Surrendering my Pain

Surrender. That was the message I found today, when facing an emotionally painful and uncertain situation in my life. When I saw the word, surrender, my mind immediately latched on to it, because I have heard it used several times this week by myself and others around me. Though I am hard-headed at times, I am trying not to ignore the signs or the big white flag...

What does surrender mean? To give up? Give into emotions, whims or wants? Resignation? It can be defined as giving up or admitting defeat, but surrender is also the act of handing over control to another.

For me this is a difficult and unnatural process... not being in total control?!? I labor and stress to manage the many details of my life, thinking this will bring me what I want, make me happy. To be completely honest, this approach is not really working out for me at all.

Surrender begins when I honestly and fearlessly open my heart, my mind, and admit that I do not know what to do. I have to acknowledge (and constantly remind myself) that I do not understand what everything means or how to respond.

As we recognize our powerlessness, we can hand over control to our inner voice, a higher power, the universe, God. As hard as it is for me, I must allow God to decide for me.

Surrender frees us to perceive, to experience, to simply do what feels right. Living in the moment, we can open ourselves to all possibilities, our full potential. Letting go of negative emotions... worry, regret, fear, pain... replacing them with faith, hope, trust.

I am willing to accept whatever decision is made for me; I don't have to like it to accept it. No matter what it is, I will know and trust that it is right for me. I willingly surrender my pain and uncertainty, open my heart and mind, relinquish control, welcome peace into my life.

Braving the Great Outdoors

Growing up with brothers, taught me to never back down. Being told that I couldn’t do something, well that was just an invitation for me to prove somebody wrong. Even if I didn’t want to do what I was told that I couldn‘t do, well, I'd do it anyway or go down in flames trying to prove that I COULD. Make sense?

I’ll admit it wasn't always pretty to watch... like eating a huge pile of wasabi in one gulp... owww... that was just stupid. Or tightrope walking 12 feet of wobbly wire fence. That one knocked the wind out of me. But I can run faster, hold my breath longer and scream louder than any of my brothers... those are true survival skills.

I had difficulty resisting a challenge, so when my brother Rod declared that I wouldn’t last a night out in the woods by myself, I just couldn’t manage to keep my mouth shut and let it slide. Immediately protesting that I most certainly could, I was egged on with the hackneyed expression, “Prove it then!”

At the age of 15 I deplored camping. My years of prior experience had cured me of any lingering urges. Teenage girls can’t sleep in dirt, on dirt, eat dirt, wear dirt. And where would I plug in my curling iron?

The last thing I wanted to do was spend the night in the great outdoors, but now I HAD TO, because someone told me I couldn’t... curses!

Unfortunately, there was no way I was actually going to sleep out in the middle of nowhere by myself, so I recruited my best friend Sherry and eight year old brother Ray to help defend my honor. I didn‘t consider that cheating; I simply needed witnesses.

After gathering, piling, stuffing and compacting more than we would need for a week's stay, my father with unspoken misgivings, drove the three of us to Freeman Reservoir campground among the scenic mountains in northwestern Colorado. I suppose my dad had selected this site for its proximity, conveniences and lack of fervor. Little or no possibility of trouble, or so he hoped.

Excited by our forthcoming independence and restless for adventure, my disdain for camping was temporarily forgotten. Gently declining all offers of help from my father, we eagerly said our goodbyes and began setting up camp in the midst of towering pine and aspen trees.

Insomnia Delirium

Sleep deprivation is starting to wreak havoc on me this week. My insomnia stems from having a lot on my mind... contemplation, reflection, speculation, concern.  Issues of the mind and heart...things that can not simply be forgotten or resolved. Things to work out, work through. Life stuff.

I've only slept around eight hours in the last five days.  I'm not whining, but I am starting to feel my personality amplify and distort... which, I assure you, is the last thing I need.

I'm overly emotional, hyper-sensitive, edgy, wired and having difficulty focusing. I also have this habit of talking too much. By the time I realize I’m doing it, I can’t remember the point at which I started or was trying to make. Just like now...

Looking for ways to overcome my present bout with insomnia, I read online (because I'm not quite feeling paranoid enough this morning) not getting enough sleep can lead to depression, weight gain, low self-esteem and brain SHRINKAGE.

The silver lining... I also found a list of 78 things to do when you can't fall asleep (that's such a random number.) After a certain point frustration sets in and you might as well get up and do something productive. Some are definitely worth trying, but a lot of them just cracked me up. I needed to laugh today...

Clean out your medicine cabinet
Read the Yellow Pages to learn about your community
Pluck your eyebrows
Memorize 5 new words from the dictionary
Free write everything that pops into your head
Clean the bathroom
Pray
Update your resume
Clip your nose hairs
Face your demons
Look at the stars
Sweep your deck or balcony
Pretend you're asleep
Draw your living room
Paint a self portrait
Make soup
Lie on the grass
Lie in the snow
Lie in the rain
Don't lie to yourself

When I have suffered through sleepless periods in the past, I’ve gone shopping in the middle of the night at stores open 24-hours, watched my children sleep (and taken pictures), chatted online with insomniac friends and created lengthy lists of things I need to do or that are bothering me.  Or I do as the Savage Chickens, ”Sometimes I lie awake all night worrying about insomnia.”

As I hash out the concerns in my life and future, finding resolution and acceptance, my thoughts will eventually quiet. Until that point though, I am following a slap-happy trail into delirium, where I’ll be making chicken soup in my medicine cabinet with brain shriveling demons. No rest for the weary...

Chinks in my Armor

It is said like attracts like; we are drawn to others who possess similar energy, optimism and motivation. This certainly seems to be the case in the majority of relationships I've had. When I was looking at things as half empty, that is what I got in return. When pessimism prevailed in my psyche, doom and gloom became my partner. The chinks in our armor can unwittingly attract what we want least, but invariably our mind-set determines the outcome.

When I was in college, I befriended a young man who on the outset appeared charismatic and witty, distracting me from the mundane chore of waiting tables, deftly matching my sarcasm tit for tat.

Though he was a couple years younger than I, we were like Tom and Jerry, making laughter our means of getting through each 5:00 AM shift. Our pranks were not selfishly confined to ourselves; we gladly taunted our fellow coworkers who were often peeved with our diversions.

Outside of work, we spent time together as well... seeing movies, canvassing the mall, sharing our wish lists for the future. He introduced me to his friends, I introduced him to mine.

Lane’s dark eyes and disheveled hair gave him an intellectual yet brooding air that made women, young and old stare. Shrinking down his six-foot frame into his faded green army jacket, he would pretend not to notice. If I teased about the obvious attention he drew, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Our friendship held no romantic aspirations or hang ups, at least not for me. But I mistakenly assumed he shared my sentiment and my lack of clarity would have painful, almost fatal, ramifications in the months ahead.

Making Amends

Part of growing up is realizing that you aren’t the center of the universe. Self-interest starts to take a back seat to self-growth. You begin to see outside yourself, outside of your small little world, wanting to share your gifts instead of just honing them. And hopefully you realize how your actions effect others.

It’s quite possible that I am just now starting to grow up, NOT old. In the last couple of years, I have begun to really deal with the things that held me back, and that which I couldn’t let go of. Too much baggage leaves us with one foot in the past. Living in the past only keeps up from living in the present, living life to the fullest. Living for the present allows us to enjoy the journey with less concern for the destination.

My baggage included a massive trunk of regret locked by guilt. As a means of letting much of this go, I have tried to look at the past honestly and accurately, sometimes admitting fault and vowing to learn from those experiences.

More often than not, I have realized that my disappointments don’t need to be assigned blame. They are just a part of life and once re-compartmentalized in my askew brain, they are merely memories I need not lament. And at this point, I wouldn't opt to go back and change anything if I could. My experiences, good or bad, have made me who I am today.

There are though, a few instances that I feel compelled to make amends for my actions. One of which included my younger brother Ray. This regret weighed on me so heavily, that for years I replayed the circumstances in my head over and over, my own form of self torture.

Growing up, my father was fairly strict. And when we were young enough, spanking was the chosen form of discipline used in our home. Now I don’t want to get into a debate about whether parents should spank or not. I happen to believe not, but when I was a kid it was acceptable and I will defend my dad staunchly by saying that he is a great man and he always did what he believed was best.

With that said, I will admit that I had a good healthy fear of spankings, as did my siblings. So much so, that avoidance at all cost reined supreme and consequently we were generally pretty well behaved, at least within earshot of our father.

One absolute commandment in our house (and I hold this one up in my own) was that we were not to touch my father’s tools without permission. Plain and simple and for good reasons that I didn’t grasp until later in life.

But you know how kids are.... they constantly mess with things they shouldn’t and I was no exception. Curiosity, boredom or just believing I might get away with it this once, lead me astray.

Onomatopoeia: The Sounds of Life

Actually finding an opportunity to return emails or check online accounts is nearly impossible for me. I've tried to teach my children that it is like when mommy is on the phone..... DO NOT interrupt! But they rarely observe that rule...so when I found myself in a nearly deserted house the other day, I jumped at the chance. I was merrily typing away, when I heard....

KREEE-UNCHH... KREEE-UNCHH..... KREEE-UNCHH

What was that....?

KREEE-UNCHH... KREEE-UNCHH.....

“Sara....? What’s that noise?” She was in the next room.... although I try not to automatically assume it is always her, SHE was the only within earshot at the moment.

“Nooooothing.” she chimes back sweetly.

Hmmmmmm....... right....

KREEE-UNCHH..KREEE-UNCHH..KREEE-UNCHH... KREEE-UNCHH....

“What the heck is that?!?”

“Nothing!” she screams back a bit too defensively.

KREEE-UNCHH-KREEE-UNCHH-KREEE-UNCHH-KREEE-UNCHH-KREEE-UNCHH...

“SARA! What are you doing!?!” I demand as I marched into the adjoining room.

Jerk Reaction

I have this bad habit that I would genuinely like to change or at least reduce the frequency and intensity of its occurrence.  It causes way too much angst for me and others around me.

I have the tendency to over personalize things. I am sure it stems from low self esteem or insecurities, stuff we all suffer from in some degree or another. I personalize others actions and words, often assuming incorrectly that they are mad at me or being inconsiderate. I used to go around worrying if someone was mad or upset or what it was that I did. Luckily, with all my accumulated wisdom, I have reached a point where I just come out and ask what is going on and get it over with.

But misinterpretation isn’t my actual concern, the real problem is my big-mouth, knee-jerk, over-reaction that sometimes follows. When I feel passionate or defensive about something, my mouth leads the way, without my brain.

Here is a small-scale example: Last night I was hollering to my husband to let him know I was leaving (not for good, just for a few minutes.) I didn’t realize he was right inside the garage, as I was stepping out into the garage.

I was using volume, because earlier he had been in the front yard. I just wanted to call out to him quickly and be off. I had a hot dinner in my car that needed to be delivered to friends who had just had a baby. Stat. No time to waste.

When he said, “WHAT?” in what I perceived to be a terse, irritated tone, for no good reason, well I got upset and left in a huff.

Later he apologized and it turns out, I had startled him. He was trying to get into the house to answer me, but I was on top of him before he knew it. He wasn’t mad and didn’t even realize he had sounded that way.

See how I can turn a one little word into an event when I’m feeling frantic. And though I know my over-reaction only leads to more havoc, I seem to keep repeating it. Barely four days before I managed to skew things all sideways with my daughter’s teacher. It started when she sent me the following innocuous email:

See it, believe it, reach it

I just got back from one of the best runs I’ve had in long time. I only ran for three miles, but I felt like I could have gone on for another ten. OK maybe just three more...

Physically, I felt good, but it was something more. Mentally and emotionally, I felt completely alive, powerful, enjoying every minute. Just jogging along with the sound of my son’s uneven stride padding along next to me. That’s what it is all about, being in the moment and enjoying it to the fullest. I felt blessed to be able to run, to have my health, my son. And I’ll admit I sometimes take those simple things for granted, but I shouldn’t. They are so important, powerful and invigorating.

Coincidentally, I had been doing research this afternoon about the 'Mind-Body' connection with regards to performance enhancement. Stuff that I could offer my clients and I too could use. I’ve been training for a triathlon with one of my clients (not a REAL triathlon... an INDOOR triathlon--swim 10 minutes, cycle 30, run 20) which is plenty for me.

I’ve read studies about athletes using cognitive techniques to improve performance. So for my clients and myself I am delving deeper to see if it really makes a difference.... my own case study on me. Here are some of the methods that I looked into...

Breaking in the Day

I am just wondering, how many people made their bed this morning?  Not me.  I’m lucky if maybe I make it two times a week in the actual AM portion of a given day, possibly one or two more times a week I might get it made by the afternoon and well the rest of the time, it gets left as a rumpled toss of blankets... perfect for jumping.

I never really thought (or honestly cared) about it much, but something a friend shared this morning at a meeting, made me rethink certain rituals we perform at the crack of dawn and the impact they have on the rest of our day.

He said that in order to start off in the right direction each morning, he has to make his bed. He pulls up the sheets, then folds over the bedspread, yanks and smoothes out the wrinkles, ending with a couple of good smacks to fluff up the pillows.  For him that simple ceremony brings a sense of order and focus before heading into a new day.

I was like hmmmmm, yea right..... order and focus.... in the morning, before coffee, with three kids to get ready and out of the house? I wasn’t convinced, but I kept thinking about it all day.

My morning ritual goes a little something like this... As soon as my children’s school comes into sight, I gun my minivan through the 15 miles-per-hour school zone, kick my kids out on the curb and race for the hills howling with joy, before anyone can catch me and give my heathens back!

Just kidding, really, that was just a fantasy joke.  But some days I do feel like that though... as if I just can’t get rid of them soon enough. It’s always amazing to me how less than two hours from waking to drop off can be so stressful.