‘Member that acronym, children of the 80’s? Feel the burn of shame creeping up your cheeks? Do you remember any New Kids on the Block songs? You know you do.
I have my very own new kid on the block at work, and he is – at the moment – a sometimes-charming thorn in my side. R started work at the office three weeks ago. He was hired to take my position. Or I should say, to take the position I’ve been filling since I was hired in June 2009, but was not hired to do. Supposedly, once R is trained, I will be able to actually move into the job I was hired to do at job offer, although that job now looks radically different than it did when I started. ComPLETEly different job description. Getting the fluidity picture? Word one at this workplace is: flexibility. As in, are you the mental equivalent of a balloon animal, and do you like having hot air blown up your ass and being twisted into a variety of shapes? But I digress.
R and I have been sharing an office since he arrived March 1. He will eventually have his own office, but that office is currently desk-less and chair-less. The office manager told us “three weeks” when he arrived (which already seems a bit lengthy in terms of waiting-for-office-furniture limbo), but now – at day 23 – she’s reduced that hopeful statement to: “Don’t hold your breath.” Note to curious readers: said office manager got her own office furniture delivered within 48 hours. But I digress.
R talks all the time. ALL the time. Alllllll the time. And he’s not an efficient talker – he can’t talk and work at the same time, for example. So guess who’s been handed the leash to keep this puppy heeling? How many times a day can I reasonably be expected to smile and chuckle politely, and then say, “Heh, heh. Now getting back to Patient So-and-so?” Apparently a lot. I had a nasty surprise last week when my boss sent out a detailed itinerary for another new employee, spelling out where he was to be spending his time – hour by hour – for, oh, his first 6 weeks. What did I get when R arrived? A verbal prompt from my boss the Friday before his Monday start date: “Oh, Stacey, R will be here Monday. I’ll be off next week. Just show him around and stuff.” Also, I am not getting paid extra for being his sole, exclusive, one-on-one trainer for TWENTY-THREE DAYS AND COUNTING. But I digress.
The NKOTB reference was intentional, as R is both a literal new kid and also a fan of some terrible, terrible music. He is an iPod mixmaster, with a weakness (mortal, I would say) for music from the ‘80’s and ‘90’s, apt to start office-chair dancing to Tears For Fears at any moment. (I have to say, he also appreciates some excellent music, but he is an indiscriminate music lover, as demonstrated by his pairing John Mayer and Nick Drake on the same mix. May you never experience such a jarring musical juxtaposition.) I actually heard him say, “This John Mayer song just means so much to me, right now. It brings tears to my eyes.” I’m not digressing here, this just flat out drives me crazy.
FOOTNOTE: R has “graduated,” now. We’re no longer sharing an office (though his office furniture still hasn’t arrived), so I no longer have to laugh politely all day long or listen to terrible music or watch him dance or hear about his divorce-in-progress. I’m in a small cubicle w/ four other people nearby, so it’s not silent and I’m not alone, but it’s better. Soon I’ll get my office back, my window, my privacy.
From a calmer state of mind, it’s not just R who was driving me crazy. It was having to teach R how to do a job I hate: a job full of exceptions and discrepancies and double- and triple-work and “I don’t have a better reason than that’s just what you have to do” explanations. All those things PLUS a non-stop funnyman, midst-of-divorce traumatized, glommed to my side co-worker – that’s what made the last three weeks so insane.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
What Mindy Missed...
I tried to entice Mindy Anne to yoga Sunday with the promise of a Joe Versus the Volcano reference. (Joe is one of Mindy’s and my favorites – we like to sit down with Joe and a Jr. Mint shake and whoever else we can cajole or bully into watching it with us.) But not even that tempting prospect could tear her away from the project she was finishing up for work. Ah well. The retelling won’t be quite so profound, but here goes…
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the compressed, panicky feeling I get whenever I feel I don’t have enough time. (This happens, oh, all the time.) Trying to flip the coin, I based last week’s yoga class on the idea of creating spaciousness; specifically, lengthening and lifting the sides of the torso to create more space for the lungs. More space for the lungs means more room to breathe, which can do a lot to counter that panicky hyperventilating feeling of there’s-not-enough-time. In the course of thinking about spaciousness in the body, I was reminded of how yoga (or any other meditation practice) can also create spaciousness in the mind. By focusing for an hour on subtle movements in the body, by working and stretching muscles I barely remember once being friendly with, I often find my mind so caught up in the process that it loosens its white-knuckled grip on time and relaxes. I’m not rushing from pose to pose, and I’m not anxiously checking the clock to see how much longer? Not every yoga practice is this way, but the best ones are.
It struck me last week that I am often rushing from one thing to the next, even from one pleasurable pastime to another. It’s like going on a road trip out in the hill country. You expect it to be scenic, and it is, but inevitably someone (usually me) has to pee, and then you stop at a truck stop where the bathrooms stink and the food sucks and you can’t wait to get out of there and back to the scenery ASAP. In yoga, there are no truck stops. Every pose, every pause between poses, has the potential to be scenic. And maybe that’s the mindset that creates that spacious feeling that I crave. But how do you carry that mindset off the mat? It’s easier to find mind-space in a class for two reasons: first, in yoga, you’re only focusing on the body, and despite its complexity, the body is still just one thing; second, there’s a teacher guiding you through the focus points, telling you, “Notice this, now move this.” Off the mat, you’re faced with a barrage of images and media and traffic and co-workers and damn, if your cell phone isn’t ringing again! When there’s no teacher telling you to turn off the phone and slow down, it’s easier for the scenery to get lost in the truck stops. That’s one reason why yoga’s such great practice: start with something basic and familiar – the body – and slowly you learn how to bring the applications home with you.
How in god’s name is she going to tie this in with that ridiculous 1980’s Joe V. Volcano movie, you ask? Don’t mind if I do…
There’s a scene in Joe Versus the Volcano where Joe is stranded in the middle of the ocean. He’s dehydrated; he’s starting to hallucinate; he has no idea if he will be rescued. It’s the middle of the night, and the full moon is rising. It’s a gorgeous moon, huge, as big as the world. Joe stands up on the raft. He’s shaking. He’s looking at the moon with a look of rapt wonder on his face. All he says is, “I forgot how big…” That line gets me every time – I am always forgetting, always slipping into panic mode, always feeling almost-strangled by time constraints. And yoga is my reminder that my life, my mind, my body – all so much more spacious than I feel in the bad moments. I ended class with this suggestion – I’ll give it to you here, too: This week, when you feel that creeping never-enough-time feeling, come back to the last time your body felt spacious and open (maybe your last yoga class!), remind yourself that you create spaciousness in your life each time you make time for an activity you love (like yoga, or running on the trail, or agility w/ Izze, or playing music), then consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, you forgot how big.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the compressed, panicky feeling I get whenever I feel I don’t have enough time. (This happens, oh, all the time.) Trying to flip the coin, I based last week’s yoga class on the idea of creating spaciousness; specifically, lengthening and lifting the sides of the torso to create more space for the lungs. More space for the lungs means more room to breathe, which can do a lot to counter that panicky hyperventilating feeling of there’s-not-enough-time. In the course of thinking about spaciousness in the body, I was reminded of how yoga (or any other meditation practice) can also create spaciousness in the mind. By focusing for an hour on subtle movements in the body, by working and stretching muscles I barely remember once being friendly with, I often find my mind so caught up in the process that it loosens its white-knuckled grip on time and relaxes. I’m not rushing from pose to pose, and I’m not anxiously checking the clock to see how much longer? Not every yoga practice is this way, but the best ones are.
It struck me last week that I am often rushing from one thing to the next, even from one pleasurable pastime to another. It’s like going on a road trip out in the hill country. You expect it to be scenic, and it is, but inevitably someone (usually me) has to pee, and then you stop at a truck stop where the bathrooms stink and the food sucks and you can’t wait to get out of there and back to the scenery ASAP. In yoga, there are no truck stops. Every pose, every pause between poses, has the potential to be scenic. And maybe that’s the mindset that creates that spacious feeling that I crave. But how do you carry that mindset off the mat? It’s easier to find mind-space in a class for two reasons: first, in yoga, you’re only focusing on the body, and despite its complexity, the body is still just one thing; second, there’s a teacher guiding you through the focus points, telling you, “Notice this, now move this.” Off the mat, you’re faced with a barrage of images and media and traffic and co-workers and damn, if your cell phone isn’t ringing again! When there’s no teacher telling you to turn off the phone and slow down, it’s easier for the scenery to get lost in the truck stops. That’s one reason why yoga’s such great practice: start with something basic and familiar – the body – and slowly you learn how to bring the applications home with you.
How in god’s name is she going to tie this in with that ridiculous 1980’s Joe V. Volcano movie, you ask? Don’t mind if I do…
There’s a scene in Joe Versus the Volcano where Joe is stranded in the middle of the ocean. He’s dehydrated; he’s starting to hallucinate; he has no idea if he will be rescued. It’s the middle of the night, and the full moon is rising. It’s a gorgeous moon, huge, as big as the world. Joe stands up on the raft. He’s shaking. He’s looking at the moon with a look of rapt wonder on his face. All he says is, “I forgot how big…” That line gets me every time – I am always forgetting, always slipping into panic mode, always feeling almost-strangled by time constraints. And yoga is my reminder that my life, my mind, my body – all so much more spacious than I feel in the bad moments. I ended class with this suggestion – I’ll give it to you here, too: This week, when you feel that creeping never-enough-time feeling, come back to the last time your body felt spacious and open (maybe your last yoga class!), remind yourself that you create spaciousness in your life each time you make time for an activity you love (like yoga, or running on the trail, or agility w/ Izze, or playing music), then consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, you forgot how big.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Too Much of a Good Thing?
DISCLAIMER: This is not in any way intended as a criticism of yoga workshops, or of teachers leading or hosting workshops. It’s simply my own, singular experience of being overwhelmed by them.
You know what I’m talking about: workshops. I’m gearing up for 3 days of yoga with senior Iyengar teacher, Joan White. Am I thrilled? Absolutely. Am I also filled with dread? You betcha. I understand that when a senior teacher is in town, you want to maximize the time students have w/ them. At the same time…let’s be reasonable. Take a look at my schedule: tonight, yoga 6-8:30pm, tomorrow, 8:30-11am and 1-3pm, Sunday 9:30-12:30. That’s 10 hours of yoga in 42.5 hours of life. Granted, most teachers, this one included, build in at least 3 hours of restorative and pranayama (breathwork) practice, but inevitably, my muscles and mind are battered by workshop’s end. I guarantee it will be Thursday of next week before I can get out of bed without groaning in pain.
So why do I do it? Because I’m in a teacher training program and it’s a requirement that I attend 3 workshops per year. Honestly, I don’t think I’d put myself through it, otherwise. I simply don’t think it’s healthy to push the body that hard in such a short period of time – it’s an invitation to overwork and injury. Between Friday at 6pm and Saturday at 3pm, I will have done 7 hours of active asana. Maybe some bodies can take it, but mine protests. In the past, I’ve had to get special permission from the visiting teacher to sit out a session and simply observe. I had an injury, so that made it OK, but I got the distinct impression it wouldn’t have been so OK to just say, "I need to sit this one out." There’s a push-through-it-iveness that I’m picking up on; almost like it’s a competition to see who can hold out the longest w/o fatiguing. I am strong and flexible and I do love a challenge, but I’m also trying to learn (and respect!) my body’s limits, and these workshops are not built around that idea.
I don’t know what the answer is – of course you want a great teacher to offer as many classes as possible! The restorative and pranayama practices are key, of course. I wonder about offering a lecture component in place of an asana session? But really, when a fabulous teacher is in town, most people want to see her or him teach, not lecture. I know that my answer – once my teacher training course is completed – will be to only attend partial workshops. Maybe one 2-3 hour asana session and the restorative practice. That’s plenty for me.
And as for this weekend, I will make my personal challenge less physical, and more mental: instead of pushing myself to do it all, I will ask myself to notice when I’ve had enough, and then respectfully say – both to teacher and body, "Enough is enough" and rest.
You know what I’m talking about: workshops. I’m gearing up for 3 days of yoga with senior Iyengar teacher, Joan White. Am I thrilled? Absolutely. Am I also filled with dread? You betcha. I understand that when a senior teacher is in town, you want to maximize the time students have w/ them. At the same time…let’s be reasonable. Take a look at my schedule: tonight, yoga 6-8:30pm, tomorrow, 8:30-11am and 1-3pm, Sunday 9:30-12:30. That’s 10 hours of yoga in 42.5 hours of life. Granted, most teachers, this one included, build in at least 3 hours of restorative and pranayama (breathwork) practice, but inevitably, my muscles and mind are battered by workshop’s end. I guarantee it will be Thursday of next week before I can get out of bed without groaning in pain.
So why do I do it? Because I’m in a teacher training program and it’s a requirement that I attend 3 workshops per year. Honestly, I don’t think I’d put myself through it, otherwise. I simply don’t think it’s healthy to push the body that hard in such a short period of time – it’s an invitation to overwork and injury. Between Friday at 6pm and Saturday at 3pm, I will have done 7 hours of active asana. Maybe some bodies can take it, but mine protests. In the past, I’ve had to get special permission from the visiting teacher to sit out a session and simply observe. I had an injury, so that made it OK, but I got the distinct impression it wouldn’t have been so OK to just say, "I need to sit this one out." There’s a push-through-it-iveness that I’m picking up on; almost like it’s a competition to see who can hold out the longest w/o fatiguing. I am strong and flexible and I do love a challenge, but I’m also trying to learn (and respect!) my body’s limits, and these workshops are not built around that idea.
I don’t know what the answer is – of course you want a great teacher to offer as many classes as possible! The restorative and pranayama practices are key, of course. I wonder about offering a lecture component in place of an asana session? But really, when a fabulous teacher is in town, most people want to see her or him teach, not lecture. I know that my answer – once my teacher training course is completed – will be to only attend partial workshops. Maybe one 2-3 hour asana session and the restorative practice. That’s plenty for me.
And as for this weekend, I will make my personal challenge less physical, and more mental: instead of pushing myself to do it all, I will ask myself to notice when I’ve had enough, and then respectfully say – both to teacher and body, "Enough is enough" and rest.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
This Feels Like the Right Direction
Being full of self-doubt, I am ever in search of evidence that I’m making the Right decision. (See previous posts about my hang-up with capital letter certainty.) I become compulsive about this, wondering if now is the Right time to go to the grocery store, or if perhaps tomorrow would be Right-er? Imagine, if you will, the deep-seated anxiety of finding-my-life’s-path when simple tasks like a trip for groceries can reduce me to such second-guessing!
I went into nursing six years ago thinking I was making a practical decision. Practical and Right, of course. I had been waiting tables for six months, and I enjoyed the busy pace, the use of memory in taking and placing orders, bringing people what they wanted. I thought, “Well, I’ve always liked science and I’m interested in health, so doesn’t nursing seem like a good fit?” Busy, memory-intensive, helping people. Bing! bing! bing! I hated nursing school (I once had to pull off the freeway and anxiety-vomit on my way to clinicals.) – really hated it. But I didn’t trust that feeling because I’ve always hated school. Really hated it. So, of course, I hated nursing school. Then, for six years, I’ve hated every job I’ve held in the field, but instead of getting out, I just keep second-guessing: “Maybe if I try a different type of nursing…” (geriatric, pediatric, psychiatric, hospital, office, education, administrator – that’s more types than years!); or “Maybe there’s something wrong with me…” (as in, I’m lazy and hate work, in general); or “Maybe if I changed work environments…” (astonishingly, health facilities across the board consistently employ unhealthy and unhappy people). Fortunately, I’ve recently come to a few conclusions (bear with me, as these are hair-pullingly obvious):
- Nursing is not a castle gate, and I am not a battering ram. I don’t have to keep throwing myself against this wall – I don’t have to be a nurse!
- I am not lazy. Not wanting to go to a nursing job has more to do with NURSING, than with JOB. (That said, who doesn’t want to win the lottery!?)
- I do need to change work environments, yes, but I also need to leave nursing. (See # 1.)
So my most recent experiences with decision-making in the life’s-path arena have been, to say the least, punishing.
Perhaps you can understand, then, why deciding to teach yoga is such a terrifying leap. My brain, accustomed as it is to the ruts we travel in, expects more soul-crushing defeat and mind-numbing disappointment. It is, after all, what having a job means, right? Simply reprogramming that lovely untruth out of my mind took about a year! Here are the reasons why this feels like the right direction (I’m also trying to reprogram the capital letter thinking):
1. Unsolicited smiles: Just starting this list in my head the other night as I was drifting off to sleep, I found myself smiling.
2. Healthy obsessive thinking: I can’t stop thinking about teaching. Since starting my first class in mid-January (I’ve taught all of 4 classes, now), I am a woman possessed. I simply can’t stop thinking about the series for the next class, and the next! I love sitting down with a blank Excel spreadsheet and starting to fill in the empty cells w/ poses. I love thinking through a series – what pose should come next? Which poses would logically connect pose A with pose D? What links these poses together? What links the actions of the body together within a pose? I love filling up that spreadsheet with poses and then practicing them on my own to see what does and doesn’t work. I love thinking about this stuff!
3. Dispersion of foul moods: Teaching helps dispel the Sunday gloom. One of my least adorable traits is that on Sundays, I mutate into the worst dread-and-doom version of myself. Monday is a cloud that hangs over me from the moment I open my eyes Sunday mornings, and it darkens and threatens severe storms all day long. I am a charmer on Sundays, believe me. Last Sunday, I felt that doom-and-gloom feeling all morning, then taught class, and although Monday was still a’comin’, I was impervious to her threats.
4. Pre-class anxiety worthwhile: When I have taught as a nurse over the last few years, I get incredibly anxious before-hand. After teaching, I feel relief that the class was successfully completed, but I’d be just as happy to never teach it again, thank you very much. It’s done, period, and thank gawd. I do get anxious before teaching yoga, but afterwards, I feel both relief AND something akin to a kid leaving a candy store – I can’t wait to come back for more! It’s like the work week is my allowance, and Sundays-teaching-yoga is my Everlasting Gobstopper.
5. Post-class reflection: Again, teaching in nursing is something I do to be done with; I certainly don’t spend time thinking about what I can improve for next time. Secretly, I’m always hoping there won’t be a next time (as in, I’ll quit or be fired or the building will burn down overnight). Teaching yoga, I love reflecting on the class. If I’m not careful, I’ll find myself calling everyone on the class list and asking them, “So how did you feel after X pose? And are you sore now? Where? How would you rate that on a scale of 1 to 10? What was your favorite pose? Least favorite? What can I do better next time? Can I call you again tomorrow and ask you some more questions?” Dork that I am, I actually made up an evaluation form that I asked people to fill out after the first class. No one did, which is fine. I’m learning plenty.
So there’s the evidence. I’m content that this feels like the right direction, and I will keep heading this way, accumulating proof of my sanity and my adequate decision-making ability. Accruing evidence in favor of my perfectly-functioning mind so that maybe one day, I can release my self-doubts and just be.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Who Can Stop Us?
“The darkest night is nothing new.” -Wilco
Leave it to Jeff Tweedy – he who has had such success singing about darkest nights – to remind us of this. None of us are strangers to the dark hours, and depression has always been shrouded in a bit of mystique – myth of the Depressed Artist, and all that. But when you really think about it, isn’t the greatest work of art that of creating and sustaining a joyful life? Thanks, Wilco, for the reminder that our doom and gloom isn’t what makes us unique, or special, or interesting, or even artistic.
For our wedding, we chose a quote from a 12th century Chinese philosopher, Lu Yu: “Who can stop us from celebrating?” In the mad happiness of the wedding, the answer was decidedly, “No one!” (Ra! Ra! Pompons in hand!) But then life resumes and all the ordinary duties that come along with it and the answer morphs to: “Me, after a bad day.” “The bills sitting on the workbench.” “My fear of change.” “My fear of not-change.” So many celebration-stoppers come flooding to mind.
Here’s a list of what I do celebrate:
- Our garden. Specifically today, the potential garden I’m imagining for spring. First planting of the year coming up later this month.
- Music – Arcade Fire, Wilco, Yo La Tengo are all top of my list this week. Chris’s brother, John, bought us The Beatles box set for Christmas. The Beatles, oh, The Beatles. Better every year.
- Watching Chris play drums. First, the sheer coordination and skill and practice it takes to move all four limbs in different orbits. He’s like a whole universe revolving around a sunny set of drums! Second, the art of moving those limbs to make a coherent sound. Third, the high art of integrating (1) and (2) into the improvisational flow of live music.
- Reading. Particularly John Irving. John Irving is comfort food, a kind of anti-chicken-soup-for-the-soul comfort.
- My love of naps is positively feline.
- The use of my body – it takes what I mete out, whether that’s a weekend of yoga or an hour sprinting up fake stairs on a machine at the gym. There are many things that could go wrong and don’t.
- Cold! Bring back the cold! I will take it personally if there's no snow day this year!!
- My mind, when it’s not actively thwarting my every effort to change it. I’m trying to cultivate compassion for the fear I feel instead of disgust at my reluctance to change.
- My friends. I know - and am related to - the most amazing people.
- My husband. This week, after a particularly bad day, he fixed me a candle-lit dinner. Who else would I ever, ever want to spend my life with?
Who can stop us from celebrating? We can. Who can kick start that party right back up again? Why, we can!
This is overly simplified, to be sure. Sometimes life deals out plenty 'o shit, and all the ra!ra!s in the world can't lift the spirits. But two people this week reminded me of the yogic principle of santosa, or contentment, not as a state or a feeling, but as a practice. I want to reintroduce the practice of being grateful for what I have into my daily routine.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
The EAP Experience
NOTE: I found this recently. This was from the darkest days of working at the City (spring 2009). In desperation, I turned to free counseling offered through the Employee Assistance Program, or EAP.
Audrey: "So why're you here?"
Walking in the door to meet Audrey, the EAP counselor, all I was really hoping for was a kind listener who could offer some perspective on my lousy job situation, and possibly - best-case scenario - help me think through some fresh coping strategies. I am completely burned out on my job, but also feel stuck - I've been applying for jobs for 6 months (1 interview, so far) and I'm not comfortable - in this economy - leaving this job for the unknown.
My body is gathering up tension like it's a commodity. My stomach hurts after every meal until I reach the point when I'm starving again. Once I eat, my stomach hurts. I cry at the drop of a pin - yesterday, in the wine store, all I wanted was a bottle of red for a wedding gift. When the guy's wedding recommendation didn't floor me, I called Chris and wailed (quietly, remember I'm still in the store at this point), "This was a fucking mistake. Why did I even come here?" My sweet husband calmly said, "It's OK. Just come home. You don't have to do this now." THAT'S what helps right now - logical calmness. I am fully aware that I am often irrational recently, but that awareness does not translate to a cessation of irrational-ity. (One could argue that my word choice also borders on irrational.) And my body hurts all the time. I exercise for stress relief and sanity - in good times and bad, I always exercise. But for the last year, whenever I exercise, I hurt. The exercise hasn't changed, but something in my body has. This is particularly (and unfortunately) noticeable in yoga. I love yoga, but I keep getting hurt. Two weeks ago in a class, doing headstand (which I've done a thousand times before), I tweaked something in the right side of my neck and couldn't look side to side or up for a week. The day my neck started loosening up, I was lying on the floor in a relaxation pose, I moved wrong, and I tweaked the other side of my neck! Stomach pain, sobbing, sore muscles - my trinity of stress indicators.
At any rate, what finally pushed me to call the Employee Assistance Program for help was the muscle pain. When your coping mechanism of last resort fails, who do you turn to? Well, if you want free help, then the EAP!
Me: (post-wordy explanation) "So in a nutshell, I'm here because I'm in physical pain. Heh, heh."
Audrey: (In all seriousness) "No, you're in emotional pain, actually. So what are you doing to take care of yourself?"
Me: "Daily exercise. Talking w/ friends and family. Yoga teacher training program. Applying for jobs on a regular basis. Eating well."
Audrey: (slight sneer) "And how's that workin' out for you?"
Me: "What?"
Audrey: "How's. That. Workin'. Out. For. You. How are you feeling?"
Me: "Well, terrible. That's why I'm here."
Audrey: "Then you're not doing enough! You've been depressed before. You know where this is heading. You've got to get out of bed and DO something about this!"
Chris later informed me that this is the "Dr. Phil Technique." Yell at people and treat them like idiots to shock them out of the rut they're mired in. In the moment - not being familiar with this tried 'n true technique, I guess - I was simply baffled and somewhat defensive. I thought, "But I AM doing things. Lots of things. I'm never IN bed, what are you talking about???" Audrey's suggestions for DOING SOMETHING were first anti-depressants, and when I said I wasn't interested, acupuncture and St. John's Wort.
Later, Audrey said again: "What can you DO about how stuck you're feeling?"
Me: "I agree that trying St. John's Wort and acupuncture are a good idea, but, well, again, something I'm feeling very proud of right now is the fact that I'm in this yoga teacher training program. I'm excited to be moving towards that."
Audrey: "Nope. You can't count on that. Your body won't let you."
Me: "Well, there's all different kinds of yoga. For example, I'm doing a lot of restor-"
Audrey (interrupting): "Oh, I am all about yoga. You don't have to tell me."
Later, after describing the one job I've truly loved - leading backpacking trips in the Rocky Mountains for high-school kids - I said: "I could do that again, too. I know I'd love that."
Audrey: "No - remember, your body won't let you."
Me (finally getting tired of this refrain): "Actually I'm not ready to accept that. That's not true."
Audrey: (Smirk) "OK..."
At the end of the session, Audrey said: "So, do you think you want to come back?"
Me (confused and attempting to be polite): "Well, I'm kind of a slow processor, so-"
Audrey (interrupting): "I don't care if you're slow - Do. You. Think. You. Want. To. Come. Back? Because if you can handle my directness, then I might be able to help you. But I'm not going to sit here and ask you about your feelings." [Sneer.]
Me: "I don't have my calendar with me, so I'll have to call."
*******************************************************************************************************************************************
I called Chris right after, upset, but feeling like I should schedule another appt - I remember thinking, "Maybe this IS what I need. Maybe my not wanting to go back is just an indicator of how much I NEED to go back." I told Chris how it went and he immediately said, "Oh no. You don't need that bullshit. She's a bitter, burned out old social worker who thinks everyone who crosses her therapy-path is a spoiled brat who's just feeling sorry for herself. That's not you. Forget her." It bothers me that I need someone to tell me that it's OK to not go back, and that I don't trust that gut reaction of THIS IS NOT RIGHT.
P.S. I never went back. Whew!
Audrey: "So why're you here?"
Walking in the door to meet Audrey, the EAP counselor, all I was really hoping for was a kind listener who could offer some perspective on my lousy job situation, and possibly - best-case scenario - help me think through some fresh coping strategies. I am completely burned out on my job, but also feel stuck - I've been applying for jobs for 6 months (1 interview, so far) and I'm not comfortable - in this economy - leaving this job for the unknown.
My body is gathering up tension like it's a commodity. My stomach hurts after every meal until I reach the point when I'm starving again. Once I eat, my stomach hurts. I cry at the drop of a pin - yesterday, in the wine store, all I wanted was a bottle of red for a wedding gift. When the guy's wedding recommendation didn't floor me, I called Chris and wailed (quietly, remember I'm still in the store at this point), "This was a fucking mistake. Why did I even come here?" My sweet husband calmly said, "It's OK. Just come home. You don't have to do this now." THAT'S what helps right now - logical calmness. I am fully aware that I am often irrational recently, but that awareness does not translate to a cessation of irrational-ity. (One could argue that my word choice also borders on irrational.) And my body hurts all the time. I exercise for stress relief and sanity - in good times and bad, I always exercise. But for the last year, whenever I exercise, I hurt. The exercise hasn't changed, but something in my body has. This is particularly (and unfortunately) noticeable in yoga. I love yoga, but I keep getting hurt. Two weeks ago in a class, doing headstand (which I've done a thousand times before), I tweaked something in the right side of my neck and couldn't look side to side or up for a week. The day my neck started loosening up, I was lying on the floor in a relaxation pose, I moved wrong, and I tweaked the other side of my neck! Stomach pain, sobbing, sore muscles - my trinity of stress indicators.
At any rate, what finally pushed me to call the Employee Assistance Program for help was the muscle pain. When your coping mechanism of last resort fails, who do you turn to? Well, if you want free help, then the EAP!
Me: (post-wordy explanation) "So in a nutshell, I'm here because I'm in physical pain. Heh, heh."
Audrey: (In all seriousness) "No, you're in emotional pain, actually. So what are you doing to take care of yourself?"
Me: "Daily exercise. Talking w/ friends and family. Yoga teacher training program. Applying for jobs on a regular basis. Eating well."
Audrey: (slight sneer) "And how's that workin' out for you?"
Me: "What?"
Audrey: "How's. That. Workin'. Out. For. You. How are you feeling?"
Me: "Well, terrible. That's why I'm here."
Audrey: "Then you're not doing enough! You've been depressed before. You know where this is heading. You've got to get out of bed and DO something about this!"
Chris later informed me that this is the "Dr. Phil Technique." Yell at people and treat them like idiots to shock them out of the rut they're mired in. In the moment - not being familiar with this tried 'n true technique, I guess - I was simply baffled and somewhat defensive. I thought, "But I AM doing things. Lots of things. I'm never IN bed, what are you talking about???" Audrey's suggestions for DOING SOMETHING were first anti-depressants, and when I said I wasn't interested, acupuncture and St. John's Wort.
Later, Audrey said again: "What can you DO about how stuck you're feeling?"
Me: "I agree that trying St. John's Wort and acupuncture are a good idea, but, well, again, something I'm feeling very proud of right now is the fact that I'm in this yoga teacher training program. I'm excited to be moving towards that."
Audrey: "Nope. You can't count on that. Your body won't let you."
Me: "Well, there's all different kinds of yoga. For example, I'm doing a lot of restor-"
Audrey (interrupting): "Oh, I am all about yoga. You don't have to tell me."
Later, after describing the one job I've truly loved - leading backpacking trips in the Rocky Mountains for high-school kids - I said: "I could do that again, too. I know I'd love that."
Audrey: "No - remember, your body won't let you."
Me (finally getting tired of this refrain): "Actually I'm not ready to accept that. That's not true."
Audrey: (Smirk) "OK..."
At the end of the session, Audrey said: "So, do you think you want to come back?"
Me (confused and attempting to be polite): "Well, I'm kind of a slow processor, so-"
Audrey (interrupting): "I don't care if you're slow - Do. You. Think. You. Want. To. Come. Back? Because if you can handle my directness, then I might be able to help you. But I'm not going to sit here and ask you about your feelings." [Sneer.]
Me: "I don't have my calendar with me, so I'll have to call."
*******************************************************************************************************************************************
I called Chris right after, upset, but feeling like I should schedule another appt - I remember thinking, "Maybe this IS what I need. Maybe my not wanting to go back is just an indicator of how much I NEED to go back." I told Chris how it went and he immediately said, "Oh no. You don't need that bullshit. She's a bitter, burned out old social worker who thinks everyone who crosses her therapy-path is a spoiled brat who's just feeling sorry for herself. That's not you. Forget her." It bothers me that I need someone to tell me that it's OK to not go back, and that I don't trust that gut reaction of THIS IS NOT RIGHT.
P.S. I never went back. Whew!
Friday, January 22, 2010
Yoga & Cake
Last Sunday, I taught my first-ever yoga class. It’s a class for friends who are new to yoga, and it’s free because they’ve basically volunteered to be my guinea pigs. It went well, I think. I left feeling like people had a pretty good time, and no one got hurt, and my nerves didn’t trip me up too much. It was exhilarating to give an instruction and see people following; it was discouraging when I couldn’t get the instruction right and I just got blank stares. It was also a little scary to be up there in charge. All of a sudden, I have the power to tell people what to do with their bodies – what if I say something wrong!?! In fact, I did – setting up for savasana, or relaxation pose, I thought I was instructing the class to take their hands and draw the skin of the neck up towards the base of the skull. I repeated this instruction several times before someone stopped me and pointed out that I was saying to pull the skin up “towards the base of the spine!” So, I gave a wrong instruction and it didn’t make sense and someone asked and we clarified and we moved on. It wasn’t the end of the world.
The thing I’m most afraid of is failing, and unfortunately, I have a very broad definition of what that means. It could mean going blank and not remembering what I’m supposed to teach next, or giggling hysterically for 5 minutes, or someone getting hurt, or someone saying “I hate yoga, I’m never coming back!,” or seeing blank stares, or…the list goes on. In my mind, failure means: not getting it perfect every single time. I come by this honestly. When mom and dad were first married, mom was a perfectionist about cooking and baking. She tells this story: one day, she was attempting to make a Black Forest Cake, a delicious, light-and-crunchy meringue affair that requires about 10 eggs per cake. It also requires the perfect environmental humidity level for it to rise. Her meringues kept falling, and – even though they were still perfectly light-and-crunchy, just short instead of tall – she threw them all away because they didn’t look right. She didn’t stop until she finally got one to stay tall, light, and crunchy: cake-worthy. These days, mom handles this differently: first, she is a ridiculously good cook/baker, so this doesn’t happen very often; second, she has learned when to say enough. Now, when her Black Forest Cake doesn’t rise to the occasion, she serves Black Forest Crumble, and – whaddya know? – we all love it!
What I’m trying to get to is this: don’t throw away the cake if it doesn’t look like the magazine picture. Of course, you may have to toss one now and then if you get the ingredients completely wrong, but mistakes are part of the process and making mistakes is no reason to throw in the towel. If I give up teaching yoga because I get blank stares or because someone decides they don’t like yoga, I’m selling myself short. That person might not have liked yoga no matter who was teaching (or maybe it was personal, but – unless entire classes are walking out on me, I can probably chalk it up to an isolated episode); those blank stares are just feedback letting me know that particular instruction isn’t doing the trick. Here’s how it’s gonna go: I will teach yoga; I will make mistakes; I will teach yoga; I will learn from old mistakes and make new ones; I will teach yoga; I will learn from many old mistakes and make new ones…and so on. As long as I’m learning and moving forward, I will call that – new definition! – success.
The thing I’m most afraid of is failing, and unfortunately, I have a very broad definition of what that means. It could mean going blank and not remembering what I’m supposed to teach next, or giggling hysterically for 5 minutes, or someone getting hurt, or someone saying “I hate yoga, I’m never coming back!,” or seeing blank stares, or…the list goes on. In my mind, failure means: not getting it perfect every single time. I come by this honestly. When mom and dad were first married, mom was a perfectionist about cooking and baking. She tells this story: one day, she was attempting to make a Black Forest Cake, a delicious, light-and-crunchy meringue affair that requires about 10 eggs per cake. It also requires the perfect environmental humidity level for it to rise. Her meringues kept falling, and – even though they were still perfectly light-and-crunchy, just short instead of tall – she threw them all away because they didn’t look right. She didn’t stop until she finally got one to stay tall, light, and crunchy: cake-worthy. These days, mom handles this differently: first, she is a ridiculously good cook/baker, so this doesn’t happen very often; second, she has learned when to say enough. Now, when her Black Forest Cake doesn’t rise to the occasion, she serves Black Forest Crumble, and – whaddya know? – we all love it!
What I’m trying to get to is this: don’t throw away the cake if it doesn’t look like the magazine picture. Of course, you may have to toss one now and then if you get the ingredients completely wrong, but mistakes are part of the process and making mistakes is no reason to throw in the towel. If I give up teaching yoga because I get blank stares or because someone decides they don’t like yoga, I’m selling myself short. That person might not have liked yoga no matter who was teaching (or maybe it was personal, but – unless entire classes are walking out on me, I can probably chalk it up to an isolated episode); those blank stares are just feedback letting me know that particular instruction isn’t doing the trick. Here’s how it’s gonna go: I will teach yoga; I will make mistakes; I will teach yoga; I will learn from old mistakes and make new ones; I will teach yoga; I will learn from many old mistakes and make new ones…and so on. As long as I’m learning and moving forward, I will call that – new definition! – success.
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