder – Upholders have little to no trouble meeting expectations whether external or internal (and sometimes have a lot of trouble understanding why other people can’t).

Obliger – Obligers have seemingly endless power to get things done for others, but struggle with goals that are only for themselves.

Rebel – Rebels pretty much give the middle finger to all expectations — both external expectations and internal. Unless they really want to do something, they are unlikely to do it.

Questioners – Questioners have to know the why before they act. They are good at meeting inner expectations because they’ve already answered their own questions, but they struggle with outer expectations until they get answers.

I took the quiz and learned that I am an Obliger. This was not necessarily earth shattering. I knew that I sometimes (okay, nearly all the time) put my own needs last. After all, I’m a mom with two kids who runs her own business. Kids and clients come first.

But what I didn’t realize was how I could use this information about myself to further goals that are primarily internal.

When I thought about it further, I saw that all the times I’ve done something really big or really hard, I was motivated because of it’s impact on other people.

Example #1: When I quit smoking (over twenty years ago) I did it because it was very clear my then boyfriend (now husband) and I needed to quit and I realized he was far more likely to quit if I’d already done it. And that was all I needed. I quit cold turkey and Ben quickly followed.

Example #2: I wanted to be a writer my entire life (seriously, since grade 2) but I didn’t actually get off my ass and start writing until I had a baby girl at age 30 and I realized if I wanted her to have the guts to follow her dreams I needed to show her it was possible.

Example #3: When I learned I had type 1 diabetes I starting managing the shit out of it and taking immaculate care of myself because I had a daughter and I needed to be my best for her.

Example #4: When I wrote my first novel for kids, it was because Nora (who was six-years-old at the time) was literally project managing me. I’d write a chunk, read it to her and she say “That’s good, Mommy. Now go write some more. I want to know what happens.”

All this probably sounds lame to non-obligers. Why not just do things for yourself? But Rubin says these tendencies are innate. And if that’s the case, it only makes sense that capital-N-Nature would need a big chunk of folks who were focused on the greater good. Those are obligers. That’s me.

It’s not that I have a poor self-esteem and live for others. It’s just that I only have so much time and energy and I’m wired to meet my obligations to other first. My personal priorities take a back seat.

Which is why this framework is so helpful for me. (Rubin says Obligers have the most to gain by learning their tendency.) When I have a goal that’s personal, I just need to make it bigger — to create some external accountability. And now I can easily identify so-called productivity tips that won’t work for me — particularly those of the “just do it” variety.

So, I’m embracing my Obliger identity by creating accountability beyond myself for the things that matter to me. It’s how I’m getting my writing done — I have a fantastic writing/editing group and we meet every 2 weeks. And it’s I’m getting the podcast done — I’m doing it with Nora, it’s good for our relationship and people are expecting to hear new episodes. Writing and podcasting are both things I want to do for myself, but in order for them to happen I have to make it more of a community thing.

In that spirit, I’ve created a group coaching program which will start in January where I’ll work with a small group of writers to help them finally get a good, evidence-based marketing plan together and start executing on it. (And it won’t be just for Obligers, thanks to Rubin, I now know how to coach for all the Four Tendencies.)

So, that’s my big revelation for the year. And I feel well-armed to make some resolutions for 2019 that I can actually keep.

30 Before 40

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celebration-16302_1280I turn 40 on June 28th.

Not, I’m not freaking out. I rather like getting older.

But I am feeling the need to use a landmark birthday to do some special things.

These things fall into 2 categories: Getting My Shit Together Things and Doing Fun Things.

So, in these 30 days before my 40th birthday, I’m setting myself 3 challenges that fall into the Getting My Shit Together category:

  1. Meditate everyday. For at least 1 minute. I know, the bar is low. I’m okay with that.
  2. Exercise everyday. For at least 5 minutes, but ideally, take a nice walk or do yoga. Again, the bar is intentionally low.
  3. Do the Whole30 challenge. This is the highest bar I’ve set. Especially challenging, as school will be out soon and we’ll be taking a short trip to Crater Lake in mid-June.

The fun category? The aforementioned trip to Crater Lake. And I’m toying with the idea of getting an Apple Watch. I’m sure there’s a whole post I could (and maybe will) write where I go into how I’m going to justify this.

I’m squeezing all this in amongst caring for a 14-month-old, a nine-year-old, and work for my writing clients and revising my novel (again).

I figure one of three things will happen:

  1. I’ll succeed and become completely blissed-out and self-actualized.
  2. I’ll succeed, but become completely smug and insufferable to those around me.
  3. I’ll fail and learn something.

Wish me luck.

No Big Deal

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1063960_10203970541457810_8488065736477809134_oI place my heels in the stirrups and turn to my husband, forced to admit, “I stole your socks.”

“I see that,” he says calmly, staring at my argyle bedecked feet sticking out of the hospital gown.

It’s New Year’s Eve and we’re in a triage room of the Labor and Delivery unit. I am twenty-six weeks pregnant and I am bleeding. Again.

The first time I started bleeding was Thanksgiving Day. After sex, Ben went to the bathroom to clean up and came rushing back to the bedroom.

“Sue, you’re bleeding,” he said, his voice without any breath behind it. I turned on the lamp and looked at the sheets.

I felt no pain. My mind flashed to what might lie ahead. The blood and the sobbing. The sad explanations to well meaning people.

That Thanksgiving night, over the phone, the on-call doctor talked me off the ledge, explaining that bleeding after intercourse was common during the second trimester, since there is so much increased blood flow to the cervix. My bleeding slowed, then stopped.

In short, it was no big deal.

The next day, just to be safe, my own doctor put me on pelvic rest; which is the medical term for “You’re not getting any for a while.” This is a particularly cruel fate for a second trimester pregnant woman.

But now this, waking up on New Year’s Eve, bleeding for no apparent reason. This time, the on-call doctor sends me to get checked out. This time, it feels like a big deal.

The young resident doctor deploys her speculum. I squeeze Ben’s hand. Hard.

We get the best possible news under the circumstances: I have a large polyp on my cervix. There’s no danger to the baby.

The older attending doctor explains, a bit too excitedly — and with hand gestures — that after the baby is born they can simply twist the polyp off.

So, it’s gross — but again — it’s no big deal.

I’ve been working with this concept all year, this idea of “no big deal.” Most evenings, I collapse into bed and put in my earbuds.  I listen as Pema Chödrön explains why Buddhists — and lapsed Catholic wannabe Buddhists like me —  train themselves not to make such a big deal of everything.

Every little bump we encounter in our day to day lives is a big deal: traffic, a head cold, an overcooked burger, a bad boss. We loll around in our troubles. We meditate to learn not to fan the flames.

But, oh! How part of me — the miserable, gestating part — wants to make things a big deal! Doctors make a big deal of my pregnancy at the “advanced maternal age” of thirty-eight, an even bigger deal of my complicating factor of type 1 diabetes, and, biggest of all, being pregnant with twins and losing one of them at just nine weeks.

This bleeding polyp — before I knew what it was — made me fear both babies were lost.

I get surges of emotion — grief, anger, adoration, gratitude — that flood me and leave me exhausted. But the core me — the sane me under the enormous belly — knows these are merely hormonal typhoons, and keeps reaching for the big rock of rationality and calm.

No big deal. It’s become my mantra for those times when I don’t get my own way. If I had my way, I wouldn’t have been pregnant again. Then I wouldn’t have been pregnant with twins, but what did I know? Because when we lost one of them, that news had me collapsed and screaming in my driveway, sobbing and clinging to my husband and I didn’t stop until every grieving moan within me was released.

When my breathing finally slowed, I said to myself, “Hey, so you made a big deal out of it, that’s no big deal. Happens to everybody.”

Many women suffer miscarriages between seven and nine weeks. Many women who are pregnant with twins never know it. One twin vanishes before the first ultrasound glimpse into the womb.

It does help to know I am not alone. “Other people feel this,” Pema says into my ear. Reminding ourselves of this is what she calls “thinking bigger.” It’s easy to think bigger when looking at my ever-ballooning belly. I remind myself I’m suffering through all of this — like so many women before me — for good reason: a healthy baby.

No big deal. It’s one hell of a paradox. Feeling my feelings, even plunging into the pain, but then zooming out on my own life to see the larger landscape. Having something bad happen isn’t a big deal and it doesn’t make me special, it makes me human. Other people feel this.

I breathe into my big round belly. No big deal. I can minimize the emotional pain this way. But I hope I’m not spiritually advanced enough to minimize the joy when this baby arrives. I still want that to be a big deal.

This post was lovingly sponsored by my Patreon Supporters (you can become one, too!) and featured in the live celebration of motherhood, Listen to Your Mother – Portland on May 5, 2016.