The Abyssal Zone*

Hey guys, Doc said he missed me writing on my blog, so here is something I wrote:

sometimes I wish it were
the actual ocean
because that’s what it feels like
sometimes

it’s dark
and heavy
and the pressure increases
the deeper i sink

it’s cold
and lonely
dangerous and vast
and has the potential to kill

it’s even salty and wet
(when the tears won’t stop flowing)
sometimes i can’t seem to
get enough air

but it's not the ocean
and i don’t actually drown
no peace greets me
from a realm known for light

because i keep on fighting
to reach the surface
while the lifeguard watches me struggle
from afar

eventually i claw my way up to the beach
where the sun dries and warms me
(at least till the next high tide
drags me back under)

 Some days this is just how it is, peeps.

* The Abyssal Zone

How It Went

Hi guys!

Okay, I think a little background info is in order before following up on my last post.  

As I've mentioned before, it's been years since I cut off contact with my parents.  Five, in fact.  

At that time I wasn't sure how long it might be. I didn't really have a plan, I just knew that for my own sanity, I needed some distance and time to heal from the abuse and neglect of my childhood, and that just wasn't happening as long as they were in the picture. I tried to be nice about it, but really, there's no way something like that doesn't hurt. And I hate hurting people.

A year later I checked in with my mother while she was visiting a friend who lives near me. I told her I still wasn't ready to resume contact. 

Another year passed and that's when I confronted my father (as I wrote about and linked to in my previous post).  That was three years ago.  

I described part of my journey to this point in a talk I gave this past April, which explains how I was able to get to the point I was at last Christmas Eve, when I sent them a long email, the heart of which was to tell them: 

I’ve been working hard and praying hard, and I want you to know that I forgive you both for the things that you did, and didn’t do, which have caused me pain.  I know you are both good-hearted people with good intentions. We kids were a handful and you did what you could, and some things you couldn’t do, but we all at least survived, and I’m grateful for what I’ve learned so far in my life.  I really am."

So again, I want you to know that I do forgive you, and I’ve been praying for you both, but unfortunately I’m still very uncomfortable about having you in my life. And I’m sorry about that, but it’s just where I’m at.

Which brings us up to this past Saturday when my father called.

Since you're probably curious to know, I will tell you that overall, dinner went pretty well. I was noticeably quieter than usual; not really comfortable, but trying to be pleasant. But my typically reserved, "back row kind of guy" husband really stepped up to the plate and was conversant, engaging and sociable.  My sweet girl was her cheery, normal self. And even Gator, who didn't really want to go, also did just fine. It all made me feel so supported, thankful for, and in love with my little family! (And then I came home and had several lovely notes of support from my bloggy friends.  Imy bloggy friends!  Thanks for the notes and emails!)

As we were leaving the restaurant my father asked if there was a time we could talk before they left town. I didn't have my calendar on me, so I told him I'd call and let him know.  (By the way: Did you know that buying yourself a little time in situations like this is actually part of having healthy boundaries? I didn't realize that until my therapist mentioned it yesterday.)

I can't say I actually wanted to meet again, but I felt like I should at least make an effort to hear what he wanted to say.  So I called Sunday night and arranged to meet for breakfast on Monday morning.  At the last moment, my mother asked if it was okay to bring my brother Davis along.  "ABSOLUTELY!"  (SO glad I didn't have to do it alone!)

We met at IHOP and after a few minutes of chitchat my dad dove in.  I wasn't sure if he was going to announce that he was terminally ill and had just weeks to live, or what.  But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that really, it was just about the family stuff.

One thing they were both a bit confused about was how come things aren't better between us, since I've supposedly forgiven them.  We (Davis and I) had to explain that there is a huge difference between forgiveness and trust.  And honestly, I don't think that he EVER realized this before.  I could see the dawning of understanding in his eyes as we explained this concept to him.  Forgiving him didn't mean we trusted them, or felt comfortable being with them.  

I should have used the example (but I didn't think of it at the moment) of Sigfried and Roy, who had the most visited show in Las Vegas, until one night during a performance, Roy was bitten on the neck by a seven-year-old male tiger named Montecore, and dragged off the stage. He suffered severe blood loss, a stroke and partial paralysis and has spent years in rehabilitation.

These men loved that tiger. They'd raised him from a cub and spent time with him every day of his life. But this event changed their relationship forever.  They could forgive the tiger (if you'll excuse the example of forgiving an animal...this is a metaphor after all), they could even still love the tiger, but the trust they once had was shattered, and their show had to be permanently cancelled.  

Sometimes when things are serious enough, trust won't ever be restored 100%--at least in this life. My parents have a long way to go before I will be in a position to really trust them again. 

The other really big thing was explaining to my father that we think he has very high-functioning Asperger's, or something along those lines (my totally unprofessional diagnosis)...because he has always had a massive blind spot that he doesn't even realize is there when it comes to social issues and how interpersonal relationships work.  This was totally news to him, but all three of us insisted unanimously that it's true.

It was like trying to explain to someone that can't see the color red that there's this whole part of the spectrum that most of us are aware of, but that they didn't know existed. And we didn't realize he couldn't see it all this time, but we're starting to put the pieces together. 

So now, having had this brought to his attention, perhaps he can do some research and gain some knowledge about the matter that might make it easier for him and those around him in the future.  He just really doesn't understand how some human interactions work, and that is part of the problem (though it doesn't account for his uncontrolled temper, which thing never really did change even after the sexual abuse stopped. Discussing this part may help him be aware of why we're uncomfortable even now.) 

I can't honestly recreate much of our breakfast conversation WHICH LASTED FOUR HOURS, (made sure he left the poor, underpaid waitress a really big tip), but ultimately I feel like there was some movement for all of us I think, and over all it was probably a good thing that we had the talk. I agreed to allow limited email communication, and I was able to say some things that I probably needed to say.  

I know I don't have all the answers about this whole matter of healing and forgiving deep wounds. I'm no expert, but I DO I feel like I'm being led along, tweaked and turned in ways that will ultimately help in the (in-depth, never-ending, intensive) refining process, and I’m just trying to be humble enough to let myself be helped if possible. I share my journey here in case it might in some small way help another in their own life.

I really do hope that my parents can continue to learn and progress so that things can really improve for them.  It kind of seemed like they were still hyper-focused on me, and trying to get me to change so that things would be "all better" in our family.  I may have imagined it, but it felt like maybe they realized there were things that they still need to do and CAN do on their end.  So that gave me hope.

Thanks again for the support during this experience. It means a lot to me!

xoxo,

Blue

PS: I really will be getting to the promised Drama Triangle.  Soon!

Unexpected Call...

Dropping the bags of groceries I was carrying on the table just now, I answered the phone. It was an unfamiliar number on the caller ID. Expecting a telemarketer, (delay after answering and a poor connection), it took me a moment to catch what the caller was saying, but he asked for me by name. I said it was me, and then he told me his name. I replied "oh..........hi."  

He either didn't catch my response, or thought perhaps I'd misheard him, so he further clarified, stating his name and adding "your father". 

I haven't heard his voice in 3 years...since the last time I saw him.  It's been 4 years since I had talked to or saw my mother.  

"We're at Temple Square (downtown Salt Lake City) and even though it's last-minute, we're wondering if we can take you guys to dinner."

I'm not usually quick on my feet in such situations, so my default tendency is to decline. But I surprised myself (and probably him) by being open to the possibility.   "Let me check...can you hold on for a minute?"

I asked my family what they thought.  They agreed to the idea. So here we go...20 minutes till we meet them at a restaurant. I don't know what will happen, but I do know it won't be nothing.  Here goes...

Eating my words

I ended my last post with:

I hardly ever blog anymore, as you've probably noticed.  This place was once invaluable as an outlet while I healed and overcame things in my past. I have been so happy for a while now that the need for "blog therapy" has kind of diminished.  It may pick up in the future, or just stay sporadic as I feel inspired to write.  But no matter what, thanks, dear readers, for hanging in with me through all the twists and turns this patch of cyberspace has taken over the years.  We'll see what the future brings!

...and then promptly fell into a hole, which I still haven't climbed out of in the past couple months. This time the depression has been considerably more severe than previous episodes. I deactivated my Facebook account, damaged or broke some important relationships, and am still struggling to claw my way back out of the dark.  

I still don't feel like talking to anybody, but am working on things.  Once I have some healthy boundaries established, and have solidified the skills needed to keep them there, I hope to re-engage with people. Meanwhile, I do feel exceptionally grateful for the kindness, and in some cases, extraordinary generosity, of people who care about me. It's hard, feeling like I'm letting people down, and don't deserve any of their compassion. But I hope one day they'll know how much they mean to me, and that mattering to me will mean something useful.

Beauty From Ashes

Two years ago today, there was a terrible plane crash in Arizona. Three people were onboard the small aircraft; pilot, Doug Kinneard, co-pilot Christian Nielson, and Christian’s beautiful wife Stephanie Nielson, known also as NieNie. Tragically, Doug perished from the accident, and while Christian and Stephanie were both burned, Stephanie’s burns covered almost all of her body.

I've never met any of these individuals, but I heard about the accident right away through a mutual friend who had commissioned some art work from Stephanie. Perhaps it's the flight attendant in me, but I've always had a kind of fascination with plane crashes...so it was that I started learning about the Nielsons.

The Nielsons have four small children, and Stephanie had, at the time of the accident, been a popular blogger whose specialty, in my opinion, is finding and sharing the joy and beauty of being a mother and wife and homemaker. She captured the light and simple happiness of everyday living with words and images, and when reading her blog I could see why so many people had been drawn to it. She has a lovely way of being, and had created such a perfect world for her family.

But when this tragedy struck, suddenly her perfect world was upended. Doctors kept Stephanie in a medically-induced coma for months while they worked to heal her body. Word of the crash spread. Her family was interviewed on a number of popular tv shows. Thousands of prayers, fasts, and donations and other types of support poured in from all over the earth for both the Kinneard and Nielson families. Stephanie’s burns were severe enough that it was touch-and-go for a while, but finally she turned a corner, and there was good reason to believe that she would live.

Fall came, and Stephanie woke up to her new reality. I can only imagine how it would be to emerge from a coma to find yourself in a hospital, and realize that a few months have passed since your last conversation. That your children have been moved to another state to live with your siblings. That they've had birthdays, and started school--all while you were sleeping.

How painful to learn that your husband was also badly burned, and your dear friend Doug had perished in the crash. That your flawless skin was almost all melted, and your beautiful hair you worked so hard to grow out was burned off. That your body was deeply injured and would yet require multiple surgeries and hours of painful therapy. That your daughters are scared to look at you when they can finally visit you in the hospital. That your baby boy thinks your sister, who has been caring for him since the crash, is his mom. That you don’t look anything like the you you used to be. That your life isn’t the life you used to have.

It was an awful lot to assimilate.

Fall came for me too, that year. I’d actually been feeling really happy, vibrant, and alive, and was looking forward to the future. But right about the time Stephanie woke up to her new reality, a series of devastating things kind of broadsided me in quick succession and broke my heart.

I embarked on a good-old fashioned identity crisis accompanied by a deep depression. I felt empty and devoid of hope.

I stopped blogging (among other things) for a few months, but right about that time, Stephanie started blogging again. As she regularly updated her readers about the journey she was on, I followed along silently. It may be a stretch, but in a strange way, I felt as though we had something in common. Stephanie had to reinvent herself, deal with pain, and reconstruct a life within the parameters of her new reality. I'm sure she struggled with depression, fear, loneliness, grief. She had to make peace with things as they are, mourn the loss of her former life, look at herself in the mirror and find her soul somewhere within the body that houses it.

One thing that has remained untouched by the fire are Stephanie’s beautiful green eyes. I remember imagining her looking deep inside her eyes to find herself, find her purpose.

I tried to do the same. And as I watched her pick up and carry on, I tried to do the same. As I followed her progress, eventually being released from the hospital and returning--not to her beautiful home in Arizona, but to a new home in Provo, Utah where they would be near her family and have the support and help they would need --I worked hard to build a supportive network around me that would help me as I pressed forward.

Little by little Stephanie’s body healed. Step-by-painful-step she healed. With her beloved family by her side, she moved forward, finding those moments of happiness and reasons to celebrate her life. (Just between you and me, I think she is better at it than I am, because of her earlier habit and ability to live joyfully…she’s got a talent for it.) But I watched from afar, and last year when the one year anniversary of that fateful crash approached, Stephanie invited anyone who wished to, to join her on a hike up to the Y on the mountain.

I was very depressed at the time, and that day in particular was a pretty hard one. Doc and the kids were away, and I was home alone. I had injured my knee -- which I toyed with using as an excuse to do nothing-- but at the last minute I mechanically got into my car, pointed it towards the freeway, and drove the hour down to Provo to hike that mountain. If Stephanie could do it, I could certainly climb it with her. But I did cry all the way there--felt so sad and bereft. Depression stinks that way.

When I got to the parking lot at the base of the trail, there were lots of people. Stephanie has quite a huge following on her blog now (she’s even been a guest on Oprah, to give you a sense of how broad her reach has grown!), and lots of them had come out to support her in her quest to hike to the Y.

Half-way up the trail, I encountered my dear friend Katie--the one who had first told me about the Nielsons a year before. What a happy surprise for me! It brightened my spirits a lot to see this sweet friend from our days in Chicago.

Shortly before we got to the top Stephanie and her family caught up to me, and we arrived at our destination about the same time. I had only been up to The Y one other time, twenty-two years ago, so it was fun to look out across the valley and remember the places where I first met and fell in love with My Doc.

Pictures were taken, and balloons were released. Lots of people surrounded the Nielson family. I didn’t feel up to introducing myself, but they did sit down just beside me on the Y, so I was very close to them. I just tried to soak up some of their aura and feel the peace of the moment.

Eventually we all started making our way down the mountain. Reaching the Y was a turning point for Stephanie--she had accomplished her goal of completing the hike by the one-year anniversary of the crash. And though I didn't realize it at the time, I think it was also a pivotal moment in my life. I had made an effort to get myself going, and I believe that when we try--even if it's a small effort, Heavenly Father blesses us in ways we can't expect.

On the way down the mountain, I noticed a nice, smooth rock, which I picked up. I didn't know what I was going to do with it, but as I carried it down the mountain I decided that I wanted to make something out of it for Stephanie and find a way to give it to her someday.

It took a while, but eventually I decided it would make a nice Anniversary Rock. What? You haven't heard of those? Well, neither have I, but but I thought I'd give it a go anyway, and if it was a bust I would just scrap the project and Stephanie would never know.

I got everything ready and put my idea to the test at last month’s Studio Night with wonderful artist Leslie Graff, who snapped this picture of me working on it.

I actually really like the finished product and hope Stephanie does, too.

Today, on the 2nd anniversary of that fateful crash, a lot has changed for both Stephanie and me. Even not knowing her, it's clear she's grown in many ways, and I have continued to be inspired by her outlook and way of being in this world.

I've had a good year too. Scratch that, I’ve had a great year! It feels almost like awakening from a long sleep for me as well. I've started to remember things that I had forgotten or blocked. I have felt happy and peaceful for months on end…which is really unheard of for me.

Like that critical moment when Stephanie’s body had healed enough that it looked like she was actually going to make it, I feel like in the past year I've somehow managed to heal enough from the past that my spirit is finally starting to thrive and live…without draining the amazing life-support team of loved ones that I’ve relied on so often to get by :-)

Part of this evolution has included beginning to have my own dreams and aspirations (More on that in future posts!). I've been slowly discovering myself and finding joy in the journey I'm on.

Life really is beautiful!

So here’s to endless chances to learn and grow! And to pressing on when times are stormy and difficult! And to following good examples! And making progress! And finding joy in this amazing life we all have! And to people with Deep Beauty…the only kind that actually matters! And to serving each other! And to learning to how to really live!

Thank you Stephanie for your part in my path! Kisses, ~Blue

Grateful for:
1) Beauty from ashes ♥

Feeling The Spirit

One of the hardest things about depression is the way it numbs you to feeling the spirit. As I wrote yesterday, I was fifteen years old the first time I had a spiritual experience…or at least realized that I was having one. I’m sure God had watched over me, prompted me, comforted me, and guided me all my life, but I’m also quite sure I’ve suffered from dysthymia since I was quite young. Numb was my “normal”. I didn’t know any different.

That experience was so tremendous and amazing to me that it carried me for years. It was my sole fallback whenever times were tough. Because of it I knew that God knew me, and that for some reason I mattered enough to Him to intervene.

At first I thought this was the start of a new thing in my life, that maybe I’d regularly have more amazing moments like that one. But five years later at the age of twenty, I was still clinging on to that single experience, and it was starting to fade in it’s ability to carry me, spiritually. I was struggling and wishing there were some way to have another one…a little “boost”, if you will, but I didn’t know how to make that happen, and was wary of seeking for signs.

One day while I was in college, my dear roommate and I were sitting on our beds talking about spiritual experiences, when I confided to her that I “never feel the spirit”. When I said that, this sweet friend looked in my eyes, she said to me, “Yes you do. You know that feeling you get sometimes, it’s kind of soft and quiet…” and right then, as she said those words, I was suddenly touched with that small, “soft”, quiet feeling she was describing…a feeling which I had experienced on occasion in the past, but which I had never identified as being one way that the Holy Spirit communicates with us. Her words almost faded into the background as my mind was illuminated by this new awareness. I was amazed! Here all this time I’d had something, but I had never realized what it was.

Since that time, I have recognized a number of experiences with the Holy Spirit in my life, and have learned that God has far more ways of communicating with His children than I had ever imagined. And I am quite certain that I have only experienced the smallest fraction of His ways of communicating with His children. Sometimes, like my experience in the ocean or a vision, it’s completely unmistakable. I haven’t ever had a vision, but I know people who have. More often than not, I believe our Heavenly Father uses quieter, more subtle means of communication to connect with us.

Which is why depression can be such a trial for one’s spirit. You just feel numb a lot of the time. Like your soul is in a lead box. But as hard as it is, it also provides those who deal with depression an opportunity to develop and fine-tune their ability to hear His voice. And in order to learn to recognize Him in our lives, we have to create space for Him…possibly more space than we’d otherwise give Him. But maybe, just maybe, that is by design. For without having to work extra hard on a consistent basis, perhaps we wouldn’t learn what He knows we need to learn. Perhaps we would figuratively "drift far out to sea", as I literally did that day.

I’ve tried to focus my attention on understanding the ways that God communes with me, and am still learning. I try to note times when He has answered my prayers, and all the different ways His Holy Spirit has touched me. Whether it's something as simple as a song that reaches me, or being filled up with gratitude at the beauty of this earth, direct answers to specific prayers for things I need, or that tiny, cozy, warm feeling that I didn't understand growing up, I've learned that most of the times when I feel His spirit, it isn't miraculous. At least in the way most people think about miracles. But for me, it will always be a wonder.

He knows our struggles. He IS there for us. And I know that if we seek Him faithfully, we will find Him in small and grand ways as we sojourn through our lives.

Grateful for:

1) Different kinds of communication
2) Faith in my Savior
3) The things I learn from my struggles

365 Days

A year ago today I numbly drove to the airport, parked my car, took the shuttle to the terminal. I walked up to the SkyWest ticket counter, showed them my airline ID, received a jumpseat boarding pass, got on a plane, and flew to Houston.

When I landed in Houston I went to the car rental desk, rented a car, and drove to the house my parents live in.

I parked my car, walked up their walkway and rang the bell. No one answered. I walked around the corner and saw that my dad was in his back yard trying to mend a fence. How ironic, I thought.

I walked up and stood about 10 feet away from him. His back was to me. His hair had gone white and he looked much older than the last time I'd seen him. I stood watching him for a solid 3 minutes before I started crying and lost my nerve.

He hadn't noticed me, so I turned and left. Back in my car and needed to blow my nose and wipe my eyes, but had no tissues. I drove to a fast food place and got a stack of napkins. This was going to be hard.

Returning to their house, I went again to the back yard, but he was no longer there. I walked around to the front door, and rang the bell. A moment later the door opened, and my dad stared at me for a very long 15 or 20 seconds before he recognized me. I could see it in his face the moment it happened. Almost whispering my name, he staggered back a bit before catching his balance.

“I thought we should talk” I said.

“Yes. We should talk.”

He opened the screen door and I followed him inside. Sitting down on one end of the L-shaped couch, he sat on the other end. I think he probably offered me something to drink, which I declined. I asked if my mother was home. “She should be here any minute. She’s out shopping. I’ll call her.”

He called her cell phone but she didn’t pick up. He left a message telling her to call home as soon as she got the message, but not why. While he called, I looked around at their house, which I had only been to once, a decade earlier. Every nook and cranny was filled with autumn decorations and nicknacks...pumpkins, turkeys, leaves, figurines. I never realized that my parents were that into tchotchke. They had (outdated) photos of me and my siblings, and their grandkids covering the walls. A portrait of a happy family.

He hung up. And I started to talk. Words tumbled out and I unloaded, without reservation, all the pain, anger, hurt and suffering his actions had caused me. How it was all him, and not me. That I was a small child, and none of it was my fault. And that it doesn't matter if he doesn't remember any more, it still happened.

I wasn't worried about blaming him for things that may not actually be his fault...who can sort that out? I just told him how his abuse has impacted every aspect of my life. How I grew up feeling like a worthless piece of trash, and believing I was the ugliest girl in the world. How my feelings impacted me emotionally, and socially, and how that has influenced every relationship I’ve ever had, and everything I endeavored to do, down to the present time.

I told him of my struggle to fit in with school mates, friends and co-workers. When I started dating, his choices impacted my interactions with men, and eventually got in the way in my marriage. And especially problematic has been my relationship with God…my Heavenly Father.

I said anything that came to mind, without reservation. I had finally stopped worrying about hurting his feelings at my expense. I’d gotten to the point where I had to stop holding my pain inside, pretending he’d done his best, and that I was fine. I didn't believe that I just needed to forgive him without going through the grieving process of an innocent childhood lost. He hadn’t done his best. Being a pedophile isn’t doing your best. Throwing things at, and hitting your kids isn't doing your best. Having volcanic eruptions of anger that come out of nowhere and terrorize your children isn't doing your best. And though he could have done worse than he did, what he did was bad enough.

I’ve always excused his behavior because he finally stopped himself and repented of his sins. He tried to control his temper. But he never obtained any counseling for himself, or his victims. His repentance process did not include confessing his sins to his victims, or his wife (who claims not to know anything). Nor was there any kind of restitution. When I first discussed this with him (almost 20 years ago), he informed me “I know I’ve been forgiven, and now you have to forgive me.”

I believed him when he told me that, and felt bad that I was uncomfortable with him. I have tried all my life to forgive him. Lord knows I’ve tried. And if praying for reprieve from the pain, and praying for peace was all it took to move forward after a history like ours, I’d have been there long ago. It’s all I’ve ever wanted…to feel inner peace, instead of the battle that has raged over who I am all my life. But I didn’t know what to do. My coping method was to stuff the pain deep down, and pretend it wasn’t there, and wait for the heart to change. Because I believed him…that it was only me that had any work to do still. He was my dad, after all.

For years I thought I’d actually gotten there…that I’d forgiven him. Because truly, I don’t hate him. I don’t want him to be unhappy. I do want him to enjoy his life. But I just didn’t want to have to be part of it…and I felt guilty about that. So I MADE myself be part of it. But three years ago something broke inside me; I couldn’t do it any more. I had to cut off contact. This visit was the first time I’d seen or spoken to him in 27 months.

Eventually my tears (which I hadn’t managed any control over for the month preceding this encounter) finally dried up, and I didn’t have anything else to say. My mother had never called back or come home. I’d talked for over three hours, and realized that actually, I didn’t feel up for “Round Two” when she returned. So I told him I had to go.

He said he was sorry about everything and walked me to the door. “I hope we can do this again real soon” he commented. I looked at him, kind of sadly, and walked away.

Blessings:
1) Courage and support
2) A year of real progress
3) Hope for the future

Flying Solo

So as it turns out, according to my health care plan there is a limit to how many visits I can have with my therapist in a year. And apparently I've already hit it, and the insurance company isn't going to pay for any more this year. They sent me a form telling me the last few charges are all my responsibility. Yay!

So I will be paying him for those in full, and taking a 10 week hiatus from the soft tissues and our weekly visits until the new year, at which point I will pace myself so as to avoid a gap on the tail end of 2010. (Of course this is all assuming we are living here all of 2010.) Frank is one of the primary reasons I would like to stay put. Actually.

It might be good, this break. I'll get to work on things by myself, and see how well I pilot my life as a Captainless First Officer, so to speak. Besides, there's always a bestie to talk to if I'm in a hole. Not quite the same, but twill do in a pinch. And if I find myself really going to pieces, he'll still be there for me. And worth every penny.

Grateful for
1) Healthcare Benefits.
2) Almost a year of progress.
3) The book I'm working with. It'll keep me busy and oriented.

One Year

A year ago today things turned upside down in my world. One moment I was humming along kind of obliviously naïve, and then literally in a single moment, I had the air sucked out of me and felt like I was suffocating.

It was the start of the hardest year of my life. A year of evolution, a year of movement within me, and a year of hard, hard work…which continues even now as I uncork the pain bottled inside me for so long and struggle to find my footing in this world.

There have been days when I felt like I was being water boarded. There have been lots of tearful days, and a few astonishing hours of raw fury and rage seeping up from the deep. But there have also been days when I literally drop to my knees in awe and humility at the love and kindness shown by people around me. Days when the world is so bright and beautiful I can scarcely contain my joy. Days when beautiful music reaches into my soul and wraps my heart in feelings inexpressible. I am so grateful for those moments.

Any of you who have read my blog for longer than a few months know that I’ve struggled with depression, among other things. This isn’t new, but dealing with it head-on is. I’d forever adopted the “I’ll handle this on my own” approach all my life, but I’ve learned that there is no shame in accepting help when you’re struggling.

And help has come in surprising forms…not the least of which was cherished new friendships borne from blogging. I’ve also treasured re-connecting with people from the past and gaining a closeness that wasn’t ever there before. Help has come from learning to be honest with myself about things, healing wounds in my soul, and re-training my thoughts. It’s been a year of wonders. I’m still learning, and I’m sure I’ll still have a lot of hard days. But praise be, I’m making it. (With a little bit of help from my friends.)

♥felt thanks for all the cheers from my fan section. ♥

Grateful for:
1) Sunlight after storms
2) Serendipity
3) Renewal

Photo credit: taken by yours truly from my back porch of rainbow over my mountain

The Best

This Sunday I will be officially released as the cub scout den mother. For this I am very grateful.

Typically Mormons don't talk about this kind of thing till after the release has happened, but I'm making an exception here on my blog because it's a CUB SCOUT job...and in my life I've never really made peace with the relationship of the BSA and my church. But that's another topic for another day.

For over 2 years I have been meeting every Tuesday with the boys, and dragging myself along while trying to conceal the fact that I'm just not into it. It hasn't mattered that scouting is Gator's only extra-curricular activity, and he likes it, and that it's a good program for boys and that there is all kinds of evidence that boys who receive Eagle Scout awards do better in life, and the boys seem to enjoy being there etc etc etc.

None of that has mattered. Most of the time, the fact that I've been a den mom has just been a millstone around my neck. A millstone that is shrouded in guilt. Mommy guilt of the worst order. Even talking to my darling FIL who loves scouting and has been active and involved in it for decades didn't help. With his encouragement I tried to rally, tried to change my attitude about my role. It helped me feel better about scouting in general, but worsened my guilt about my involvement in it.

The other den mom will be moving soon, so it's a good time to change it up. But this morning while we were waiting for his bus he brought up talking to the driver about letting the other boys in the den get off the bus at our house on Tuesdays, so I ended up having to tell Gator that starting next week I won't be his den leader anymore. He looked very stricken and then he burst into tears.

"Honey, you'll have a new leader, someone whose even better at it than I am", I tried to reassure him.

"But you're the best" he told me, clinging to me.

This was NOT how I wanted to send him off to school.

While his sentiments yanked on my mommy heart and made me love that kid even more, Gator doesn't have any basis for comparison. He can think I'm "the best" because he's never had a scout leader who really got into it and went above and beyond. The boys have skated through Bear and Wolf, and they're doing okay, but not one of them is really into scouting yet. I don't think any of them would work on things without it being spoon-fed to them. So I'm hoping the new leader will help them transition to that kind of relationship to it. I know it wasn't going to happen with me in there. It may not with the new leader either, but they're getting old enough that it's time for that to start occurring. And I am committed to being a more supportive mom-of-a-scout than I was as Den-Mother-Of-A-Scout. I'll even sew on patches and work on his book with him.

Still, it's kind of bittersweet to be released from the job without ever having managed to get a handle on it. To go out "on the bottom" so to speak. But I don't think I'd have ever gotten on top of it with everything I have going on inside my head/heart right now. It just weighed me down because I wasn't doing more.

Speaking of. Not only haven't I been doing more with scouting, I also haven't been reading, or writing, or creating, or seeming to accomplish much of anything lately. Hence the no blog post in a week.

But this morning I got up and started working in the yard. It's a nice day, and my toxic, profaning, vulgar, exhibitionist, evil neighbor wasn't up and at his usual nonstop screaming, yelling and shrieking to himself yet, which is a huge deterrent to me enjoying my yard. So I cut back the shrubs for winter, trimmed bushes, and pulled some weeds and made a start on getting it spruced up a bit. It felt good to get something accomplished right off the bat, and it's the 2nd day this week that I didn't wake up feeling like I needed to sleep another 100 hours. Carpe diem.

Grateful for:
1) feeling rested enough
2) brown rice with homemade hawaiian sauce and veggies.
3) today Doc is taking Step Two of the Medical Board Exams...and he will be a new man with that weight off of his shoulders.

Blame

Sometimes I like to blame others for where I'm at right now. Am I the only one who does this?

My primary target is my dad. I often feel like he's responsible for almost all the messes in my life. I play that "if only he'd done this differently" game, and trace everything back to his choices.

Like, for example, if he hadn't abused me as a child, then I would probably have had more self-esteem growing up. And my relationships with people would be healthier. I'd have been a better student. I wouldn't be struggling with depression. I'd have accomplished more with my life. Yadda yadda yadda.

But I don't know for sure that this is true. I mean, if he hadn't done what he did, and effectively ruined our family with his actions, it would have been easier to feel safe, secure and loved growing up. And having that would have influenced my life in ways I can't fathom. And I wouldn't be spending so much time and money-we-don't-have right now to wade through the pain and grief that I'm presently struggling through. At least not as it relates to my childhood.

But I don't know that I wouldn't be struggling with depression. And I don't know if I'd have had more success and confidence etc.

Because this I DO know: life isn't easy for anyone. If it doesn't throw one problem, challenge, setback, heartache in your path, it'll throw another. Because there hasn't ever been a person who just got "lucky", and managed to incredibly side-step their way through life, avoiding all the pain, loss, suffering and sorrow that is native to the mortal experience.

Eventually, we all learn through the hard moments we are given. Life isn't a series of green lights and empty parking spaces. We're here to be tried and tested and experience joy. I'm having a lot of the first two, and trying to have more of the third. I'm trying to be a better person. To learn from my experiences. To create beauty from ashes. Both in my life, and the lives of those around me.

So I can blame my dad for now. And my mom, too. But I realize it's not useful. That if I use blame to absolve myself from taking responsibility for my life, I just perpetuate the problem.

So even though he did what he did, and even though he is at fault for all of it, and regardless that I'm stuck with the fallout (and so is he. so are we all.) of his actions, blaming isn't going to fix things. Blaming won't change the facts. The only thing that can change is what I'm going to do about the situation.

So I'm trying to move beyond blame to forgiveness. Forgiving him doesn't mean he'll ever be part of my life necessarily. I don't have any reason to believe he'll ever do what needs to be done in order for us to interact with each other. He hasn't yet, and neither has my mother, or my brother for that matter. But forgiveness is elemental to making peace with how things are between us. It's not my fault that things are the way they are, and heaven knows I tried for decades to "fix" the situation. I can't fix it. It may not be fixable in this life, but if it is, it's proved to be beyond my abilities.

What I can do for now is move through the various stages of mourning and grieving...a part of which includes blaming. Cause that's what kids do, and the kid in me is finally getting her voice. Even if some days it's only a whisper still.

Grateful for:
1) The chance to heal
2) Sunshine today
3) A great laugh with Doc and Bunch last night. Laughter is good for my soul.

This Life...

...It's amazing. It truly is, and I recognize this fact. But someday I'm going to look back and have regrets. I know this because I already do. I already lament the days, like this past week+, when I am young, healthy, free, and able, but can't shake the heavy, wet-blanket of despair that has no basis in my reality, but which feels so real.

It's like I become invisible in my own body, and only the residue of my soul is left carrying on doing the laundry, paying the bills, mopping the floor and making meals for my sweet family.

Hours pass by. Hours during which I could have created something lasting, made something beautiful, brightened someone's day, served someone in need, made a difference in the world. But I didn't. And then the day is over and I go to sleep, hoping that tomorrow will be different. That tomorrow I will live in a way so as to not regret these precious days of my life.

I hope today is that tomorrow.


Grateful for:

My jewels~Doc, Bunch & Gator. Even when I have bad days. Or weeks.

Boxes

When I was eighteen, I had a summer-temp job at a company where I worked with a diverse group of very nice women. We had almost nothing in common these ladies and I. But they welcomed me into their circle and treated me with kindness, as if I were one of their own, even though I’d only been sent there on a week-long temp job initially.

While we worked, we often chatted with each other about things, and one day, Sue shared a story she’d just read, about a woman whose significant other had convinced her to keep her head in a box. Like ALL the time. Day and night.

Just her head, mind you. While her body was free, he’d rigged up some kind of box that allowed for ventilation, but which kept her head in captivity. He would remove the box for her to eat, but then back on it would go. This went on for years, until her atrocious situation was discovered somehow. And I remember being bewildered by the disclosure that even after she was free of him, she sometimes wanted to put her box back on her head. It was familiar.

I didn’t comment on Sue’s story at the time, because it disturbed me very deeply. I couldn't join the discussion. On so many levels it made me uncomfortable. And though it was just a passing tale, one that I never even read myself, I have never forgotten it.

Last week in my appointment with my therapist, he asked me a question (I don’t remember what the question was), but it reminded me again of this story and I shared it with him. As I asked the question How could this woman have agreed to that situation? How could she have let him convince her to go along with it?, it finally registered why it has always stayed with me.

How could I have gone along with the things I did, as a child? Because in a way, I, too, let myself be trapped in an invisible box. My whole life.

I realized that perpetrators “groom” their victims, and I understand that I was a powerless child, that none of it was my fault; I get all that. But it still made me so deeply sad to realize that I was kind of like the woman with her head in the box. I was bonded emotionally to my dad, and wanted to keep him happy. Wanted it more than my own happiness. Didn't want to wreck what good there was in my life by speaking up about what wasn't.

Today I read a story about kidnap victim Jaycee Lee Dugard, who, at least for part of her captivity, was allegedly kept in a box. This made me weep, and I feel sad tonight. Sad for all the people in all kinds of boxes. Sad for the circumstances that led them (us) there. And a little bit angry too. Which if I were a betting-kinda-girl I'd wager my therapist would be happy to hear.

Have you ever been boxed before? How did you escape?

Grateful for:

1) Amazing lime cake. And Shelah.
2) Finding some cute skirts this week at my local thrift store.
3) Finding my old keyless entry remote, and getting it to work on my car.

The phoenix is rising

When I make my fabulous toffee, I stir and stir and stir without stopping for a while before there is any noticeable change in the confection. Then gradually, a little patch here and a little spot there starts to shift, as it transforms from mere sugar, butter and water into utter scrumdiddilyumptiousness. The progress is slow initially, but I keep working at it, and soon it picks up and changes more and more rapidly.

Just recently, I've noticed some little pockets of progress in various aspects of my life. Like those patches and spots of change in the toffee, I'm noticing some growth and progress, and this is very encouraging.

For example, it's been a long time since I was genuinely excited about something besides traveling. But I'm actually excited about some mixed-media creative projects that I've thought of doing. And even more exciting to me is that the ideas for them came to me directly, not inspired by anyone else. One project involves stones, one involves sticks, there's a digital one, and some photography ones. And they all have personal meaning to me. I also have a musical thing I want to do, as well as some writing. I've been itching to get to all of this, and am looking forward to school starting next week and having some chunks of time to devote.

This may not sound like a big deal, but for anyone who has struggled with dysthymia as long as I have, it's big. Finding joy in the journey is one thing...and it's easy to see a lot of it in my life. But feeling the joy in the journey, well, that's been just out of reach for a long time.

As my Blue Whisperer said, it sounds like the phoenix is rising.

Grateful for:
1) Studio night, which started this process
2) Loving encouragement
3) Great examples all around

Mercies

He Knew

For the past week or so I've experienced some serious depression. During work I managed to put on my game face and push things into the background, but the moment I was no longer on duty, I couldn't repress the feelings any more.

Of course like most people, I generally avoid painful things, so instead of dealing with the stuff that was really going on, I focused on more trivial stuff, like losing my wallet. But that was just the "safe" thing to talk about.

I'd been doing pretty well for the last while. It was a good run while it lasted. But I'm also involved in a difficult process of healing and growth too...so allowing space for those feelings, and those hours of tears...well, that's just part of the journey of healing from sexual, physical and emotional abuse. My therapist told me there would be an end to the tears at some point, and to let them come. So I did. And they came. For hour upon hour. In fact there was a salty river running through my house most of Saturday night, till near dawn.

But in those hours when it felt like I was an island of one, I knew I wasn't alone. Though I felt lonely and was in intense emotional pain, when it was hard to ask God for help out of fear of not getting it, He helped me anyway.

First, I forced myself to go to the grocery store shortly before it closed Saturday night and ran into a woman from my church. Our chat was the reason I made myself go to church the next day when I was strongly tempted to justify not going.

Then Doc spent some time talking to me, even though he had to get up in 5 hours and pull a 30+hour shift (during which time he got only 2 hours to rest...he's one overbaked cookie right now). He helped me to keep perspective and hang in there through this process. He helped remind me that depression is an illness, and that I am just sick right now, like having the flu or any other thing. It will pass, and I'm doing what I need to do to heal.

Then in the wee hours of the morning, a beloved friend, my maid of honor at my wedding to Doc, who I have had only intermittent contact with over the past 19 years (and it's been a good 10 years since I saw her), sent me an email in the throes of my long dark night, to tell me "I was on her mind and she just wanted me to know how much she loves me". It'd been better part of a year since our last contact.

And then another darling friend sent me a note of support, and a link to a great talk which I read before finally going to sleep.

Then in the morning my sweet children came in and snuggled with me, one on either side, and I felt enveloped by loves.

I even got myself to church, albeit looking something like this picture. My eyes were so puffy that I put sunglasses on to disguise them, and actually ended up wearing them through the entire service. Yes. Like a freakin' movie star hiding from the paparazzi. Haggard isn't a look I'm comfortable with.

When Sacrament meeting was over, a friend sought me out and invited me to walk with her to her house to take some rolls out to rise. She lives very close, so it didn't take long, and we attended the rest of our services together.

After church another friend called who had seen me from a distance but not had the chance to say hi...just to see how I'm doing.

All of these tender mercies were, I know, my Heavenly Father's way of reaching me, when I was too numb to feel much at all. And it occurred to me that He Knew the whole time that my wallet, the loss of which I focused on rather than what I was actually struggling with, was sitting safely in the TSA office in Boston, and that I'd get it back this week intact. He Knew all weekend that I would make it through this round of intense feelings of anguish. And He Knew that He would inspire people to connect with me.

One of my favorite quotes is "Sometimes the Lord calms the storm, and sometimes He calms his child." As much as I would enjoy a life without storms (at least for a little while), I'm very grateful for His Calming of this child.

Grateful for:
1) Keri
2) Anika
3) Marilynne
4) Maren
5) Heather
6) Marki
7) John
8) Robin
9) Nate
10) Sunnshine
11) Frank
12) Gator
13) Bunch
14) Doc

Itemized list

Missing Items

I've been in a low place all day. Part of it is the annoyance I feel with myself over losing so many important things. So to put it in perspective, I'm going to brainstorm and make a list of everything I had in my wallet that I will likely never see again.

• Driver's license. Does this mean I get a new picture?! (Looking for the silver linings here)
  
• AMEX (which I just replaced a week ago after it had been MIA for a month)
• MasterCard
• Credit Union ATM card
• Bank ATM card
• Costco card
• Smiths Grocery Store Valued Customer card
• Albertsons Grocery Store Valued Customer card
• Insurance card
• Prescription Meds card
• Temple Recommend
• Library Cards for myself and both kids
• Separate card with all our library account numbers written on it in case I ever don't have the actual cards
  
• Photos of my kids
• Our New family Photo
• All the darling blank business card-sized note cards my SIL made and gave me. She designed them and they were so cute and perfect for little notes.
  
• Receipts for a bunch of items I was going to return to Michael's Craft Store
• Coupons for a few favorite items that I planned to use this weekend.
• A $5.Target Gift Card that JetBlue gave me as a thank you for eight years of service as a flight attendant. Yeah, I was bowled over by the immensity of it too.
  
• Punch card (completely full) for $10 off my next purchase at Thrift Town, where I buy most of our clothes. Took me forEVer to fill that punch card up. So bummed.
  
• Punch cards (yes, two) for free Golden Spoon yogurts...my favorite yogurt place in CA
• My Free Meal card (one stamp away) at Cafe Rio
• Various business cards for people I interact with (doctors, etc)
• An excellent variety of cloth bandages for cuts, scrapes etc.
• A parking token for free parking in a downtown garage
• A button that fell off a coat that I meant to sew on.
  
• A few of the rare $2.00 bills, which I liked giving as special tips, and would have used tonight when I played Tooth Fairy. (Gator lost another tooth!)
  
• A quote about faith that was typed up with a tiny, actual mustard seed taped to it.
  
• One half of a twenty-dollar bill. My friend Mare has the other half. We tore it apart a long time ago to remind us that life is not about money. I've carried it everywhere for almost a decade, even though I've never been so well-off that twenty dollars wasn't a biggish deal to me. It was symbolic, and I'm going to miss that half-bill.
  
• About forty bucks in cash.
  
• The wallet itself. I bought it on my 40th birthday while Doc and I were out on a date. I really liked it, and now I don't have one.

That's all I can think of off the top of my head. I'm so glad I just returned the camera memory card I'd borrowed from Claudia which was in there for the past 2 months. And I am SO glad I was wearing my ID Badge for work, and had my cell phone in my pocket. Those two items would be such a huge hassle for me.

Nothing too vital was lost. No one died. No one needs surgery. I haven't caught H1N1. No one left me. I have to keep these significant things in mind when I'm feeling down.

Grateful for:
1) Friends
2) Facebook
3) Tender Mercies of the Lord

Lost.

No, not the television show...which I've actually never seen but have heard about from lots of people.

My WALLET. Which is, unfortunately, the most recent member to join The Things That Blue Has Lost club.

Yesterday I tipped the hotel van driver in Boston. Then I flew to New York City. Then I flew to Salt Lake City. Then I picked Doc up from a friend's house. Then I came home and collapsed into bed. Went to pay my mortgage this morning and discovered No Wallet.

In the past month, I have lost, either permanently or temporarily (for at least one day)

1. American Express card.
2. cell phone
3. wallet
4. all my keys
5. my favorite hoodie sweatshirt
6. camera
7. crew luggage food bag
8. glasses
9. library book

I'm about to lose my mind.


I've replaced:

• The AMEX,
  
• The eye glasses
  
• The keys

I eventually found:

• my cell phone
• my favorite hoodie (well, it is at my friend in Vermont's house still)
• my crew luggage food bag
• my camera

so that just leaves the library book and My WaLLeT...which has a lot of StUFf in it.

Doc says I'm not the problem, it's that The System isn't working. I need a new purse that closes, and consistent habits. But I confess to wondering if there's actually something completely wrong with my head.

Grateful for:

1. Credit Card Companies who protect their member's
2. That as annoying as this is, it's not significant in the big picture. We are enjoying good medical health, and that's not insignificant.
   
3. My Sister & Brother-in-law and their amazing family. Being with them is my kid's favorite thing after being at home. They've been watching them an awful lot for me lately.
4. Three solid days on terra firma before I start flying all night again next week.
   

PS: I did find out that one is able to deposit money into any account one likes, without ID. Such fortune! So feel free to make any contributions you like to...I'm hApPY to supply the account number just for the asking.

PPS: one thing I didn't lose but managed to find during this same time period is a solid 12 pounds. This has not been one of my happier seasons.

Blue Whisperer

I've had a lot going on in my head lately. Alas, most of it isn't anything I can possibly blog about. In between family vacationing and family reunioning, there hasn't been much extra time for me to write or process the things going on in my life, but I have been meeting regularly with my very talented therapist, which continues to be a good experience.

I've had a number of different therapists over the years. For the most part they were timesinks; well-intentioned people who listened sympathetically to me but with whom I experienced no significant personal progress, insight, or growth.

But this time it's different. I seem to have stumbled upon a Blue Whisperer*. And this fact alone is changing the landscape of my life. It's quite humbling and remarkable to me, actually. It's bringing me hope, and moments of happy anticipation at the thought of healing and surmounting the abuse and trauma of the past.

The sky is not the limit, nor the stars above.

*I haven't seen the movie or read the book, but the term "horse whisperer" goes back to the early nineteenth century when an Irish horseman, Daniel Sullivan, made a name for himself in England by rehabilitating horses that had become vicious and intractable due to abuse or accidental trauma. While I am neither equine nor vicious (in my opinion), I liked the comparison.

Grateful for:
1) A new friend, who is going to help me create a painting tomorrow.
2) Important "ahh haa" moments
3) People who love my kids

tricky

it's father's day today. eight months have passed since i first read this post, which i found so riveting at the time. despite a lot of effort and work on my part, right now it doesn't really feel like i've made any progress in my struggles with my father (or mother) in the intervening months. though in fact, being presently embroiled in feelings i've ignored all my life is progress. just today nothing feels good.

father's day is tricky for me.

still trying to be grateful:
1) help
2) patience

The Iceberg, The Jacaranda, and the Phoenix

The tissues in his office are especially soft, probably the kind with lotion or something. I know this because I use a lot of them, as I gingerly weep my way through each appointment.

It’s exhausting work. And it is work. Weekly I show up and sit on his couch and allow myself to inch closer to the pain. He assures me that by being courageous enough to experience my feelings, they will eventually dissipate. That there isn’t an eternal supply of tears. I'm learning to trust him.

He’s taught me that the process of grieving has various stages: denial and shock, sadness and anger and, eventually, acceptance. He's shared that grieving is essentially what I'm doing. And that when one grieves, these stages don't necessarily happen in order...you go back and forth, in and out of them. Right now I'm mostly in the sad stage, but it's okay to be there right now.

He’s teaching me how to “sit with it”…”it” being that dark place within that contains all the abuse...instead of dancing away whenever I get too close, like a moth drawn to bright lights. Those bright lights have been my constant distraction from what lies beneath the surface as far back as I can remember. But "it" doesn't reach all the way to my spirit...that part of me has been sequestered for all but fleeting moments of my life. Facing the darkness has always been too painful, and I have been too afraid. This work requires a high level of personal honesty and trust.

If I could paint well, I’d create a scene. Many scenes, actually. Scenes that would depict the images I have in my mind right now about my life, the process of healing and growing that I’m engaged in, and my feelings.

One of my paintings would be of an iceberg, with only the very smallest tip peeking above the water. It’d be the kind of painting that’s like a slice of the ocean from the side, where you can see the immense mass that lies just beneath the surface, as well as above the water. This iceberg represents the pain and strife that I’ve done my doggone best to keep under water, ignore and pretend away all my life. I’m finally calling it forth, and with the help and guidance of my very awesome therapist, I am melting that huge hunk of ice. It won’t succeed in sinking this titanic blue soul.

Another scene would be my hand, palm up, and in the center of my palm would be a tree seed. Perhaps a flowering Jacaranda. Only instead of just seeing the seed coat, you’d be able to see inside, where the entire tree...in it’s flawless completeness, is already fully-formed. Every root, branch, twig and leaf, just waiting to emerge from it’s microscopic, glorious perfection…because the whole tree is contained inside that tiny little seed. And because all that is truly me is and always will be safely in tact. I am just still cutting my way to a clear path of congruency.

A third scene would be a phoenix, rising up from the ashes she has just emerged from. Whole, complete, new, powerful and magnificent. Having left behind the remains of her past self, she is a new creature, with unlimited possibilities before her. She gets to decide who she is and how she is…completely free of the labels, chains, and filters of her past.

These are some of the images that float through my mind as I go through this process. I fantasize about being enough of an artist to be able to capture them with paint. Oil or acrylic, specifically. I’ve never used oil before, and had only a feeble attempt at acrylic a year ago that was quite unsatisfying to be honest. But maybe someday I'll get there.

I also yearn to play out the feelings in my soul on the piano, or cello, or bass...though I've never touched a cello or bass in my life. I dream about capturing my thoughts in prose or poetry, or designing them into an amazing garden setting filled with beauty and the sound of running water. But then I awake, and the words flit away, and that garden is presently beyond my reach.

Still, I dream of finally setting myself free. Of being that phoenix, that Jacaranda, that pure, clear, freshly melted iceberg water. One of these days...

Grateful for:

1) my therapist…aka Head Coach on Team Blue. In addition to soft tissues, he’s got a gift for doing what he does. He gives me hope.
2) That I still have the chance to figure out what I plan to do with my one wild and precious life.
3) The souls who allow for me to flex, change, and grow, and support me through the process. Who don’t try to make me revert back to the Blue they knew before I started growing and evolving.