Un-Parenting Part II

(Part of my tribe)


Okay, so this has become a serious rant, but I'm frustrated and you don't have to read, so I'm going to continue...



I have felt like the world's worst mom recently because things seem to happen to my children when I'm not around. They get hurt at school, they learn I word I know I've never used, they catch a cold when no one in my family is sick.



I work in part because I like to and in part because necessity demands it. But I often feel like I'm the only one NOT educating my kids. They learn the alphabet at school, they learn their bible verses at church and they learn colorful words overhearing the television. What do I teach them? "NO!", "Don't touch the lamp", "You HAVE to at least try your veggies", "Buggers do NOT count as a vegetable".



I watch other mother's who are able to spend all day with their kids, pouring their knowledge into them. They seem so calm. I feel like a complete failure.



Then a funny thing happened on the way to outright depression. My dad said something intriguing. A saying that goes like this: "It takes a village to raise a child". Something about hearing that again made me think. Do some villages REALLY raise kids? Why yes, yes they do. Thanks to the almost all-knowing Google. I found an article (check Part I of this rant) about tribe in the rainforest that subscribes to that philosophy, like thousands of other tribes and cultures have for THOUSANDS of years.



In these cultures the entire village takes part in raising the children. Not good at harvesting wheat? The guy in the little hut down the river is, he can teach you. Sewing not your bag, no sweat, your neighbor's grandma will teach you how.



We are made for community and I have a great one where I live. In the past two weeks alone I think I've had four different sets of families watching one or the other of my boys while I take care of some catstrophe or another. I have felt so guilty about not only strapping someone else with my brood, but also the inability to take care of everything myself. While it's still never ideal, the knowledge that I have so many people I can trust with my family brings a peace that is hard to put into words. They are my tribe, and I hope I can be theirs.



Maybe I can teach someone to dance or sweet talk their way out of homework (what? it's a marketable skill). My husband can teach a kid to fish (or at least to cast and enjoy the river). From Amy my boys will learn how to laugh and find joy in almost anything. They'll learn how to be a friend. From Stephanie they might learn patience and calm (Please, Jesus). From my mom, they learn how to organize themselves and of course how to weasel a cookie or five. From the grandpa's they'll learn hard work and discipline. From Nana, faith and the ability to field lemons that are being pelted at you from every direction and make sweet lemonade. From Andrea, they'll learn compassion.



I hope they see this in John and me as well, but I don't want my kids to be just like me. I want my kids to be villagers. I want them to be part of a community. I want them to know when to ask for help. I want them to see that life does not have to be accomplished solo. I want them to see Jesus in everyone.



Thanks to everyone in my tribe. It's an honor to be doing life with you.

Un-parenting

I have decided that this country has done lost its mind when it comes to power-parenting and I am done with it.



Easy hair-trigger, let me explain:



I read this article

http://tribes.intodit.com/page/natural-parenting-and-the-wisdom-of-the-rainforest



About an anthropologist's studies of a tribe he lives with in the rainforest. It was fascinating...because it was so simple. I run my head into walls (at first figuratively, then as my day wears on, literally) every day trying to teach my kids proper behavior, manners, sense. It's like I am trying to teach them to be good kids. Sounds reasonable, right? Two problems with this the way I see it.



1) I am no longer a kid (as much as I like to pretend to be at times)

2) I don't want them to stay kids, I want them to become adults.



Oh, I know. "Don't rush it." "Let them be kids." I get that, but here's the thing. If I were to do absolutely nothing but observe my children for days, weeks, without intervening I bet they would still be kids. They are 3 and 4. I don't need to teach them to be children. They ARE children. I am currently trying to teach them to share, to play nice, to be sweet children. I am trying to teach them to be something I'm not. When I tell my son to share a toy with his brother, I do it 90% because I don't want to hear his brother whining and 10% because I want my son to learn to share. If I teach him to share for sharing's sake I've taught him nothing. My goal should instead be to show him the pleasure of making someone else happy by the act of sharing. Being forced to do something may create a habit but probably not a behavior.

What would happen if I took this tribe's advice and let my children learn by experience instead of trying to save them from every possible calamity and heartache. I'm not saying I plan to let my kid wield a machete and march off into the rainforrest, but I am doing nothing but chase my tail when it comes to reasoning with these boys. It DOES NOT work. Maybe it works for you (your parade will begin later) but I don't think my current methods of an adult teaching a child to be a better child are making any real impact other than frustrating the lot of us.



I think we make everything in parenting entirely too difficult. Children must be put to sleep like this, at this time. Don't give them too much of this, or that MIGHT happen. Socialize them just enough that they aren't jerks, but stay-at-home with them so they have access to you at all times. Spend at least 60 mins a day on flash cards or writing, 60 mins playing outside, only 30 in front of the TV and make sure it's educational, like Elmo singing about poo.



We stretch ourselves to within inches of our sanity and at the end of the day.....they are still children. Aren't we supposed to teach them to become adults? I don't know about you, but I don't typically sing about my poo. (I am noticing I blog about the subject an awful lot though) This doesn't mean I want my kids to be "adults" by age 9, but that's because they just won't be. I don't have to try, kids will stay kids until events in their lives demand they become adults. For some it happens too soon, for some it unfortunately never happens at all (ach..lindseylohan...choooo). I have to model being an adult so when the events happen, my kids know how to behave. I don't want them to need to make a snap decision about rescuing someone from a burning car and think, "my mom always taught me to share...is there anyone else around who might like a turn at saving that poor person?"

(Not) Sleeping Beauty

Well, I'm up so I might as well be productive. Okay, so maybe productive would be cleaning my house or folding the laundry that has my name on it, but it's 2am, so cut me some slack. I hear that's actually how Martha Stewart became Martha Stewart, she couldn't sleep at night so she got creative. I'm not Martha.

It's amazing the things you notice in the middle of the night when the rest of the world (or at least your house) is asleep

For example:

• My house is a mess. It's a mess during the day too, but I suppose I don't notice as much. I guess I could clean it while I'm up, but that borders on obsessive Martha, so I'll just be a lazy insomniac instead. Although, maybe it could get me my own show...something to think about..


• My 4-year-old talks in his sleep. Sounds like he's annoyed with someone. Can't really understand the words, but he doesn't seem happy. I hate that.


• My air conditioner is loud. I keep jumping out of my skin every time it turns on. Sounds like a bear waking up from hibernation...maybe that's what Wilson's talking to...


• My husband grunts in his sleep. Every time he moves, he grunts like it takes too much effort to move.


• My dog sleeps with his ears pointed straight up...he kinda looks like Yoda.


• Cereal is bad option for a midnight snack. Milk leaves an icky taste in your mouth and brushing would wake up the grunter.


• Looking up cures for insomnia online does not actually help insomnia, as one of the cures is NOT looking at a computer screen at night. I'm told it messes with your circadian rhythm or some such thing. Personally, I don't care much about rhythm when I'm trying to sleep.


• When you're not waking up due to panic attacks, it's actually kind of peaceful to be the only one awake. Makes me feel kind of powerful...or maybe it's voyeuristic..whatever, it's late.


• When sleep does finally come, it hits like a linebacker, hard and heavy.


• Lastly, it's probably not a brilliant idea to blog at 2am. I have a feeling I'm going to have blogger's remorse in the morning. It's sort of like drunk dialing but without the drunk...or the dialing...so maybe it's nothing like drunk dialing.

So, if you're ever up in the middle of the night, I would say check in with me to see if I'm up, but according to the experts you'd be dumb to get on the computer. So I guess, get your circadian grove on and go read a boring book. Or clean your house you Martha :)

God speed and goodnight.

Stop It

So there's this video I found on You Tube. It's a MadTV epidsode with the sublime Bob Newhart. Bob plays a wise therapist who has found the solution for every mental malady. Just watch





Brilliant, right? Just knock it off! Whatever it is stop it. What's my response and the response of just about everyone else who deals with anything...IT'S NOT THAT EASY! Or is it? What if you could just turn it off? Tonight I got anxious. I have had a really hard time getting to sleep, just when I get close, BOOM goes the dynamite.

So I got up and talked to John, at some point, I started to get pissed. I'm just so tired of this. I hate feeling trapped in my own head. I hate that this all happened so suddenly. The day I got help for depression is the one day in my life I think I would take back if I could. I got mad, and John noticed immediately that my voice changed. It got deeper and the fear dissapeared.

Maybe I need Bob's kind of therapy. The kind that's not nice, but blunt and real. The kind that reminds you that there are very few records of people dealing with this before the age of self-help and medication for everything. Sorry, probably not fair.

With any luck though, maybe I can just STOP IT.

Sunrise, Sunrise

I'm not sure how I ended up here today. My mouse just moved in the direction of this portal and somehow clicked the "New Post" button without my permission. Now that I'm here, I suppose I could just click back out and go about my day, but my fingers feel good on the keyboard so I'll stay a while.

If I've learned anything over the past year, it's that precious, precious little in life is actually certain. People can be deceiving, winds can change, and answers can disappear like puddles drying the sun. One moment they are deep and real, and then you return 10 minutes later to find bare ground again. You wonder if you imagined it all. I have spent a lot of time, too much really, trying to decide if I like the certain things in life or the wild wind. If I want to be like a palm tree and bend with each storm or just be a leaf and ride with it.

I don't have an answer, and I'm starting to get the sense that THAT is the point. I'm looking for answers where answers don't, or rather, don't NEED to exist. Scientists are always trying to find reasons that things do what they do. Why does the sun come up? Why is the sky blue? Why is dirt brown? I'm not against discovery in general, just the perpetual search for answers that ends up sucking the life right out of life. Instead of why does the sun come up, why not just stand there and let it hit your face and warm you to the core as it makes its progression across the sky? Why is dirt brown? Who cares, just don't eat it.

I know I sound jaded and, to some, a bit ignorant, but I've got too much trash in my mind to find space to give a hoot what anyone else thinks anymore. But what if the answer IS the question? I know, way to philosophical for a Friday, but go with me here. What if the wondering, the wandering, the questions, and finally the acceptance of the mystery, is actually the answer we look for?

I've been searching for answers to why I went from mostly normal (not enough time to get into what I actually think of the word "normal") to mostly neurotic in the space of a year. I have been trying to find out why, what happened, how can I fix it. Everything is so different, so scary, that I've wanted answers like a kid wants the lights on to make sure the shadows in his room are really only shadows. Meanwhile, I've forgotten to enjoy what hasn't changed. There is so little certainty out there I should have been clinging to the few things that have remained the same.

I know that as long as he physically can, my husband will come home every night. I know that no matter how old they get, my children will always be my babies. I know three women who will always pick up the phone when I call. I know as long as my legs work, I'll dance; as long as my mouth works, I'll share my opinion; and as long as my heart beats, I'll search for God. You can't find truth, you just know it's there when you're in its presence. Answers are elusive, and too many questions are waste of a good life. So face East during the sunrise, let the sun kiss your face and trust that there ARE answers, even if you never find them. The truth is found in the warmth--and of that I'm certain.

Defeat

The definition of defeat is to overcome, prevail, or vanquish. To be defeated is to have that definition turned around on you. To be overcome, prevailed over or vanquished. I would like to think that my Tennessee Titans will defeat (at least most of) their opponents. I hope that the people I vote for defeat their opponents. I hope my children will admit defeat and fall asleep before midnight tonight. I had hoped I had defeated panic and anxiety. I mentioned in the last post I was worried it might not last. My reprieve lasted only 24 hours after that post was submitted.

I feel defeated, overcome, vanquished. I feel like a man who tastes freedom after a year of imprisonment only to be caught shoplifting the very next day and thrown back into the slammer. I felt free for 5 days and I don't know which is worse; knowing freedom is out there and having it disappear, or never feeling it at all.

To say that I am upset at the latest in an absurdly long line of setbacks would be an understatement of epic proportions. I want to just....just....I don't even know. Where can you go to escape your mind? I pray. Maybe not hard enough, but I pray. I get angry when I get no response. And then there are the moments after. Once my brain has calmed enough to process without panic, I hear Him. Steady and strong, telling me to hold on. He tells me I have what it takes to win. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said: "I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. That is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant."

Defeat is only temporary. The definition of defeat works two ways. You can either be defeated or you can defeat. I can be vanquished by this internal battle, or I can keep fighting until I find the key that will vanquish all doubt. Mama always said that things lost are always in the last place you look, so I'll keep looking.

"When you pass through the waters,

I will be with you;

and when you pass through the rivers,

they will not sweep over you.

When you walk through the fire,

you will not be burned;

the flames will not set you ablaze." Isaiah 43:2

I have been asked why I keep believing in this God that doesn't deliver me from this even when I cry out. May I also remind that person I am not the only one who deals with this and some have it so much worse. I wish I had an answer that would satisfy you. All I can say is that I just know. The same way I know that even on a blazing hot day that someday it will be cool again. Just because I ask for the rain, and it doesn't come today, doesn't mean it won't come at all. I know it will.

A great song by a band called Barlow Girl sums it up best:

"I needed you today, but you didn't show

I waited for you, so where did you go?

You told me to call, said you'd be there

and though I can't see you are you still there?

I cry out with no reply,

and I can't feel you by my side,

so I'll hold tight to what I know.

You're here, and I'm never alone"

I'm never alone. Never fully defeated. And the enemy, the one that invades my mind, knows that, and apparently it pisses him off. News for you, my personal demon, I am now, and always will be a stubborn and relentless bad ass.My God made me that way. Bring it.

Forget me not

"I pray you now, forget and forgive." That quote is from William Shakespeare's King Lear. For those who slept through 11th grade English, King Lear spends the brunt of this play going completely nuts. In fact, half the characters in the play go mad, in large part to stubbornness and and unwillingness to forgive and forget the follies of others. In the end, only three of the main characters survive. The play is utterly depressing but makes some interesting...if a bit dramatic...points about misunderstandings, loyalty and forgiveness.

Forgiveness is my contemplation for the week. After last Saturday, and hearing those women's remarkable stories, I realized that a huge component missing in my life was forgiveness. These women had forgiven some horrible sins committed against them. Things that would crumble most mere mortals. They had also forgiven themselves for mistakes and missteps in their own pasts.

I can forgive others...most of the time...but I'm terrible at forgiving myself. I can give you a list of everything I've done wrong in the past year, past five, ten. Ask me to tell you what I've done well, and I'll make something up (and then feel bad about it later). It's not that I'm a martyr; not even close. I just have a really hard time letting things go. I let the intense fire of anger burn off, but always keep it on a low simmer, and before long, it still ends up burning down the house.

When I was a kid, and I'd do something I knew was wrong, I'd actually punish myself. I remember telling friends I couldn't come outside to play because I was grounded. The thing was, I grounded myself. My parents never did.

While I sat praying on Saturday night, I went through my ritualistic prayer. "Thanks for the day, Lord. Please bless my family and forgive me of my sins." I pray that prayer all the time. It's automatic, but that night something different happened. I heard, clear as a bell, "you are forgiven". I thought, "yea, I know."...blah, blah, blah. I started to raise my head and heard, more forcefully, "You ARE forgiven." At this point I thought it prudent to keep my eyes and my mouth shut and just listen. I heard, "My child, you are forgiven." That last one was like having someone shake you out of dream. My eyes poured tears and I took the first deep breath I've had in a year.

Do you remember that part in Good Will Hunting when the psychologist (Robin Williams) tells Will (Matt Damon) that it's not his fault? Will shrugs it off, but Sean keeps saying it over and over until Will first gets mad, then he just "gets" it and starts to cry. It was kinda like that.

So, the other part of Lear's quote is "Forget". There's where I'm stuck. I haven't had a single moment of anxiety or panic since that moment on the floor of the Boys and Girls Club gym. I haven't felt my heartbeat, haven't second guessed my breathing, haven't worried about passing out every time I climb a flight of stairs. It feels amazing, but I find myself shy to consider that God cured me, by helping me forgive (BTW, I don't think real forgiveness can be accomplished without Him. It's too big a burden to lift on my own). I have forgiven myself, but I can't forget and remembering keeps me in a state of reservation for fear that if I have a relapse after a moment like that... all the old doubts and fears will crush me like a tidal wave.

Should I try to forget? In forgetting, could I get myself far enough away that it never bothers me again? Should I put this past year in a box and hide it in my attic? I admit, part of me would like to end this blog here. Start another that has nothing to do with depression or anxiety. Would that be right? Or would forgetting negate the blessing? Would forgetting it ever happened somehow diminish the miracle of feeling better? I don't want to be like King Lear. I don't want to go mad because I can't forget or forgive. But much like those who survived the sad tale, to forget it completely would be giving permission for history to repeat itself.

So I'll pray for distance. If I have to remember, I hope it's like popping in an old movie. You remember the lines, but put it away as soon as ends and go outside to play in the sun. If you made it this far, I have something to tell you: You too, can be forgiven. Really. Completely. All you have to do is ask.

"For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened" Matthew 7:8