"Love me when I least deserve it, because that's when I really need it."
~Swedish proverb
How often do we feel that we don't deserve love? I think that as a woman, it is more difficult to feel deserving. We work so hard at helping others, sometimes I belive we forget to focus on ourselves. We bestow gifts and applause on others, but shy away and shake our heads when someone wants to do the same for us.
Giving vs. Receiving
We learned as children, "'Tis better to give than it is to receive..." Well, if everyone is giving, who is doing the receiving? How often have we encountered people who argue with us? "Oh, no thank you, I don't deserve THAT......Oh you didn't HAVE to do that..." Thanks a lot.....now my ovature is crap. why did I even bother? Wouldn't it be interesting if we agreed with the person the next time they said something like that? "Ya know, Susie, your right, you don't deserve this gift, I think I'll keep it for myself." Now THAT would spark some thought.
I've learned to look at receiving a gift or a compliment-even love; as a form of giving. I am giving the OTHER person the opportunity to give. And see the joy they experience just as I enjoy giving.
Why do we believe we DON'T deserve love? Or anything else for that matter? For me it was years of conditioning-feeling that my self was worth-less. Less that anyone else so why should I receive something that I did not deserve?
Edification is a wonderful awareness place for me. I now know how to give and receive love, edify another person and give someone else the chance to give.
What are some struggles you have had with 'deserving love' or receiving? How did you deal with them? Please GIVE me your responses.....I'd LOVE to receive them!
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Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Letting Go of Grief
Going through grief is just that-you go through it. For some people it is a slow, agonizing journey, for others it is a place to dwell in the past. Grief can strike from a knock on the door about an accident, a doctor's report about cancer, divorce papers delivered at work , maybe news about job loss. It is different for everyone. Recovery is different for everyone. And grief is not an emotion that travels alone. There is anger, sadness, resentment, loss of hope, depression, guilt and many others. The underlying grief is the catalyst that brings all the other phases out. Some people act out while others internalize it and you would never know. Some people grow through it and move forward with their lives and still others stay stuck in their grief.
Looking back, I can't really remember when I realised my Dad was gone. It happened when I was 17 months old, about month after my 19 year old sister was married. Dad was 52 and had some history of high blood pressure, I think he was taking medication for it, but Mom is unclear on what he took or for how long. We do know that he chose to take his meds only when he 'felt he needed them'. I always thought that was like trying to drive a car when one felt that it didn't need wheels.
The story goes that he had a stroke in his car while sitting at a stoplight in the left turn lane. He was behind another car. As his body convulsed and contorted, his foot slipped off the brake pedal and his car bumped the one in from of him. That driver got out to approach my dad and finding him slumped in his seat unconscious, called for help. Dad was taken to a local hospital where he lay in a coma. My brother was called there from work and my 2 sisters were there soon after. Dad passed away a day later.
During this time, Mom and I were out of town. We had taken the train from So. California back to her hometown of Rochester, NY. The train tickets were a surprise gift from Dad. He knew how much Mom missed her family and she had not been back in years. We were visiting family, I was playing with cousins I had just met, staying with aunts & uncles that my mom had missed. It was July and summer was upon us. Mom got the phone call, "Grover had a stroke." We flew home the next day.
I don't remember crying. I don't remember the train or airplane trip. I don't have clear memories of the house we were in at the time. I was told later that I stayed at a neighbor's house during the funeral.
As the years passed, I heard stories about my dad. How he was so handy at fixing things, what a talented machinist he was. He fabricated parts out of metals for manufacturing, some were prototypes, some were one-of-a-kinds made on demand to get in place asap. While I was still young, I told people my dad had gone to Heaven to fix things. I don't know if someone told me that when I asked where Daddy was or if I said that on my own.
I didn't think my life was much different than other kids until certain events arose that reminded me that I didn't have a DAD. Father-Daughter dances and teas. Church outings and camping trips. Shopping trips where a Dad spoils his 'Little Princess'.
My journey through grief was really a path of discovery of the event, an awareness that something had gone wrong. I remember visiting his grave site in Rose Hills Cemetery. Mom and I would go sometimes and place flowers in the holder that was flush with the grass above the flat metal grave marker. Sometimes we would have to dig around the opening to clear overgrown grass before we could leave the flowers. Mom tells me, she remembers me playing as if it were just another park.
I don't know what year we stopped going to visit. Life got busy with school and church activities, Mom worked a bit part time at church, but mainly did errands, chauffeuring and ironing for neighbors and church members. I started feeling left out, resenting other girls' relationships with their fathers. I had my brother and 2 brother in laws, but it just didn't seem to feel right.
When I could drive, I went to the cemetery to visit again. And it really hit. I made the connections that he was gone, I didn't get to have a Daddy-Daughter experience. I racked my brain to remember something of those days when I was his pride and joy, when he would come home from work, take me in the car, put me on his right shoulder and drive a few houses down to visit neighbors.
I remember getting angry in my teens. Angry at my dad for his responsibility in his death. He should not have been at that intersection at that time of day. He should have been at work. Even if he had gone somewhere for lunch, he was headed in the wrong direction. He should have taken better care of his health. I was mad that he had been so selfish. He would not be there for my graduation, to walk me down the aisle or to see his grandkids. All the new technology he would miss out on. He was an avid ham radio operator and tinkered around with remote mute controls on the family TV back in the '50's. He worked on cars and fixed neighbors lawnmowers.
Recently, I asked my 94 year old mom if she missed dad-her husband. It had been such a long time ago, she said; and when it happened, she had a toddler (me) to take care of. She continued, saying that she didn't have time to grieve. Some people have told me that I was a blessing to her during that time, some told me that I was better off not knowing Dad, for he was not a loving, giving person and maybe I wouldn't be who I am today if he had lived. Was that a statement they thought would help me accept my father's death? The awkwardness grief dishes out delivered as a kindness I don't understand. It never made me feel better about my loss. Maybe it was meant to help the other person accept the situation.
Have I handled my grief? Have I moved on? It has been hard to measure. I have thought about it more and more lately, maybe because I now have 2 kids that don't have a grandfather on my side. Or maybe because I am blessed with a second marriage that is with a wonderful man and four step children. That I would want my dad to see me happy. I would want to share my artwork and my inventions with him. I would want him to be proud of me. Those things I will never know.
I have read a book that has been very helpful. The situation is not the same as mine, but the grief process is the connecting factor that really moved me. From Pain to Peace shares the story of Pat Bluth's journey through grief. After the death of her daughter by a drunk driver, she wanted revenge when he was let off with a mere slap on the wrist. Pat traces the steps she went through to go from rage to forgiveness and healing.
I found myself crying through Pat's story as I relived pain from my own life-loss of a parent and divorce. The hurt can be dealt with, healed and released. "God is good. All the time." says Pat. I also celebrated her joy in finding comfort and healing through forgiveness. I found a reconnection with my Heavenly Father, an acceptance of my father's death and a place of forgiveness where I can grow from. "To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover the prisoner was you."-George Herbert
If you know someone who is struggling with grief-whatever the cause, and you know they are hurting, maybe this book would help them also. It gave me a road map to change my journey and be at peace with my situation.
"We are all on a life long journey and the core of it's meaning, the terrible demand of it's centrality is forgiving and being forgiven."~ Martha Kilpatrick
Looking back, I can't really remember when I realised my Dad was gone. It happened when I was 17 months old, about month after my 19 year old sister was married. Dad was 52 and had some history of high blood pressure, I think he was taking medication for it, but Mom is unclear on what he took or for how long. We do know that he chose to take his meds only when he 'felt he needed them'. I always thought that was like trying to drive a car when one felt that it didn't need wheels.
The story goes that he had a stroke in his car while sitting at a stoplight in the left turn lane. He was behind another car. As his body convulsed and contorted, his foot slipped off the brake pedal and his car bumped the one in from of him. That driver got out to approach my dad and finding him slumped in his seat unconscious, called for help. Dad was taken to a local hospital where he lay in a coma. My brother was called there from work and my 2 sisters were there soon after. Dad passed away a day later.
During this time, Mom and I were out of town. We had taken the train from So. California back to her hometown of Rochester, NY. The train tickets were a surprise gift from Dad. He knew how much Mom missed her family and she had not been back in years. We were visiting family, I was playing with cousins I had just met, staying with aunts & uncles that my mom had missed. It was July and summer was upon us. Mom got the phone call, "Grover had a stroke." We flew home the next day.
I don't remember crying. I don't remember the train or airplane trip. I don't have clear memories of the house we were in at the time. I was told later that I stayed at a neighbor's house during the funeral.
As the years passed, I heard stories about my dad. How he was so handy at fixing things, what a talented machinist he was. He fabricated parts out of metals for manufacturing, some were prototypes, some were one-of-a-kinds made on demand to get in place asap. While I was still young, I told people my dad had gone to Heaven to fix things. I don't know if someone told me that when I asked where Daddy was or if I said that on my own.
I didn't think my life was much different than other kids until certain events arose that reminded me that I didn't have a DAD. Father-Daughter dances and teas. Church outings and camping trips. Shopping trips where a Dad spoils his 'Little Princess'.
My journey through grief was really a path of discovery of the event, an awareness that something had gone wrong. I remember visiting his grave site in Rose Hills Cemetery. Mom and I would go sometimes and place flowers in the holder that was flush with the grass above the flat metal grave marker. Sometimes we would have to dig around the opening to clear overgrown grass before we could leave the flowers. Mom tells me, she remembers me playing as if it were just another park.
I don't know what year we stopped going to visit. Life got busy with school and church activities, Mom worked a bit part time at church, but mainly did errands, chauffeuring and ironing for neighbors and church members. I started feeling left out, resenting other girls' relationships with their fathers. I had my brother and 2 brother in laws, but it just didn't seem to feel right.
When I could drive, I went to the cemetery to visit again. And it really hit. I made the connections that he was gone, I didn't get to have a Daddy-Daughter experience. I racked my brain to remember something of those days when I was his pride and joy, when he would come home from work, take me in the car, put me on his right shoulder and drive a few houses down to visit neighbors.
I remember getting angry in my teens. Angry at my dad for his responsibility in his death. He should not have been at that intersection at that time of day. He should have been at work. Even if he had gone somewhere for lunch, he was headed in the wrong direction. He should have taken better care of his health. I was mad that he had been so selfish. He would not be there for my graduation, to walk me down the aisle or to see his grandkids. All the new technology he would miss out on. He was an avid ham radio operator and tinkered around with remote mute controls on the family TV back in the '50's. He worked on cars and fixed neighbors lawnmowers.
Recently, I asked my 94 year old mom if she missed dad-her husband. It had been such a long time ago, she said; and when it happened, she had a toddler (me) to take care of. She continued, saying that she didn't have time to grieve. Some people have told me that I was a blessing to her during that time, some told me that I was better off not knowing Dad, for he was not a loving, giving person and maybe I wouldn't be who I am today if he had lived. Was that a statement they thought would help me accept my father's death? The awkwardness grief dishes out delivered as a kindness I don't understand. It never made me feel better about my loss. Maybe it was meant to help the other person accept the situation.
Have I handled my grief? Have I moved on? It has been hard to measure. I have thought about it more and more lately, maybe because I now have 2 kids that don't have a grandfather on my side. Or maybe because I am blessed with a second marriage that is with a wonderful man and four step children. That I would want my dad to see me happy. I would want to share my artwork and my inventions with him. I would want him to be proud of me. Those things I will never know.
I have read a book that has been very helpful. The situation is not the same as mine, but the grief process is the connecting factor that really moved me. From Pain to Peace shares the story of Pat Bluth's journey through grief. After the death of her daughter by a drunk driver, she wanted revenge when he was let off with a mere slap on the wrist. Pat traces the steps she went through to go from rage to forgiveness and healing.
I found myself crying through Pat's story as I relived pain from my own life-loss of a parent and divorce. The hurt can be dealt with, healed and released. "God is good. All the time." says Pat. I also celebrated her joy in finding comfort and healing through forgiveness. I found a reconnection with my Heavenly Father, an acceptance of my father's death and a place of forgiveness where I can grow from. "To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover the prisoner was you."-George Herbert
If you know someone who is struggling with grief-whatever the cause, and you know they are hurting, maybe this book would help them also. It gave me a road map to change my journey and be at peace with my situation.
"We are all on a life long journey and the core of it's meaning, the terrible demand of it's centrality is forgiving and being forgiven."~ Martha Kilpatrick
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Who Am I Today?
I've been pondering all the changes I have gone through to get where I am and to be who I am today. Some events could be remembered with fear, frustration or just a bone-chilling shudder. Anger and resentment could be part of all this, but I have been trying very hard to shed those sort of thoughts and concentrate on the lessons I learned from my past.
I honestly, in my heart, have to thank those mean girls at school that took my books and homework in 5th Grade, the person that stole my 1st ever baseball glove, the boy friend in high school that showed me what cheating was all about. A roommate that left me with the rent to pay....etc. Do any of these sound familiar to anyone else?
I could go on about my 1st marriage and divorce, but that is a story for another blog.
What have I done with these experiences? A few I have forgotten-maybe-they are too painful. There are many that I have chosen to accept as a gift of knowledge. That old saying, "Remember and learn from the past (history) or you will be doomed to repeat it."
I could be angry, many have told me I have the right to, but where would I be and what would I be inside?
I used to be shy in school. My report cards would read A's & B's with the added note of: "Wendy is a delight in class, helpful but very shy." Or, "Too quiet, but very sweet." My first year in college I received a "D" in Speech class. I would get so nervous that my voice would just disappear.
It took me many years to discover that I had to care for and love myself first before I could do anything else for anyone else. I learned that if I tried to please everyone, no one was happy. Especially me. I had the help of a kind counselor, some temporary medications and prayer. Guidance from Pastor Moe at my present church and the support of my church family showed me the value of ME.
My four years at Paradise Bakery helped me really emerge from my shell of insecurity that was building around me during my marriage. I believed the things I was being told as reality. I had become the frog in the pot of water. My spirit slowly cooked with falsehoods and diluted into a murkiness of depression. Gradually, with guidance from exceptional mentors I blossomed into a great trainer and exceptional customer service advocate. I take great pleasure in providing a memorable experience for someone-a church member at a potluck, a neighbor at a picnic, a friend in need, a charity or an organization. There are so many opportunities to give to get these days. Give of myself to get a smile.
So, today I am a woman with many talents and experiences that I can draw upon for different situations. I take my hits and misses equally as fodder for building better relationships in the future. Would I do anything different? I do not believe so. For any regrets that I have for any lost opportunities, it would be difficult to imagine where else I would be.
I am here now because of my choices. I am who I am because of my choices. And I am happy with myself.
I am me.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Stopping My Blogging Fears
“The greatest mistake you can make in life is to be continually fearing you will make one.” – Elbert Hubbard
Okay. Whew. That wasn't so bad...I got past the first words to write on my blog. So they are not my words, but a quote-they gave me the courage to type what I am thinking and feeling NOW. Sometimes, one needs someone else to go first.
I admit, I have been procrastinating-out of fear. Fear of ridicule, indifference, isolation, bad grammar, self reflection, self criticism and success. Yes, success-a traumatic reoccourance in my childhood. You see, I was the last child, much later than my 3 siblings. Twenty-three to seventeen years later. I had Mom to myself after Dad passed from a stroke in '62. I was 17 months old. My siblings were out of the house, married and one had 2 kids of her own. I think Mom had time to spend on me and that bit of extra attention encouraged me to express my creativity. I drew and painted and enjoyed it at elementary school in a suburban town just East of Los Angeles.
Then came the statements, "Wow, that is fantastic, you are so artistic! It's wonderful...blah, blah blah." By the time I muddled my thoughts through the blah-blahs of my sister, all I could think of was, "Oh, great. Now I have to come up with something better for next time."
Yup, way back then was when the pressure started. And that pressure lead me to NOT even start things. I labeled myself as a procrastinator and used it as a handy-dandy, all inclusive excuse for not finishing things. Recently, I was told by a very smart lady that I am a DOER. I just had not believed it all this time. I am not too old to learn and change.
Lately, I have become fascinated by the world of Social Media and have been Facebooking and Twittering. I have gathered genuine followers and have real friends on FB-not just Zanga invites. I have found inspiration on line, in books and in my dreams-usually after reading some of those books.
So today is the day that I kick started my writing. I had to. There is so much in my brain, that I speak it and edit it faster than I can remember to write it down. (Maybe I need a tape recorder...)
I want to thank Elbert Hubbard, posthumously (1856-1915) for his words of encouragement, @problogger, @CoachDeb, @WarrenWhitlock and @writingspirit on Twitter for their positive reinforcing posts, books and direct messages. It all came together today when I read the quote and realized that making a mistake is still moving foreward. And I found the quote here on mlmdreamsaver.com I searched 'blogging mistakes and fears' and found great relief within Vicki Berry's blog.
Even though this sounds like an acceptance speech at an awards show, it's more of making the opportunity to give gratitude. I have been struggling with what all to share here, but I think I will let all these words soak into the internet, Twitterverse, cyberspace, mind spaces and SEO word races.
I believe I will continue blogging. This has been like getting on one of those really scary-big, super fast roller coasters after ditching the line a few times and then getting on with the encouragement of friends. Not as scary as I thought, although my stomach is still a bit queasy. Anyone have any Tums?
************************
She thinks: After reading what I just wrote I'm thinking, that wasn't too bad, I made it quick and virtually painless. Reminds me of another less famous and less serious quote: "Off like a Band-Aid." That one I attribute to Dennis Tietz at Paradise Bakery.
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