Whether "expecting" a life to begin,
re-defining one's life purpose
or pushing through the canal of existing pain,
life is scary, life is ever-changing and
life is a challenge worth the risk.
By: Erin McDougald
Religiously, every month, I remember, as a child, accompanying my mother for her devoted visit to her dashingly good-looking (totally heterosexual) young hairdresser, Ron. He was funny and entertaining and had the most beautiful hair-assistants and stylists working in his modest salon in Columbus, Ohio. His wife, Cyndi, had supermodel good-looks and together they were considered a power-couple in the beauty industry... in Columbus, anyway. I remember her being "very pregnant" and everyone very excited in anticipation for the birth of their first baby. And I remember seeing my mother crying in the kitchen after she was told the news that Ron and Cyndi's un-born baby, one month from due-date, was dead in the womb. According to Ohio law, the young couple, after going through an induced birth for a still-born child was legally obligated to name the baby and have a burial. I remember I was specifically instructed as a little girl of 8 or 9, never to mention this loss to Ron or Cyndi as it would be too sad for them to discuss. Years went on, for the couple to have yet another miscarriage. This precipitated their divorce, according to Ron himself. Their passion, trauma and love reunited them in marriage a few years later. Eventually, their beautiful baby, Amanda, was born after nine months of strict bed-rest for the mother; the unbearable anxiety through the difficult pregnancy and birth was another topic we were forbidden to ask about out of thoughtfulness to the sensitive state they were in. Shortly thereafter the birth of their healthy baby girl, their marriage ended for the second time. Bitterly.
Ron went on to re-marry a beautiful, very successful, fun-loving woman with two children of her own. They brought a fourth child into their new family and lived happily for many years until that marriage dissolved after 15 years or so.
I'm not sharing this story to gossip. I'm interested in the unborn fears that never had the chance to breathe through trauma. The guilt, anger, unaired pain... I wonder, were these emotions amoebas attached, feeding off of and growing uncontrollably in the womb of each couples' existence? Was it more than the loss of what was expected, but, eventually, the loss of courage to keep hoping? I never asked. And the circle of silent onlookers that felt envious, hopeful, helpless, pained and awkward in the presence of a man that appeared to have everything, most all the time... until a massive loss overshadowed his gregarious chuckle or boyishly-sly grin, reminding us all "not to bring it up"... For all he accomplished and went on to do, the life he led with newborns and new found love, the unborn reality still lived on his his heart, and how could it not?
Expectation and the unexpected, interestingly enough, can have similar psychological impacts that blur the vision from the reality. I lost two pregnancies this year. Nowhere as devastatingly close to term as Cyndi and Ron experienced, but the loss of the unborn left me with the loss of self... the loss of something I neither knew to expect or how to grieve, per se. The loss of two fetuses left me with the loss of understanding, reason, and perhaps even loss of purpose. It left me in a loneliness that usurped the partnership I cherished but, ultimately disavowed through (unknowing) self-sabotage. I was always told pregnancy was near impossible or implausible given the circumstances of my long-endured medical complications; I expected no pregnancy, let alone two lost pregnancies in one year. Sometimes being given the knowledge of something you never had a chance to even revel in, before it is "taken" from you, is a loss that feels two-fold. There is a sense of feeling "duped" by the universe, or, worse, betrayed by your own body, that leaves the "unborn" a constant but ghostly presence. The haunting questions of "If I knew, could I have prevented this loss?" can be enough to drive one to edge of sanity in the quietest moments of unshared self-doubt. But, life goes on.
Expectation and the unexpected, interestingly enough, can have similar psychological impacts that blur the vision from the reality. I lost two pregnancies this year. Nowhere as devastatingly close to term as Cyndi and Ron experienced, but the loss of the unborn left me with the loss of self... the loss of something I neither knew to expect or how to grieve, per se. The loss of two fetuses left me with the loss of understanding, reason, and perhaps even loss of purpose. It left me in a loneliness that usurped the partnership I cherished but, ultimately disavowed through (unknowing) self-sabotage. I was always told pregnancy was near impossible or implausible given the circumstances of my long-endured medical complications; I expected no pregnancy, let alone two lost pregnancies in one year. Sometimes being given the knowledge of something you never had a chance to even revel in, before it is "taken" from you, is a loss that feels two-fold. There is a sense of feeling "duped" by the universe, or, worse, betrayed by your own body, that leaves the "unborn" a constant but ghostly presence. The haunting questions of "If I knew, could I have prevented this loss?" can be enough to drive one to edge of sanity in the quietest moments of unshared self-doubt. But, life goes on.
When the concept of god, some 17 years ago, became a fairytale I no longer subscribed to, people came out of the woodwork to oppose my discernment of religion, heaven, hell and most of all, that ridiculous book of hypocritical fables known as The Bible (insert Kabbalah etc... same difference). My decision to stop pondering the magic of mythical characters conjured by imperfect men seemed to offend more than just my Irish-Catholic mother. --People who had no true connection to my personal life had opinions and disapproval of my personal choice to believe (or not believe) in the ideas they chose to subscribe to. I found this as amusing as I did aggravating. And when the wonderful and loving legend of jazz, Ira Sullivan (a Born-Again Christian), whom I was very recently fortunate enough to spend a month with, every day, insisted on inserting scripture into the most disconnected subjects, at first, I was perturbed. But as life is, and life does, letting things flow beneath one's buoyancy instead of pushing against the tide can be a more tranquil transition from opinion to wisdom. And as I with-held my opinions, and listened to Ira's perspective, I found great value in the wisdom in his heart, more than the legitimacy of his faith. If anything, Ira reinforced the beauty in life by pointing out the beauty in every difficulty. Annoying at first? Yes. But, quickly, his influence dissolved the sleep from eyes and urged me to see life in the technicolor of possibility, rather than the sepia of what might have been.
I found the lessons in temperance more pertinent than the source of his beliefs. Ira is a spiritual guidepost for me, not a religious zealot; he is a person whose life exemplifies his words of wisdom. His behavior, re-born from decades earlier when a very different life on the road as a jazzman surrounded by the temptations of substances over substance dictated his decisions. He became Born-Again. In more ways than the liturgical definition suggests; Ira, an octogenarian who has seen more of the world than most people in the world could imagine without their technology in-hand, is still infusing the ideals of re-birth with his concepts of healthy dieting, his interest in reading, mind-enhancement games of scrabble, political interests and of course musical excursions into the new, rather than the bebop era that helped make him an icon of the genre. Ira inspired me to find a new dimension of existence-- not one pertaining to god, but, instead, one that elevates me as a human being above all other aspirations.
I found the lessons in temperance more pertinent than the source of his beliefs. Ira is a spiritual guidepost for me, not a religious zealot; he is a person whose life exemplifies his words of wisdom. His behavior, re-born from decades earlier when a very different life on the road as a jazzman surrounded by the temptations of substances over substance dictated his decisions. He became Born-Again. In more ways than the liturgical definition suggests; Ira, an octogenarian who has seen more of the world than most people in the world could imagine without their technology in-hand, is still infusing the ideals of re-birth with his concepts of healthy dieting, his interest in reading, mind-enhancement games of scrabble, political interests and of course musical excursions into the new, rather than the bebop era that helped make him an icon of the genre. Ira inspired me to find a new dimension of existence-- not one pertaining to god, but, instead, one that elevates me as a human being above all other aspirations.
In the recent fracture and separation of what I know as "ultimately the best relationship I ever had", in no small part, effected by the miscarriages and mishandled emotions on both of our parts, I have made the decision to pull the plug on the stagnating life-support system I relied on called codependency. The intellectual in me always recognized the codependent nature of my "passionate existence", and yet, never digested the facets of defining behavior which worked against me in all my efforts to secure happiness, peacefulness and, essentially, consistency in life. The machine of codependency prevented me from the death of my unrealistic expectations-- by that, I mean, it fed me enough misinformation to nebulize my heart into a false-state of stability, leading me into the arms of narcissistic men, addicts of all sorts (from alcohol to pot to passive-aggressive codependent personalities)... My oxygen tube was to be the life-source to heal, "fix" or assume responsibility for their (anyone's) feelings, problems and behaviors. By pouring myself completely into another person's recurring dilemmas, emotional ineptitude or physical demands of my time, I could feel "needed" (read valid).
The harm in such "compassionate thinking" is a tapeworm that feeds from the inside out-- a needful hunger that can never be satiated because no amount of self-sacrifice can create self-acceptance. It has taken me [insert age] ... this long... to metabolize the defective thinking which poisoned the balance (if there was any to begin with-- many cases, not, as the codependent personality is intrinsically attracted/drawn to/addicted to the emotionally unavailable/addicted/with-holding/controlling personality) of any connection born from the hopeful place of "finally- real love". That real love inevitably reared it's familiar, dysfunctional face that morphed the imagery of healthy-communication into toxic-discord. The more the spiraled decline ensued, the stronger each personality clung to our crutches of defense against it. There comes a time (usually rock-bottom is in-sight), when the ability to recognize a problem is no longer the issue; the WILLINGNESS TO CHANGE THE SOURCE of the problem (AKA: yourself, not the other person) is not born from your capacity to research the psychology of it all (though that helps tremendously-- to a point), but, instead, it lies in your tenacity to experience the pain of new birth. I'm not suggesting labor pains. New birth, to me, means, having the courage to push through the painful source of what existed long before the other person was in your life. New birth, for me, is my idea of new thinking. We cannot deal with our pain and our mistakes in thinking the same way as when we committed them. I think Einstein said something to that effect, but I digress. The newborn brain must teach the ever-vulnerable heart how to implement healthy boundaries AND healthy vulnerability and how to in fact, expel the necrotic beliefs and diseased conditions --ever-shifting standards which no person will ever fully live up to.
Like giving birth, this life-adjustment is a process of inner growth, maturation, dedication and yes, separation. Even a newborn is "cut" from the umbilical cord of it's mother in order to live outside of her and grow independently. There is a difference between a nourishing connection and a smothering confinement. We can be completely committed to each other without losing our autonomy. In fact, it is only through separateness that we can in fact choose togetherness. Space is not abandonment, it is breathing room. A baby sleeps in it's crib so not to be smothered or accidentally crushed in the night by the nursing mother. Partners in life can have different "emotional rooms" to retreat to and yet a home with one another exists just as strongly. The separation anxiety a codependent feels is much like a toddler that misinterprets the parents' leaving him/her with the babysitter for a night the same as leaving... forever. The toddler must learn the difference between abandonment and separation. I, too, am learning this in a similar context-- the wounds of some unmet childhood need or misinterpreted behavior have tethered my anxieties to my sense of love. And the caregiver I aimed to be (for anyone but myself) was the subconscious role-playing of my inner-child.
The harm in such "compassionate thinking" is a tapeworm that feeds from the inside out-- a needful hunger that can never be satiated because no amount of self-sacrifice can create self-acceptance. It has taken me [insert age] ... this long... to metabolize the defective thinking which poisoned the balance (if there was any to begin with-- many cases, not, as the codependent personality is intrinsically attracted/drawn to/addicted to the emotionally unavailable/addicted/with-holding/controlling personality) of any connection born from the hopeful place of "finally- real love". That real love inevitably reared it's familiar, dysfunctional face that morphed the imagery of healthy-communication into toxic-discord. The more the spiraled decline ensued, the stronger each personality clung to our crutches of defense against it. There comes a time (usually rock-bottom is in-sight), when the ability to recognize a problem is no longer the issue; the WILLINGNESS TO CHANGE THE SOURCE of the problem (AKA: yourself, not the other person) is not born from your capacity to research the psychology of it all (though that helps tremendously-- to a point), but, instead, it lies in your tenacity to experience the pain of new birth. I'm not suggesting labor pains. New birth, to me, means, having the courage to push through the painful source of what existed long before the other person was in your life. New birth, for me, is my idea of new thinking. We cannot deal with our pain and our mistakes in thinking the same way as when we committed them. I think Einstein said something to that effect, but I digress. The newborn brain must teach the ever-vulnerable heart how to implement healthy boundaries AND healthy vulnerability and how to in fact, expel the necrotic beliefs and diseased conditions --ever-shifting standards which no person will ever fully live up to.
Like giving birth, this life-adjustment is a process of inner growth, maturation, dedication and yes, separation. Even a newborn is "cut" from the umbilical cord of it's mother in order to live outside of her and grow independently. There is a difference between a nourishing connection and a smothering confinement. We can be completely committed to each other without losing our autonomy. In fact, it is only through separateness that we can in fact choose togetherness. Space is not abandonment, it is breathing room. A baby sleeps in it's crib so not to be smothered or accidentally crushed in the night by the nursing mother. Partners in life can have different "emotional rooms" to retreat to and yet a home with one another exists just as strongly. The separation anxiety a codependent feels is much like a toddler that misinterprets the parents' leaving him/her with the babysitter for a night the same as leaving... forever. The toddler must learn the difference between abandonment and separation. I, too, am learning this in a similar context-- the wounds of some unmet childhood need or misinterpreted behavior have tethered my anxieties to my sense of love. And the caregiver I aimed to be (for anyone but myself) was the subconscious role-playing of my inner-child.
The labor of "giving birth" to this newline of thinking --this re-programming of years of faulty security systems-- is painful. There are no epidurals to self-soothe, because, in fact, it is the pain that lets us know we are alive. The pain essentially is what saves us and delivers us. I'm not suggesting life should be painful every minute or every day in order to be truly thriving! What I'm getting at is, the pain of giving birth to not just new thoughts, but WAYS of thinking, will create a new life, a new heart and a new direction that leads one out of emotional contractions, and into the comfort we so deeply long to experience. We cannot be held "enough" until we make it through this stage... on our own, only then will we be content in the love we give (and receive). We can be pushed by the people that long to hold us (or get us OUT), but, ultimately, it is up to us to come into this new world of behaving with the trust and curiosity of a child and the wisdom and focus of the reincarnated spirit or born-again with sincere self-respect.
The Unborn never go away-- that goes for childhood tragedies, lost opportunities or dreams deferred; they should be remembered and honored through self-healing --not used as an excuse to recede from potential loss. The Born-Again choose to change direction; sometimes it's healthy, sometimes it's just another addiction replacing the last. The Newborn, which can be a perpetual state, if the will to renew and rejuvenate oneself is always at the heart of evolution, is the resilience of life incarnate, in spite of pain, discomfort and risk. Life goes on, but how we choose to live is inevitably how we will experience love, peace and true security. Nothing worthwhile is free of growing pains.
Yes... Life goes on... but only until it does not.
Make the most out of it, not by avoiding what you fear, but by facing it, learning from it and conquering it.
The Unborn never go away-- that goes for childhood tragedies, lost opportunities or dreams deferred; they should be remembered and honored through self-healing --not used as an excuse to recede from potential loss. The Born-Again choose to change direction; sometimes it's healthy, sometimes it's just another addiction replacing the last. The Newborn, which can be a perpetual state, if the will to renew and rejuvenate oneself is always at the heart of evolution, is the resilience of life incarnate, in spite of pain, discomfort and risk. Life goes on, but how we choose to live is inevitably how we will experience love, peace and true security. Nothing worthwhile is free of growing pains.
Yes... Life goes on... but only until it does not.
Make the most out of it, not by avoiding what you fear, but by facing it, learning from it and conquering it.
I'm still working (hard) on this, by the way. :)
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