The Requisite Birthday Post

A Milestone Birthday

Inasmuch as I’ve been rattling on endlessly about my 70th birthday, the 30 year cycle it’s brought to light, and the fact that 70 is a milestone for me, I figured I at least owed my loyal readers a post for the day. I don’t know which twisty turny paths my mind might take, but it’s clear to me that write it, I must.

My plans to spend my birthday alone with my cats and a movie or two rather than in the company of strangers, or at best, friendly acquaintances, must have been on my mind last night. I dreamt I was in different large groups where I was blending in with the crowd so much that when everyone sat down for a meal, I couldn’t even find an open seat, so I wandered off to a patio area to eat alone. At one point, an aunt was about to announce to everyone it was my birthday. I looked at her and said “please don’t”.

There was even a boy who shared my birthday. We’d acknowledged it the day before, but on the day, he acted like he didn’t even know me, much less remember we shared our date of birth. I’m guessing the dream was bringing back memories of when I was alone and forgotten in a crowd, not by choice, but by circumstance. Thankfully, I’ve finally gotten past the need to be recognized in a large group of people I know only because we all show up at the same place, on the same night every week.

The Gift of A Quiet Evening Alone

Now that I’ve changed things up, the number of people I actually know well enough to want to hang out with between dances is fairly small, which goes well with my introverted self anyway. But it’s not up to them to make my significant birthday special. I can do that better on my own by doing the things I want to do. Yet, it does bring up old memories of 30 years ago when I was alone, but didn’t really want to be.

Between my convoluted feelings over my mom’s untimely death, and a divorce that was dragging on, and unnecessarily contentious, I wasn’t really in a celebratory mood, even if there had been people around me who wanted to help me celebrate. At the time, I think I needed the healing powers of the ugly crying I did after my dad called from where he was celebrating my uncle’s birthday. I can look back now and be grateful I had that time to myself to take stock, to grieve, and to deal with the ugly emotions spewing forth in privacy.

Though I’m in a much better place this time around, and spending part of the day alone is a gift rather than a painful reminder, I know some of those old emotions are still hanging out, waiting for me to finish facing them so I can let them go for good. In a lot of ways, I see this birthday as an opportunity to take stock and see where I still need to work on healing the old stuff to make space for the new.

Focusing on the Healing

Looking back over the decades, I’ve had some truly wonderful birthdays, and some miserable ones, but for the most part, the majority have been forgettable. The few wonderful ones will always remain in my heart, with gratitude for the people who helped make them special. I’m letting go of the miserable ones one by one. It’s time to let go of the one that carried so much sadness and grief.

In between my manicure and workout, my daily walk, and my dinner with the cats, I’ll be pulling out the wounds, the scars, the sorrow, and the self-flagellation. I’ll face each emotion head on, and finally give myself permission to let them go. Their purpose in my head and heart has run its course. It’s time to allow those old wounds to, if not fully heal, at least scar over.

Inasmuch as writing is my therapy, I suspect I’ll be doing a lot of it tomorrow in my alone time. Some may be shared, while most, I’m sure will remain in the private annals of my notebooks and computer files. This process of mine works. It’s not necessarily speedy, nor is it ever a complete Spring cleaning. It’s part of a process which by necessity, needs to be slow and careful most of the time. If the sadness and trauma I carried was trivial, it would be easier to simply sweep it all out, light a match to the pile of refuse, and watch it all burn away in cleansing fire.

Inner Work is Never Complete

Unfortunately, a lot of my wounds are traumas that run deep. They weren’t acquired frivolously, so they need to be released with the same gravity and attention to detail which formed them in the first place. In accordance with my family’s values, they were also stuffed down when I should have allowed myself to feel them, so part of my process involves excavation of an archeological kind. Over the years, as I’ve unpeeled layer upon layer of sometimes solid rock, I’ve gathered the tools I have today which allow me to step back into my own darkness and shine a spotlight on the next few layers requiring healing.

The time I’ll spend alone the rest of this week isn’t because no one cares. It’s because I need to do some more work on myself.

Grateful for the Choice of Solitude

My gratitudes today are:

1. I’m grateful for the tools I’ve acquired while working through past traumas.
2. I’m grateful for the friends who understand my need for solitude.
3. I’m grateful for the time and desire to spend the day of my birthday alone with my own thoughts and feelings.
4. I’m grateful for another year of health, happiness, joy, and friendship. My friends may be few, but at least I’m not trying to be anyone but myself any more.
5. I’m grateful for 2 nights of dancing even though I’m skipping Thursday this week.

About the Author

Sheri Conaway is a Holistic Ghostwriter, and an advocate for cats and mental health. Sheri believes in the Laws of Attraction, but only if you are a participant rather than just an observer. Her mission is to Make Vulnerable Beautiful. In her spare time, she’s also an accountant with extensive experience in Government Contracting.

Owning My Depression

My Depression, My Responsibility

Looking back on the many times I’ve wallowed; the many times I’ve allowed myself to slink away from humanity to lick my wounds in the haven of my own, four walls, it occurs to me I had a heavy hand in when, why, and how far I sank. Misreading intentions, having unrealistic expectations, and failing to own my own reality were major contributors to finding myself, once again, sad, lonely, and depressed. For me, the fact my family has a long history of depression might have played a small part, but most of the responsibility is on me.

Perhaps that’s why I’ve learned to shake off the depression more easily than some. I’ve learned changing my own attitude; my own expectations of others; my own intentions brings me out of any deep, dark hole faster than any formal therapy. My therapy is, and always will be my cats, and my writing.

I know my methods aren’t for everyone. Some need help digging deep into those painful spots. Perhaps it’s because I’ve always been brutally honest with myself, only recently learning to be gentler about it, if no less honest. While self-flagellation, and assuming excessive responsibility were once my go-tos when I felt I’d screwed up a situation, I finally realized it only made things worse, and lengthened the term of my latest wallow.

Setting Personal Limits

I think it all began when I grew tired of living with myself in the throes of another whiny piney maelstrom of disconnected feelings. I set a limit on how long I was allowed to mope before I had to drag myself up by the proverbial boot straps and go back to living. Sure, some days, I dragged myself further up than others, and some, I’d slide back a few before regaining my sunnier, more joyful disposition. Still, setting a time limit meant I had to start working on solutions instead of blaming others, or beating myself up about something that was done and gone.

Of course, gratitude soon became part of my process. When I struggled to find a bright spot in the darkness into which I’d fallen, actively looking for things I was grateful for became the key which unlocked the door (and sometimes, the Pandora’s Box of unhealed emotions as well) to learning, healing, and growing.

Still Learning About Friendship

This year took me down some long, dark, lonely hallways, but it also showed me some shining lights I’d failed to recognize and appreciate on this crazy, surprise-filled journey I’ve been trekking for the last 69 years. I’ve given up, or stepped back from a lot of things; ballet, my dance community, but most of all, my understanding, and expectations of friendship.

I learned most of the friendships I’d developed never got past the arms-length stage, and most are more distant than that. Close ones are few, and far between, and like my depression, that’s on me in many ways.

• I’d set unrealistic expectations of people
• I failed to understand how much others were able to give or not give.
• I hadn’t lowered my own guard as much as I believed
• I misjudged the comfort level of others when I tried to open up and share
• In a nutshell, I misread the room over, and over, and over again
• Despite my efforts to be more vulnerable, I kept parts of myself guarded which may or may not have made others feel more comfortable opening up to me, and in so doing, creating a more supportive relationship going both ways

Never Giving Up

Needless to say, as I spend my evenings watching movies on Hallmark or Prime, I recognize a closeness I have yet to achieve in my own life. At times, I’m tempted to just give up using the excuse: “If I haven’t figured it out by now, what makes me think, in the last fraction of my life in this meat suit, I’ll manage to get it all together in one, final, happily-ever-after epiphany?”

Thankfully, with the help of a couple of my closer friends, I’ve learned giving up isn’t an option. As long as I’m still above ground, breathing, living, and loving the few I still can, there’s still time to make better choices, read the room more accurately, and let down my guard a little more. There are people out there who are able to love me and establish closer bonds. It’s up to me to continue my journey, and expand my search.

Maintaining an Attitude of Gratitude

My gratitudes today are:

1. I’m grateful for friends who give me the courage to keep putting myself out there despite my results so far.
2. I’m grateful for learning to stop setting myself up for failure.
3. I’m grateful for learning my depression is mostly within my own control, as long as I take responsibility for the amount of support, and the closeness I have in my life.
4. I’m grateful for my daily walks as even the worst day gets a little perspective with fresh air and movement.
5. I’m grateful for realizing I need to add back some of my activities, if with different expectations…or better yet, none.

About the Author

Sheri Conaway is a Holistic Ghostwriter, and an advocate for cats and mental health. Sheri believes in the Laws of Attraction, but only if you are a participant rather than just an observer. Her mission is to Make Vulnerable Beautiful and help entrepreneurs touch the souls of their readers and clients so they can increase their impact and their income.

Consistently Inconsistent

Clearing the Cobwebs

I know. It’s been a minute or twelve since I’ve written anything here. It seems I’m either writing every day, or I’m not writing at all. I don’t seem to have an in-between setting. As such, I’m consistently inconsistent. Or maybe it should be inconsistently consistent? Either way, it’s an all or nothing situation, writing-wise.

It isn’t that I didn’t have things I wanted to say over the last couple of weeks. I simply couldn’t motivate myself to sit down at the keyboard and start hammering away, allowing my convoluted brain to guide my fingers wherever it might. Mentions of therapy and therapists reminded me I’d been neglecting mine…mainly, my writing. This is where I dig down deep inside and admit to the things that are bothering me, and as such, are triggering something old and messy. I should have realized, given the dreams I’ve been having of late, it was time for a little Autumn cleaning.

I haven’t quite figured out what motivates me to sit down and spill the tea, as the Brits would say. There are times I lie in bed, tossing, turning, and changing positions, all the while disturbing my poor, emotional support kitties who, given all the emotional support they give me, need their nightly rest. Artemis in particular waits patiently until I get myself wrapped around my body pillow properly before she climbs on top of both me and the pillow to make her nightly batch of biscuits while purring loudly enough to rattle the newly installed vertical blinds. (she’s also discovered running back and forth along the window sill until said blinds create a cacophony is a good way to drag me from the latest crazy dream to give her breakfast.)

A Different Kind of Therapy

Nevertheless, a quieter work week, and successful completion of many of my chores hasn’t been enough motivation…until now. And yet, I find myself oddly calm, and without a lot to dump. Had I written this right after the cruise a couple of weeks ago, I might have found more to say. I certainly ran the roller coaster of feelings then, though interestingly, I was able to suss out my own reactions and recognize my isolation in a crowd was me throwing up walls when I became overwhelmed by the human chaos. Such self-realization allowed me to take an active part in the crazy, loud, people-y Sunday night farewell party joyfully.

There were a couple of surprises that night though. Someone I’ve known for awhile, but not well made a point of letting me know she understood my withdrawal the night before, but was glad I was out and joining in the fun in the moment. Another friend had tried to include me when I was standing out on the sidelines, but understood when I told her I needed to be more out in the open. Clearly, feeling overwhelmed in a crowd isn’t a road I travel solo any more. There are others who relate, and handle it in their own way. As individuals, we certainly handle our stressful situations as best we can, or as we’ve learned to through extensive trial and error.

Even there, I’m consistently inconsistent. Sometimes, I need to withdraw completely, while others, I seem to just need to gravitate towards people who are a little less chaotic emotionally to allow my own nerve endings to be soothed rather than triggered. What I do know is I spent a lot less time alone in my cabin, and even ventured out to the jacuzzi on port day until it got too crowded with people returning from Ensenada. It was there I discovered I’m going to have to retire my bathing suit as it’s becoming decidedly too large, and was literally drooping off my butt! Not a predutty sight, I’m sure!

Bonus Points for Inconsistency

I’m also learning there are no bonus points for being consistent (read: predictable) all the time. In fact, it’s the dreaded rut I actively avoid. Sure, it would be nice to get back to my regular writing. It wasn’t that long ago I’d schedule up to a month’s worth of thrice-weekly posts on a regular basis. I suspect if I look back at those posts, I’d either find an incredible amount of angst spilled out on these pages, or worse, a lot of mindless babble, just to ensure I had all my posts written. Still, I have no regrets. What I wrote at the time needed to be written, if for no other reason than my personal therapy. That it sometimes touched someone else’s mind, heart, or spirit was, and always will be the added bonus I get from dumping my thoughts onto these pages for anyone who’s inclined to read.

The one thing I’m grateful for right now is that I’ve broken the wall of resistance I’d erected to spilling my thoughts, and allowing my mind to wander for a few paragraphs. I may be falling short of the 1000-1500 words I used to spew, but it’s about the action, not the quantity, much like my daily walks which are about the distance, not the speed.

Overwhelmed with Gratitude

My gratitudes today are:

1. I’m grateful for always returning to my writing, no matter how far I’ve traveled, or how long it’s been.
2. I’m grateful for having this place to air my thoughts, and work through the latest round of suppressed feelings. I know I’ll never cover them all in this lifetime, but I’ve gotten off to a really good start after what I suspect are several lifetimes of avoiding my feels.
3. I’m grateful for friends who share their own journeys, and encourage mine in a burst of unsuspecting kindness and motivation.
4. I’m grateful for a reason to say no to a trip, the mere thought of which makes me uncomfortable. Sometimes, you need to recognize when you’re invited because of a sense of duty.
5. I’m grateful for a commitment I made to help someone other than myself for a change.

About the Author

Sheri Conaway is a Holistic Ghostwriter, and an advocate for cats and mental health. Sheri believes in the Laws of Attraction, but only if you are a participant rather than just an observer. Her mission is to Make Vulnerable Beautiful and help entrepreneurs touch the souls of their readers and clients so they can increase their impact and their income.

Staying Significant to Yourself

Your Significance Depends On You

Every day, each of us is going through our own stuff, so expecting to matter to anyone but yourself is, I’ve found, a losing proposition. Instead, the focus needs to be on remaining significant to yourself, allowing the rest of the chips to fall wherever they may. The sad fact is, every time I allow myself to let my guard down, believing people are even aware enough of me to respect, or at least notice my feelings, I’m rudely awakened to discover they didn’t even know I’d opened up; instead telling me I don’t allow myself to be vulnerable. What???? It isn’t even intentionally unkind. I simply don’t hit their radar unless I do something glaringly out of character.

I’m beginning to wonder if I’m classically insane; doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result. Although this time, instead of sticking with my typical MO and pulling back into my turtle shell for awhile, I’ve decided to return to the best therapist I know; my writing. Realizing I’m not going to be significant to someone…anyone else right now, I’m working on being significant to myself, fully and completely.

Therapy By Me and For Me

The thoughts I’m sharing right now may be off-putting to many of you, but I’ve chosen to do it here rather than on social media because, quite frankly, when I write in this, my personal blog, I see no need to filter what I say in any way. I simply must keep it real, authentic, and above all, raw and unpolished (aside from grammar and spelling, of course!). After all, each post is essentially a visit with my therapist who tolerates nothing less than complete honesty, even when it isn’t very pretty.

In the last few days, I’ve whined about going through pretty much all of my major traumas with no significant other, or any kind of support system, while those whose feelings are acknowledged, and who are supported where I’m not seem to have endless support networks at their disposal. Yes, I made it through each trauma, perhaps dented and bruised, and often with another layer of coping mechanisms to work through when things are calmer. But I’m still standing.

I begin to wonder, is it because I keep making it on my own that a support network stays just out of reach of my sometimes desperately grasping fingers? Is it because I’ve healed from 2 family suicides, a grotesquely ugly divorce, and, the latest in a long line of traumas; cancer surgery, which has left me feeling less feminine than ever which leaves others feeling I don’t need a helping, or even just a caring hand? Would it be better to let them see me when I’m ugly crying my way through the latest in a long series of life challenges instead of showing up and getting on with my life?

A Catch-22

The trouble is, the reason I show up…the reason I return to my regular life as soon as I can is because I’m all alone. Getting out into the world as soon as humanly possible after my latest full immersion into the pits of despair is because, often times, it’s the only way I get to be around people, and forget the trials and challenges I’m facing alone, yet again.

I feel like my life is a Catch-22. If I fall apart every time life kicks me in the ribs, waiting for someone to help me up, I’ll probably lie there forever. But if I pick myself up right away, no one will ever think maybe I could use a little compassion. Here’s a fun fact. You know depressed people are really good at hiding the fact they’re depressed, right? Well people who need help, but don’t know how to ask for it are just as good at hiding the fact they’re stumbling around in the dark, and could use someone with a candle to help them find the light switch, if nothing else.

I can pretty much guarantee the feelings I’m sharing in this post are not unique to me. There are at least a couple of you reading, and nodding your heads as you see yourself in the mirror I’m holding up. Perhaps being alone and struggling is the common bond…the common thread I’m seeking, but have yet to find.

What Lurks Behind a Strong Exterior?

It’s not about being strong. There are plenty of strong people in my life who still have a support network. It’s about being strong on the outside, and a puddle of mush on the inside, terrified to stop fighting for fear of sliding down into the abyss…into oblivion. If we at least show up every now and then, there’s a microscopic chance we’ll meet someone who will take our hand and say “let’s help each other be strong through and through instead of just on the outside”.

At this stage in my life, I honestly wish I could let go of that hope I’ve dragged around for decades. Unfortunately, hope springs eternal, even if I eventually take this one, unfulfilled, to my grave.

Finding My Way to Gratitude No Matter What Life Throws at Me

My gratitudes today are:

1. I’m grateful for giving myself a place to be my ugly crying, messy, vulnerable self, even if it’s self-serving.
2. I’m grateful for still being able to drag myself out of the house even if it means putting myself together with bailing wire and duct tape.
3. I’m grateful for being able to find words to explain, even if I can’t find the ones to ask for help, or the right people to ask.
4. I’m grateful for the people who find a little comfort, or connection in my scribbles.
5. I’m grateful for re-discovering how therapeutic writing is for me.

About the Author

Sheri Conaway is a Holistic Ghostwriter, and an advocate for cats and mental health. Sheri believes in the Laws of Attraction, but only if you are a participant rather than just an observer. Her mission is to Make Vulnerable Beautiful and help entrepreneurs touch the souls of their readers and clients so they can increase their impact and their income.

Writing Away My Procrastinating

Back to the Business of Writing

This week, I wrote several blog posts after a long stretch of seeming oblivion. In fact, I was beginning to think I’d never start writing again, at the rate I was going; making excuses, practicing avoidance…in short, procrastinating interminably. It had gotten to the point where even thinking about opening a blog post, and laying my fingers on the keyboard was a piranha-filled lake reached by scaling a sheer cliff covered in broken glass.

Part of the change came when I remember to re-frame my thoughts; thinking, I get to write instead of the scarier, more foreboding, I have to write. Suddenly, sitting down at the computer became a reward rather than torture. When I was younger, writing was an adventure. I’m learning it’s up to me to keep it that way by refusing to let my thoughts turn dark; turn something wonderful terrifying.

That doesn’t mean I can’t allow my writing to take some dark, frightening turns now and then. A scene in one of my novels-in-progress where a man is flattened by a steam roller comes to mind. The truth is, life is messy. There are some horrible people in the world. It doesn’t mean I have to become horrible, or emulate the more onerous characters in my novels. Instead, I learn, not only from them, but from those who refuse to allow the darkness to envelope them.

Getting Back into Therapy

I also have to remember writing is my therapy. In my darkest hours, it wasn’t exercise, avoidance, or a therapist who lit the spark that brought me out of the darkness. It wasn’t other people (at least not directly) who initiated my healing, and taught me there was a better way than I’d learned at my mother’s knee. My writing was the therapist; the place I pulled all the garbage from my soul, and laid it out for closer inspection. In so doing, I found it wasn’t as frightening in the cold light of day, and better still, I wasn’t alone, and, in fact, never had been. There were others who shared my fears and traumas, but who, like me, were afraid, or ashamed to own up to them for fear of being ostracized, or humiliated.

Writing, and sharing helped me find my community. I learned how to finally connect with other people by being my raw, bruised, beaten, and even tenaciously stubborn self instead of pretending to be a mythical creature whose skin was unmarred by Life. In sharing the bumps and bruises, and even some of the oozing gashes of my psyche, I learned we all have a deep, yearning desire to be accepted, and yes, loved for who and what we are. Putting on a show for the world in a fruitless effort for acceptance is exhausting at best. If you ask me, it’s the number one cause of depression. The worst part is, it’s entirely preventable with a little education and compassion.

There needs to be a safe place to share thoughts, and those messy, unkempt feelings. Whether it’s on a therapist’s couch, a blog page, or a support group, everyone needs to know they can pull those demons out from under the bed, the closet, or the cedar chest, and stare them in the face, knowing no matter how bad it gets, how ugly the faces they make, there are people who understand, who can relate, and who are unimpressed by the grim picture of you those demons are trying to paint. You are not the demons or their images of you which are the product of years, or even decades of negative self-talk, often exacerbated by outside influences who were more broken than you’ll ever be.

Making Good on My Brokenness

The older I get, and the more I add to my cache of written words, the more I realize the people who did the most damage to my self-esteem were the ones who were so broken, they believed only by dragging others down into their own, personal cesspool could they feel better about themselves. There are times I’d like to ask some of them; “How’s that working for you?” But I know the answer. If they’ve continued to look for people like the woman I used to be; easy targets for ego shredding, they’re as broken and miserable as they were before I escaped their clutches to find my way out of that endless cycle of abuse and misery.

Unlike me, they didn’t, and don’t realize they have a choice. They don’t have to continue to abuse others, sucking each one dry before moving onto the next, in their mistaken belief it’ll improve their own self-image. Ugly is ugly. You can cover it with masks, makeup, and fancy trimmings, but unless you pull it out by its roots, it grows and festers inside you, consuming all that once was good and pure. I honestly believe everyone deserves a chance to find their own well-spring of beauty, but for many of us, it requires a choice.

The choice isn’t an easy one. Opening myself up to others, even from the relative safety of my computer screen meant laying raw the wounds I carried. It meant dropping the masks and walls in a way that meant never being able to go back to their dubious safety. Once the walls came crashing down, the masks ripped to shreds, I was exposed for all the world to see. The biggest surprise was how many treated me kindly instead of giving me more of the abuse I’d grown used to.

Flipping the Script on Abuse

Which brings up another of my pet peeves. No one, and I do mean NO ONE, should ever have to become accustomed to abuse. There should never be a reason for anyone to build walls, don masks, or pretend to be someone they’re not in order to survive. For those who already do, there shouldn’t be a reason to continue pretending, or avoid seeking help. The sad fact is, our society teaches us to sweep things under the rug, refrain from showing our feelings, and most of all, to never admit we’re struggling…with anything.

Which is why I continue to write; to share; to admit to my own struggles, and yes, to ask for help when I need it. I want that perfect world where everyone feels free to be their wonderful, perfectly imperfect self without fear of repercussions. Like anything else, someone has to take that first step; set the example, and create a safe place. I also know, I’m not the first, nor will I be the last. I am part of an army which grows stronger with each new recruit, but knows it has a long way to march before we rest.

Grateful, Every Moment of Every Day

My gratitudes today are:

1. I’m grateful for the walls and masks I wore, and eventually learned I could cast away for good.
2. I’m grateful for the opportunities to share my own struggles, stumbles, and poor choices if they can help even a single individual take their own sanity seriously, and tell Society to kiss their grits!
3. I’m grateful for all the support I found once I was willing to appear weak, broken, and unfinished.
4. I’m grateful for my wonderful, messy, perfectly imperfect, authentic self.
5. I’m grateful for the writing which led to sharing openly, and in person, in all my hot mess glory.

 

About the Author

Sheri Conaway is a Holistic Ghostwriter, and an advocate for cats and mental health. Sheri believes in the Laws of Attraction, but only if you are a participant rather than just an observer. Her mission is to Make Vulnerable Beautiful and help entrepreneurs touch the souls of their readers and clients so they can increase their impact and their income.

If you’d like to have her write for you, please visit her Hire Me page for more information. You can also find her on Facebook as Sheri Levenstein-Conaway Author