PLAYING BY THE RULES

It’s interesting how things come back around. I thought I knew what I was in for when I took on the “job” of caring for my mother but as she declines and becomes an invalid, I find dealing with these issues very difficult. I am frustrated, angry, and filled with despair. In spite of all my training in dealing with emotions, I am not handling this well.

It’s funny how something will come along to give another perspective. I recently made contact with people I worked with years ago. I’d been out of touch for about ten years as I carried a lot of issues from those factory days. I left full of frustration and anger and I couldn’t bear to face those with whom I once worked. It took a year of healing before I was able to move on with my life, yet I still did not want any contact with those old acquaintances.

In this morning’s journal writing, I realized that the bare emotions from those early days are similar to what I am experiencing now. I asked myself how that could be. The situations are totally different but as I delved deeper, I looked back on my childhood.

My mother wasn’t typical. She’d be out playing hide and seek or kick the can instead of baking cookies. She’d be walking wooded trails and teaching us about plants instead of having coffee with the neighbors. As I grew older, my mother would be making up quiz games for us kids and not going to PTA meetings or making us go out for school sports. She and my aunt would take regular games like Parcheesi and change the game around by adding more “men” and adjusting the rules.

Questions arise. Does this mean that my mother never taught me social skills? I was much more at home in the woods than on the playground. I’d rather be out in the fields than participating in “girl” talk with others my age. I was a social outcast and it didn’t get better as I grew older.

Now, as I am slowly re-acquainting with old co-workers, I am reminded of the on-going struggle of trying to fit in and wondering why I never could. Why have these people come back in my life to remind me of that past anger at a time when the frustrations are resurfacing? Is it my fault that I never had a lot of friends or couldn’t seem to get along with anyone?

Perhaps I want everyone to act in a certain way and when they don’t live up to my expectations, I don’t want to be around them. Yes, I try to accept people for who they are, but the underlying fact is I get frustrated when people won’t behave as I’d have them. It’s like I don’t want to play their game.

That’s it! The light bulb goes off. I don’t want to play by anyone else’s rules… if I don’t like those rules… and today, as in years ago, when I don’t like the game, I stop playing. I often say, “I refuse to play their game” and that’s true with jobs, affiliations, the government (as much as one can) and anything else.

This is what makes me frustrated and angry. If I don’t believe in the rules of the game and I’m still forced to play, then I fall apart. The politics of the old job, the corporate atmosphere of the work place, and the current situation in health care and the decline of a parent are situations that drive me crazy. There are all those “not fairs” in the world and I don’t want to participate.

I cannot always have it “my way” though. There are times when I have to “suck it up” and get the job done. I can’t always re-write the rules to suit me. My mother is getting worse and I cannot change that.
What’s that old saying about “Accepting what you cannot change?” Maybe I can stop feeling so put upon, let go the anger, and accept what is with an open heart.

These old contacts resurfacing are a wake up call and remind me that if issues are buried without being resolved, they will come back. Then again, perhaps seeing the similarity between past and present might shed a new light on this journey of self discovery. Let’s hope so. I am looking forward to catching up with people who were once part of my life…

DECLINE AND COPING

I pull in, isolate myself from family and focus on art work and those who support those artistic endeavors. I try to avoid the pain that often comes with love. Once more I harden my heart and refuse to hurt….which is not easy with an ailing parent and I go back and forth between moments of despair and frenetic creativity.

Sometimes I feel my training is letting me down. All the studies on handling emotion has not stopped me from giving in to frustration as I watch my mother decline. Her needs are so different from mine. Her fears weigh heavy beside my own. She is a dominating force in my life and I’m afraid that if I don’t keep up barriers, she will overcome me and I will come to be just like her.

I try to keep the rest of the family from knowing all the petty details, all that I put up with on a daily basis. They have their own lives and struggles to deal with and I agreed to be here for Ma. Yes, I am well-paid for this choice but I do wonder about the consequences in the end. I worry how I will ever re-join the work force and what wounds I cause in this separation from family. I am not confident in the quality of my future.

I also fear no one understands and might think I am horrible. I am surprised when others do relate to this plight. Hey, I am not the only one to care for an aging parent. I do not have to do this alone, however I cannot help but wonder how much of this trial is for me to bear. Right now, this is my “job” and I don’t feel I’m putting on a good face. Inside I throw a little tantrum. I don’t want it to be this way--- and I feel like kicking something.

I pull back farther and yet, there is always that part of me that does reach out for help. I sit in meditation and the training does come back. I breathe in, breathe out, and relax. I’m able to see how to be better for the next round. There are friends who stop in to visit to relieve some of the pressures and give me time to slip away without worrying about what I’ll find when I return.

Then there is my writing and art work. Writing is my salvation; the place I go when I can no longer cope. I pour my heart out onto pages with some kept private while other is shared. Those thoughts and feelings are the release of pent up frustrations and responses reach out to me through the darkness.

The written words are also a protection. With others, reading protects them from my projected emotions and body language, and for me, because I am emptying myself of the pain, I am protected from my own despair. In re-reading, there is enough distance that I can objectively look at my process. When I am physically in the presence of anyone else, I do not control my emotions well when I am overly distraught.

Doing anything creative is important when dealing with raw emotion, however, at those times, there cannot be interruptions. Time is essential to work the feelings out and regain a more peaceful heart. Solitude is necessary for me to get hold of myself when I have one of my “breakdowns.”

Family checks in. Even though they are busy with their own lives, they let me know they care and that I do not have to isolate myself from them.

I am ready to step up to the plate again.

The leaves are coming down with all the wind and rain. More of the mountains can be seen and the colors are awesome. The sky is alive with cloud formations and different shades of blues and grays. I love the mornings when I can sit up here and look over the golden field grasses.

I’ve got lots to do but with Ma being sick again, I am pulled down. Those who know her know she does little to help herself. It’s sad. Her goal right now is to lie in bed and have people gather around to talk to her and wait on her. I worry when I go off what I will find when I return. Sometimes she is fun and other times she has anxiety attacks and works herself into further illness.

I have to keep moving forward. There’s an art show to get ready for and the house needs to be cleaned up. The living room, dining room and kitchen are turned into a gallery.

One exciting bit of news is that my first Sunacom.com article has been published along with photos that I took last Sunday at Muster Field Farm. Yea!

I made an etsy.com store front and now need to list items for sale. I’ll try to get to that today.

So, to work, to work, to work…

MESSAGE FROM A SKUNK

My friend, Holly, gave me a pretty pink hydrangea plant to use as a table decoration for the upcoming art show. My mother and I both felt the leaves and flowers of the plant and thought it a fake. Three days later, I loaded it in the back of the truck with all my art paraphernalia and headed off to set up.

The plant fell over as I was unloading and a few drops of water dribbled out. I looked closer. The flowers were all wilted and drooping down over the edge of the pot. Oh, my gosh, it’s a live plant! What will Holly say when she sees that I’ve killed the flower she gave me?

Luckily I had water and in half an hour, the plant revived. The weekend was a success and two days later, I glanced at the plant. The flowers drooped down over the edge of the pot again. Oh, no. Guess I’d better get it planted in the ground.

I chose a spot where it would get morning sun and placed it in the ground giving it plenty of water. The next morning, my senses were assailed by the rankest smelling skunk odor I’ve ever come across. I looked out the window. The hydrangea was lying on its side.

I rushed out. There were two tiny footprints pressed into the bone dry, soft dirt where I’d planted the hydrangea. It looked like the plant was carefully pulled up and put aside and the hole filled in. How odd. The plant didn’t look chewed upon nor was the root ball damaged. I re-dug the hole adding Miracle Gro soil, placed the plant, packed in dirt, and watered.

There was a frost that night. The hydrangea, from my distant window, was looking a little weathered with the flowers being more brown than pink. Another night passed. I looked out. The hydrangea was lying on its side. What? Not again.

I went out with the shovel. There was a faint skunk odor in the air. The hydrangea was again two feet away from the hole. Was there a reason the skunk did not want the plant in that spot?

I considered moving the plant and looked at the tag where I read, “Zones 7-9.” We are considered zone 4. The hydrangea would never survive the winter outside. Was the skunk trying to tell me?

I got a pot and made a new home for the hydrangea. I cut back the now dead flowers. It’s happy in its sunny place with my other indoor plants.

As for the skunk, he’s been around these past few nights but none of my other plants are dug up and in the air, the fresh smells of autumn and rain.