I can see clearly now…

Vice

01-035 (2)

Matthew 13: 11-33

Pain. Somehow, it seems to take on a life of its own. What you thought was hurting there, is really hurting here. I am beginning to understand. Coming here–into this world filled with pain–has sometimes felt to me as though I’ve had amnesia. Like I should have known this before. Didn’t I? How did I forget? Relearning. All of the tedium. Ugh.

Physical pain is one thing. Emotional pain is quite another. A personal who can soothe emotional pain has a gift: the gift of true love. Love is not always easy to find. Love is borne on the backs of habits– born of pain, gathers droplets through compassion, spreads across calm waters where there is no judgement, and rises from the mist into the sunshine. Love does not hold vice on its calm surface. Vice sinks quickly and disappears into the depths. Only through pond inversion will vice get another chance to become love.

Occasionally, when meeting someone for the first time, I feel as though I’ve known them my entire life. I felt like that when I met my husband. It still feels like that, most days.  Do you know this feeling?  I have been having more of those moments recently. It’s not such a coincidence, really. Retirement provides opportunity.

Several days ago I wrote a post about feeling lucky to have been unlucky. I have also been doing an online book study with friends. We have been reading the book Self-Esteem by McKay and Fanning. Throughout the book so far (it takes some time to work through that thing!), there had been no reference to geography. But then–it was there–the name of a town. MY town. The town where we have spent the greatest share of our lives. Frantically, I began searching. Was there a connection? Yes, but not what I expected.

Dr. Matthew McKay, I discovered, has written a book that he never expected to write. He is a man of science and committed to adhering to sound research practices. McKay experienced the kind of pain a parent fears the most: his son, aged 23–full of promise and excited about his future, was murdered. McKay began a highly unusual quest to try to connect with his son on the other side. He found a way. What he learned–what I read last night in his book Seeking Jordan–consumed my dreams. This morning the mist cleared, and my life seems sane again. Mostly.

You would need to read the book–and even then you would need to be in a certain place in your life’s journey to allow it in. We are just as we suspected. We are in this together. We are all connected. Pain provides us opportunity to link arms (as one reader recently said to me–so succinctly) and to learn collectively. Through our pain, we learn love–better.

I am here with you to breathe through our pain, to connect, and to learn love better.

Love,

Mira

*I am not a licensed therapist and will never claim to be such. I have retired after working 20 years as full-time, elementary-classroom teacher. I’ve taught it all: reading, math, science, and the social studies. (That does NOT mean that I have learned it all!) What I have to offer (and what I have yet to fully understand. 😉  ) is a lifetime of experiences and a spaghetti-brain full of randomly-connected information. 🙂 Most importantly, I care.

 

 

 

The Day the Music Returned

Steinway_Grand_Piano_Iron_Plates_and_Strings

Parade and Piano

Pasadena, California. The 1963 Parade of Roses. We were staying with distant relatives in their Craftsman-style home, two blocks from Colorado Boulevard. The adults–old and older, had set up chairs in the middle of the night and were on the street hours before the parade started. That was the year I had sworn off dolls, dresses, anything girlish. Blech! All I’d wanted for Christmas was cowboy boots. I was wearing them.

I discovered magic in that house. An old upright piano was tucked into a dark corner. (All rooms seemed dark to me back then.) As the one child amid the old and older, they left me alone (as always).  Oh, but the piano. I plunked out the most beautiful melodies (I thought), never having had the chance to touch one before. After that, I could talk about nothing else–except my daily plea for a horse. A horse was a reasonable request. There was room in the barn and an abundant supply of hay and grain. A piano? Excessive. Continue reading “The Day the Music Returned”

Underwear vs. Inner-Ware

Obvious

I couldn’t quite bring myself to use a photograph of underwear–might be a tad too obvious, so maybe a little baby-doll dress might work? This is a post about babies and babies plus just a few years, anyway. (Hang on, there’s a point in this post somewhere.)

dressWhen things go awry–even a little awry–something inside me rings out like a four-alarm fire-call. (Not the fire, just the call.) My awry-ness had to do with my laptop. A glitch. Not even much of a glitch! But there was still a four-alarm fire-call. Some people hardly notice a blip on their-inner screens when these things happen. My inner-ware? My inner-ware is hard-wired for high alert, but there is a degree of comfort from having learned that I am far from alone.

You can find all kinds of advice here on the web about anger-management, stress-management, behavior-management, and the whole package. There is not so much about prevention. There are a few brilliant parents out there who are masters of prevention. Their kiddos are l-u-c-k-y.

Some possible scenarios:    Continue reading “Underwear vs. Inner-Ware”

MTHFR (…no censorship necessary)

I haven’t thought about my MTHFR issue for several years: my treatment is routine now, working well, and is rather “out of mind”. Still, thinking “genetically”, I decided to do a quick search here on WordPress. My main concern is about the inheritable aspect, and knowing something about how parenting techniques have an impact on our genetics was suddenly sending a few more question marks chilling down my spine.

geneticsMy non-technical understanding is that MTHFR is a genetic mutation of the enzyme, resulting in the reduced ability of my body to metabolize folate. There is a domino effect from this mutation: a buildup of toxins later in life that can masquerade as Alzheimers (brain fog, memory issues), neural tube defects, depression, various mental illnesses, ADHD/ADD, auto-immune disorders, and more. Folate is a major part of the DNA methylation process that develops and maintains life. My guess is that all of this becomes a cyclical effect: our inherited bodies affect our behaviors. I’m guessing that the resulting effects become multiplied for our children.

Continue reading “MTHFR (…no censorship necessary)”

Making friends with ADHD/ADD

My two grown sons are starting to poke fun at me for going back to grab and post my really oooold pictures. It’s all good: laughter is good medicine! This is a rare and important one, though–showing the results of the generous and compassionate risk my father took, trumping my mom’s veto and letting me have a horse. (He even supported me when I wanted to let my dear friend, Fancy, have her own baby!) This was the breakthrough period of my teens–braces and all–that provided my first touchstone: the magical essence of what science now calls attachment.

01-004 (2)

My mom was-as some people tried to couch for my sake-something else. She was anxiety piled atop anxiety, and I was buried under that heap of muck. (For non-horse people–you muck-out horse stalls every morning and then give them a fresh supply of bedding straw.) To this day, the smell of horse **** is like perfume to me. Weird, eh?  Continue reading “Making friends with ADHD/ADD”