Category: self-care

balance · performance · poetry · progress · self-care

Reframe.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

In a stroke of inspiration, I have produced both
disappointment and excitement. Disappointment, as I’m not sure I’ll wear a nude
body suit for my Performance Poetry class final performance. Excitement, as I
think I know what my piece will be about.
As I’d mentioned, I needed to see if the whole brazen nude
body suit thing would be supported by the content of the work – why wear that
if you’re going to tell lyrical poems about cherry blossoms? This morning,
however, I believe I was struck with the inspiration paddle, and think I know
what my piece will be about.
Originally, it was to likely be about a woman’s relationship
with her body, how it waffles between ownership by self, and ownership by
others, including mainstream media, etc. But, I feel that I’ve covered a lot of
that for now in my thesis work, and although, sure, that’s an issue that’s
present or “up” in my life, as I began fleshing some of the new idea out in my
morning pages this morning, I think I’ve found something riper, funnier, more relatable,
and interesting. I’ll keep you posted.
I’ve started using a different morning pages notebook, as
I’d finished my last a few days ago. It’s thinner than the last, but much
larger pages, which equals much longer writing in the morning. (It’s also made
from post-recycled materials, so it’s not new growth trees being cut down so I
can write, I wonder what the Harry Potter
stars are up to now – which, yes, occurred this morning along with all the
else.)
I was a bit intimidated to be writing these 3 long hand
pages much longer – would I have enough to “fill” it? What more could I
possibly have to say. But I actually think this new length is just right for
me. It’s longer than the last, and is giving me the room to get further into
stuff before I wrap it up or end. Which is partly why I think my new idea for
my performance came about – there’s more room to work it out, and watch it
stumble across my page.
On another note. My friend left yesterday, and my little
space is my own again. Driving to the airport at 5am will a) make you
appreciate a rental car, and b) cause the skipping of my morning blog
yesterday, so please forgive. I was a bit pooped and outward energy depleted
from the trip.
It was very good practice, though, I believe. To wake up and
have a person there. To go to sleep and have a person there. Granted, on the
pull out couch, but still. I’ve been a solitary bird here in my apartment for a
long time, and having another human here … well, was interesting to notice how
I act and react.
Part of me is enormously proud that I got in most of my
morning practices, and I stayed within my spending plan for her trip, and
brought lots of snacks and meals with me so I didn’t have to eat out very much
at all. Part of me is very acutely aware of how other-centered I become in the
presence of someone a) so close to me, and b) who’s in my space almost 24/7.
But, the good news, is that I noticed it. And I began to do
my best to reign back in my codependency. I don’t need to complete your sentence. I don’t need to add in my two cents about your story with my own.
I don’t need to be thinking of
how to respond or what I’ll say next to keep the conversation interesting and
exciting.
It was hard, honestly, in the few times that I consciously
thought, I can let this thread lie. I don’t need to pick it up. It wasn’t that
I was being cold, or uncommunicative. But when there came moments when I
certainly had my opinion, or an alternate opinion, I didn’t have to voice it. I could let my friend state her opinion
or share her story without having to add in my own or contradict or augment
what had already been said.
Some moments, it felt to me like there was a huge, blatant
gap in the space when I was usually “supposed to” say something. And it felt
awkward and uncomfortable for a moment – within me. Surely, she didn’t realize
anything, and a new thread of conversation would be picked up immediately. But
I noticed. I noticed, basically, that I was holding my tongue.
Which, I suppose, leads me back toward my own center. I
don’t have to put out every idea or thought in my head. I can let myself rest
in the calm of a conversation, or someone else’s story. This isn’t a very
frequent habit of mine, usually. Although, I do tend toward the loquacious
side, with my friend from New Jersey, we’ve spent so many years as the other’s
half, it’s “natural” to want to just chitter chatter away. But, I realized it’s
exhausting.
She, again, was not asking me to contribute in a way that
was depleting. And it also comes back my former habit of accepting jobs I don’t
want, when they’re not asking me to give from my dregs. If I take care of my
center, notice that my focus is somewhere in between me and another person, me
and a job, and can bring it back to myself, and sit, sometimes in the
discomfort of not engaging in a behavior that leaves me feeling depleted, then I
get the chance to give from my best, and also, to simply rest in the
companionship of another person.

authenticity · friendship · integrity · self-care

Tourist Center

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Some of the things we’ve gotten to do: drive to Sonoma and
eat cheese samples at the Cheese Factory, and a coffee from Hot Shots, the
drive-through coffee joint. Walk part way across the Golden Gate Bridge from
the Marin county northern side. Stop by Crissy Field and take touristy pictures
of ourselves, and a few for the fellow tourists, looking out toward Angel
Island and Alcatraz, and of course the copper-crimson of the bridge itself.

We ate at Green Chili, the wonderful, all grass fed, all
hippie, sustainable Mexican restaurant. We ate at Fenton’s, the local ice
creamery here in Oakland, in a wonderful bout of yum. And last night, at
Mission Pie – my thanks to that guy I briefly dated for introducing me to it!
We’ve also been to an art opening at a gallery in Berkeley,
and last night, a weird white box studio in a factory in a not so hot part of
Oakland. We left before the performance began. It was a tiny room with a
modge-podge assortment of chairs, and an even more motley crew of people. It
was obvious that we didn’t really fit in with what was going on, and as we both
agreed prior to going that we’d leave if it were “weird,” and my friend also
felt a bit of Bay Area culture shock, we left. I wasn’t disappointed – but I
was glad we went, if only for the experience of being a sociologist in a
strange sub-culture of the Bay.
Truth is, I haven’t had much thought to much of anything, as
we’ve been driving hither and thither, and also then resting some, and
gossiping and catching up and laughing and eye rolling, and it’s been fun, and
I’ve been doing my best to take care of myself with bringing food with me so I
don’t have to buy any, and with getting up in time to do my morning pages and
this blog. But, I haven’t been meditating at all, and I do feel a bit off
center. I notice that my focus is pulled by the other person, and suddenly, or
slowly, my center is somewhere between us, instead of within myself.
This is codependent, but also our long history. We’ve been
this way for 3 decades, it won’t shift for me over night. But I’m aware of it.
I’m aware that I’ve been cursing more, and interrupting more, and adding in
bits of my own stories when hers aren’t complete, as if I validate myself or
her experience by adding in my own two cents. When, really, I can just listen.
I’m noticing that more this morning, and being attentive to letting the other
person finish. What I have to say isn’t important enough to interrupt another
person. And granted, it doesn’t “sound” interrupty – it sounds like a dovetail,
like I’m adding to the conversation – but it’s not a conversation when one
person is telling a story, and it sparks 8 thousand other thoughts you want to
get out immediately.
But I recognize too, that I’m also excited and happy to be
able to share all this stuff, that there is this manic sort of energy to catch
up, and share stories, and give opinions, and laugh about people we knew or
know, and just share about our families new events. We grew up basically living
in the other person’s house. We’re more like sisters than anyone I’ve been in a
relationship with – and family sometimes brings out the best, and sometimes the
worst in you.
I’m not going to beat myself up for not having taken a
breath in a few days, or not letting her finish her thoughts. I’m simply going
to rectify the situation, as they say, as soon as I am able.
This morning, I’ll go meet with some folks and have a few
minute meditation, and get recentered, and come back, I hope, with a renewed
sense of camaraderie and ownership of my center. I don’t need to be anything
more or less than I actually am. I don’t need to interrupt to make sure I’m
heard, or valid, or liked. I don’t need to curse to show that I’m hip or cool,
or get sweet dessert things to be hip or cool. I can be me, a woman who needs
to meditate, not eat sugar, and pack her lunch. Who has valid things to say
when the moment is appropriate, and can listen with an open ear, instead of my
own running dialogue – which is exhausting.
community · finances · reality · self-care · travel

My Morning Jacket – er, Blog.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

My wireless was down this morning, so you get this near-afternoon session. How are you? Have you done something different with your
hair? You look great today! It’s so wonderful to see you. How did that thing
work out that you were telling me about? Is that leak all fixed from last week?
Wonderful! I’m so glad to hear.
It’s nice that you and I get to have these little chats
together. They’ve become something of a moment of calm and clarity – I hope you
get something from them too. For any period of time when we miss each other, I
think about you – do you think about me?
I was invited to go to Florence Italy yesterday, but I will
turn it down I believe. Why? Because I would have to pay to be an assistant for
a workshop that I’m only mildly interested in, and assist a woman for 3 weeks
who I’m not sure we’d get along in that capacity too well. Basically, I’m being
asked to be worse than an unpaid intern for a class I don’t want to take in a
country that I’d love to see on my own terms.
After I got off the phone with the woman yesterday, I told
my visiting friend what all that was about, and she said, point blank, and in a
way I hadn’t considered… “So, what do you get out of it again?” … Hmm. I
thought. I’d have to buy my own flight, pay for my own housing, pay for the course, and
work for free in a field of mild interest … I might as well just go to Italy myself, if that’s the case.
It really hadn’t occurred to me that I might not want to do
this – again, it was only a case of “could I.” That’s really my only question
when it comes to jobs – can I do it, not do I want to – and then I back out, if
I can, of those that I’ve taken on when I finally realize I don’t actually want
the job.
So, I’ll make some phone calls around this, confirm that this
isn’t at all a right thing for me, and also take note that the idea of going to
Europe is still very strong – whatever comes of it, I have no idea, but, I’d
like to go.
I’m also very glad that I’ll get the chance to do it sober,
so it’s not like some people I hear, in their 20s at least, who pretty much do a
pub crawl through the continent, and may as well be in any bar in the U.S. if
that’s the case.
However, I am pretty clear that I’d like a wingman/travel
buddy. I love to do solo driving trips, but something about real travel, or
camping, or vacations, I want to do with
someone. I really want to nudge you in the odd trinket store and show you the
trinket. I want you to say – omigod, look at that and point to some local
intrigue or view. I want to share those memories with you later on, and in the moment,
I want to have that camaraderie of joint experience.
I travel better with people. Without them, I tend to get a
little forlorn. It gets lonely to look at something so beautiful or
awe-inspiring and not have someone to share that with. Or something funny and
no one to really laugh with. There are some things that I don’t mind doing
alone, and most of them have to do with local things – going to the movies,
going to a restaurant, a gallery. That’s fine, because, it’s local, and it’s
intermittent, but a real trip, well, I’d like to do that together.
So, if you’d like to go to Europe with me, travel around
with someone who loves curio shops, and hiking, and tourist traps, and little
known gems, and walking the course of a city in a day, let me know, because
like I said, you look simply gorgeous today – and I think you’d look great in
our photos. 

authenticity · healing · letting go · love · maturity · self-care

BFF

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

My best friend from the east coast is coming in tomorrow to
visit for 5 days. I’m excited and nervous – and I think I’ve written this
before! I tried to write a blog this morning about real and fancied fears (that
i’ll end up pushing a shopping cart: fancied; skin cancer: realish), but I
couldn’t get it going, so I dug around for what’s really on my mind.

So, that’s happening, and part of my nerves are that she and
I haven’t spent such significant time with one another in Years. We’d had a
pretty bad falling out at the end of both our college years, almost 10 years
ago, and didn’t talk for about the next 5 or so. We both had some growing and
changing to do, but as Fate would have it, about 3 years after I moved to
San Francisco, we began to reconnect.
Like any friendship, and especially a reconciliation, it’s
been by degrees. The warming up, getting to know you again phase. And
particularly with reconciliation, the “what’s it going to be like this time”
friendship fear. Will it be the same? Likely not; we’ve both changed our lives & ourselves dramatically. Will it be based on nostalgia? That, is something that a few
of my friendships from New Jersey have faded into, and have thence faded
completely. A friendship based on nostalgia doesn’t really work. It’s great to
reminisce, but that can’t be all there is – if there’s no current common
ground, no interest in pursuing something forward, then there’s really nothing
to bond over. The bond was made, but it’s … in the past. 
Luckily, with my
friend coming out this week, we’ve been able to learn that we have more in
common now and more to talk about and bond over than we had then. We have the
wonderful ability and common shared history to be able to talk about that
ridiculous party in the sand pit – the “pit party” – or the terrible yet funny
nicknames we used to have for people in high school (Money, Teeth, Banana –
because he looked like a monkey… go teenage girls…!). But we’re also finding
now that our lives, despite our separate courses and coasts, have miraculously
similar trajectories.
It’s been a blessing of the highest sort to have this
friendship come back together. There were a few years when I didn’t know if it
would, and I was viciously saddened by that, but it was not my business or my
plan as to whether someone wanted to be in contact with me again. So, when I
would hear a song on the radio that we’d played 10,000 times at the local
diner, I got sad, but wished her well. When that movie we’d loved as children
came on, I felt a twinge, but sent her the blessings for her life that I wanted
for myself. I hope she’s happy.
And then, as luck would have it, we came back together.
Slowly, for sure. We’re still in the slowly part. This visit is part of the
solidification, but also, I have to take my expectations out of it. I want to
make it a “great” time, so that we are friends again. I want it not to rain, so
the weather doesn’t reflect something about myself or my life. I want us to not be awkward or have tension
so that I don’t lose this again. But, none of that is anything within my
control.
All I can chose to do is to be myself. If this is a person
she wants to befriend, then she will. As with romantic relationships, if it’s
meant to be I can’t screw it up, and if it’s not meant to be, then I can’t fix
it.
I had a conversation several years ago with a girl friend of
mine about the power of female friendships. The “best” friend friendships. How,
really, in many ways they are – we said, then – more important and more
complicated than romantic relationships. I still think some of that is true.
However, part of the difference today with me is that I recognize that people
are human (duh), and cannot, simply cannot, fulfill all the things a person I
wish ought to. One person cannot be someone’s all. One person cannot be my only
friend, or my only social connection, my only vessel of personal relations.
Like seeds, you’ve got to spread it around. Part of this is
self-protection, but part of it is simply being realistic. And that is the protective part. If I am realistic about my
expectations of other people, then I won’t be hurt if they don’t live up to my
demands about them. It is simply unfair to anyone to expect them to fulfill my
needs. Firstly and foremostly, I need to ensure that I’m taking care of them
for myself to the best of my ability. Then, I can look outside myself to other
people, and form relationships where my needs are met. Where my realistic needs
are met.
Sorry for the tangent on what I think friendships and
relationships are, but this writing is also a reminder to myself of this as my friend comes to
visit. For someone who’d been labelled your best friend since the age of 3,
that carries a lot of weight – and I’ve recognized, unfair weight. Part of the
reason for the separation all those years ago was that we each had massive
expectations and need put upon one another – or, I’ll speak for myself, I did
that on her. That wasn’t fair, and the friendship burned down painfully.
So, coming to this visit in a spirit of open-mindedness. And
a loose set of expectations and desires will help us both to have a better
time. The weather isn’t a reflection of me. She’ll have a good time if she’s
meant to or wants to. And I can take care of myself, so that I don’t put the
onus on her.
However, those two hot chicks you’ll see blaring STP down the
interstate? Yeah, that’s us. 
action · community · growth · love · maturity · self-care · work

R+D

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

The past two days, I’ve been functioning according to
my new time plan – or schedule. My friend who helped me on Tuesday morning suggested things I would never think of myself (or let myself) like
“walk,” and then insisted that I write down “piano” in capital letters.
I spend more time than I like (cough – resentment) traveling to and from school because of the
shuttle schedule (though I am grateful to have it at all). On Thursdays, for a 4pm class, I’m on campus at 2:30pm,
because the next shuttle doesn’t arrive until after 4. So, I have over an hour to “kill” on campus before class.
My friend knows that a spiritual nourishment of mine is
playing the piano in the school chapel, and suggested I use some of that time
at the piano. If it weren’t written down, I wouldn’t do it. Like, take a walk,
or… the “important” piece, R+D.
Research and Development. That’s what we’re calling actions
relating to job, career, income earning. I like it so much more than writing
down in my new little schedule, “Job hunt.” That just sucks. Makes me dread and
despise it before I begin. But “Research and Development” sounds like something
significant and helpful for me. Just research. Helping me develop. Not a whip
or a chastisement.
So, over the past two days, I’ve spent 4 hours in R+D. This
is huge. Usually, it’s looked like a few minutes glances at craigslist, a loud
harumph, a resentment, despair, and click the browser closed … and then go off
to some other mindless activity to get my mind off my despair!
So, R+D for an hour, I set my alarm clock, then I have
something in between before the next hour. Something nourishing. A reward
perhaps. Tuesday it was “art,” and I made two little acrylic painted postcards,
out of the blank postcard pad I’d bought last week. I sent one off that
afternoon. Yesterday, my nourishment was a walk. Although it also included
calling my mom and coordinating logistics for her and my brother’s visit in a
month. But, that’s alright. I got out of the house, up into the gorgeous hills
near me with houses so beautiful (and enviable).
Yesterday, I also began “development” of a newsletter to
send out to the masses, announcing my new workshop that I’ll be facilitating in SF in May (G-d willing).
Part of my “Go big and go home” movement is to really take ownership of this
workshop, and to really put it out there. I have great support around it, and
have been encouraged by numerous parties. Now, the action ball is in my court,
and with those structured moments of time, I’m picking up that ball.
So, yesterday I went into Constant Contact, that mass email newsletter site. I logged in, actually, although I couldn’t remember when had been the last
time I did – I knew that I had an account with them. Turns out, saved in the draft
section was a newsletter I was working on in November of 2010. It was a very
ambitious letter about starting an creative events company. It’s more than
overly ambitious, and I think very sweet, now that it’s two years later. But
what it tells me is that I’ve been working on stuff like this for a while. And
there’s no reason why it shouldn’t work.
I went to brown paper tickets to check out their policies,
and saw you can have free tickets too, so as to be a great way to manage RSVPs
… not via a “Yes” on Facebook. (I don’t know about you, but I tend to click yes
to all kinds of things I later have no intention of going to…!)
Then, through a girl friend, I saw her website for her
creative coaching company. And started some work on one of my own. Because really, I
know if I were going to attend a workshop, I’d want to see a website.
So, here we are. Taking action. Moving along as scheduled
(although yesterday, despite being “art” time, I took a much needed nap!). I will
allow for the changes I need as I come to know how I work best. I know 2 hours
of R+D in a row is overwhelming. Splitting it up is helpful. I know that 15
minutes on dishes and cleaning a day will save me time in the end, and also
help me to feel proud of my home I’m trying so hard to keep.
I have been building toward things like this for a long
time. I have co-run this workshop before; I have a teacher singly devoted to
helping me put on the free version later this month; and, as irony would have
it, I have a decade of administrative, secretarial experience – so I know how to organize an event.
I’m supported in my effort of self love. Which in the end is
what this is. 

authenticity · commitment · honesty · self-care

The Befogged Crystal Ball

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

You know that tired where you feel all dehydrated? Blech.
But, what must be done, must be done, and I have to head in
to SF in a little while to meet up with a lady friend/teacher of mine. After
that, this afternoon, I’m heading to North Beach to live model for a friend’s
friend. This is sort of a trial run, agreed upon in a safe environment – one
where I feel safe at least, not that the
modeling guild wasn’t, but this woman is a more known entity. I’m not getting
paid – as she’s basically agreed to see me and see if I ought to try to pursue
this more, and for me to see if I want to try to pursue this more.
I had a moment in February when I was still considering whether or not
to drop out of the modeling guild – before I’d been on any gigs – when we had
live models in our painting class. And it was just so cool. It’s just really cool. Here are these people, and
suddenly, they’re art. It’s fascinating and enticing to me, and I called a
friend and was like, I don’t know what to do – if I continue with the guild, I
have to rent a zipcar to get to the outlying gigs (as I’d lied on the
application and said I had a car – as I knew that’d be a requirement – but I
don’t, and that was coming around to bite me). Paying the cost of the rental
really cut in to any money I’d make modeling, and it was beginning to feel like
an exercise in self will, rather than the attendant “ease and flow” that can
come when things are a bit more “meant to be.”
So, I dropped out of the guild, having not been on a single
job, but having had a lot of good learning from doing the audition as well as
the training sessions. And my friend put me in touch with a painter friend of
hers, female, who uses live models and would be willing to see if this is a
good fit for me or not. Then if it does go well, so the line goes, she’ll let
her other painter/drawing friends know about me.
We’ll see. The nice thing about this one is that there isn’t
as much pressure. If I need to stop, then I will. If it’s too physically
grueling, I’ll learn that. It’s really f-ing hard to stand still for 20 minutes, and then do that for 3 hours in
increments. It’s not all standing hopefully – some is sitting. But the “good
ones” can do a lot of standing, I think. But what do I know. We’ll see.
I’m also in the process of learning how to pull my life-line tendrils out of San Francisco and root further into Oakland, in a “bloom
where I am planted” effort. So, I may or may not be going in to see my teacher-friend weekly any more. I don’t know yet. I’ve been seeing her for more than 3
years now, we’ve been through a lot, she’s seen me through a lot, and there’s
fear and sadness about changing the nature of our relationship.
I went over a friend’s for dinner last night – here in
Oakland, surprise! – and we were talking about how hard it is to end, or
change, relationships that aren’t “bad.” There’s nothing wrong. No one is to
blame. It’s just not working any more. My SF teacher and I have had the
conversation before, that soon enough, I might want to find someone to work
with over here in Oakland, but each time, I’ve said Nuh Uh, I still get so much
out of meeting with her. Which is true. I still, to this day, get so much out of meeting with her. But the commute is a killer
and it’s dragging me down. An hour and a half to get there, to meet for an
hour, and then an hour and a half back is … not an efficient use of my time,
and despite my trying to “make it work” and let it be “okay,” it’s just not.
And, I’m finally becoming willing to take action around this change.
It is weird to change
the nature of a relationship, from one that is more mentor/pupil to potentially
just peers/friends, without rancor or dishonesty or blame. There just isn’t
that, and so it gets to just be sad, but also freeing as I get to be honest
about my needs and what I’m available for.
I’m not sure if I’ll “pull the plug” today. I don’t know if
that’s the most nurturing thing for me to do today with the end of school coming, and this woman having
watched me go through all that it took to get to school at all. But, I’m approaching
the place of accepting that this is necessary, and that I’m willing to make the
change, though I’m scared of what happens then.
As someone said to me recently, “I have a crystal ball, but I just don’t know how to use it yet.” 
beauty · grief · love · recovery · self-care

Savage Beauty

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

(if you haven’t read it, you may want to glance at
yesterday’s blog for continuity)

(p.s. I have to say, I love the double meaning of “savage” as the colloquial for totally awesome)
So, guess what? I went back “down” today to find out who
that woman in the other penguin habitat was. Yesterday on my way out, I’d
assumed it was Depression, because of the scene around her.
On the lower left end of the enclosure, a woman stood, her
back to me. She stood on what looked like the dangerous rocky shore near a
nasty storm-driven sea. Above, the sky/wall dripped in large blackness. She
wore a tattered dress, and her hair, too, was wild and matted.
Yesterday, I simply backed away from this woman, partly
because it was time to leave (the drumming on the tape indicates when it’s time
to return), and partly because her anger or darkness scared the shit out of me,
and I wasn’t ready to investigate further.
But, it wasn’t sitting right with me since then that she was
Depression. It just didn’t make sense to me. I thought maybe perhaps she was
Loneliness, but I wasn’t sure; I just knew that whoever she was, she was mad as
hell, and wasn’t going to take kindly to me yet. So, I began to think that
whoever she is, perhaps she herself isn’t a “negative” emotion, maybe she’s
just surrounded by that.
Turns out, my curiosity, despite my fear to explore further,
took me back. I listened to the tape of the shamanic drumming again this morning, and
went to go check it out. And, as you might have guessed from the title, indeed,
she was not Depression – she is Beauty.
I have a lot of mixed … experience when it comes to
honoring, holding, acknowledging, or accepting my own beauty. I am not
surprised at how impersonable she is, or how raging, fuming dark and mad she
is. For me, since the (first set of) braces came off, the contacts replaced
glasses, and I got my first set of make-up near the age of 15, suddenly, I
became visible. The ugly glasses, the frizzy hair, the gawky tall figure, these
started to fade, and suddenly, people – boys – saw me.
I have used my anger at this “suddenness” for quite some
time — why didn’t you see me before? Is this all you want from me? I have had this interpretation reinforced by my own behavior, and by the behavior of
others. I have wielded my beauty as a double-edged sword, slicing those who
acknowledged it, and thus slicing myself.
I didn’t trust anyone to see me for who I was, and because
now all they saw (so I inferred) was my outside, I spent very little effort or
time discovering who I was on the inside. At the formative middle-teen years,
this was a tragic oversight.
It now meant that my beauty was a Siren song. I would lure
you in, and crash you upon the rocks. I didn’t care how you felt, or felt about
me. I wanted you to know that my visage was all you would get, and when we were
both done using it, I was done using you – on to the next.
I know this pattern of mine is not unique, but it has
dictated my behavior and thought for a long time.
When I was outside her exhibit today, I didn’t go in. Her
anger frightened me, and I still don’t know how to hold or approach her/it/my
beauty. Mostly, I hide it. Because of the pain inflicted from self and others
in reaction to how I look, I’ve decided it’s best to turn away from it – to
turn it down. It comes out occasionally, but it is rare.
And surely, there’s not much I can do to “turn it off”
altogether. I am who I am, and p.s. I am grateful for it. I know this is a gift
I’ve unrightly used. However, I can hide it, minimize it, hunch over it, and
protect it, I suppose. Which I have done, for a while now.
A few months back, I wrote about wearing this fabulous new
skirt to class, and later to a party. I wrote that I felt “embarrassed” or
something like it. I suppose, I can see now, I felt that duality of
defensive, and brazen – offensive. I don’t yet know how to just let it be. To
understand that my beauty is not to be wielded at all. It just is.
The lack of humility – of “rightsizedness” – I have around
it. It’s just another aspect of me, like my humor, or my intelligence. Which,
both, I will admit, I do much the same hiding of.
Rather you make your own inferences and be wrong about me,
than to show you who I truly am, and have you judge me.
The problem with the beauty thing is that I was/am
defensive/insecure even when you judge me positively. Because of the trauma that has come as a result of
being an attractive woman, and largely in my development, a drunken attractive
woman, the idea of showing you how I look or can look feels like a dangerous
risk.
After standing outside her “cage” for a little while, and
asking what I should be doing, I remembered a suggested question we can ask
when in meditations like these. How does she feel about you? How do you feel
about her?
I feel mistrusting of her; she feels betrayed by me. Great
relationship, eh?
So, in the end, I left. But I get it. I don’t trust my
beauty because it has brought me physical, mental, and emotional pain. She
feels betrayed by me because I haven’t used her rightly, and have then locked
her up.
She’s mad as hell – and she’s not going to take it anymore.
That said, I believe some kind of reconciliation will need
to happen – an understanding – before we can both move forward. It’s not like,
just let her out. She’s too pissed, and I’m too wary. So, what can I do? I can
slowly begin to shed my hiding. I can slowly, and safely, begin to reintegrate
those items in my wardrobe which make me uncomfortable, and attract attention.
Not like booty shorts, but like “nice” things. Pretty things. Things that make
me feel beautiful. This won’t be a
hurling of myself off a cliff into a different way of being; this will be a
slow dance toward intimacy and trust.
Which sounds like a great way to support myself as I look to
build that with others. 

compassion · love · maturity · self-care

Savage Love

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

This morning, I couldn’t get quiet in meditation, tried a
variety of different techniques and styles, and then decided, fuck it, I’ll
just do a journey. A “journey” is a shamanic journey, and how I do them at home
is via a tape of drumming on my ipod that I listen to. I’ve mentioned some
about this here before, and believe what you will or won’t, but it’s one of the
surest ways I find to get in touch with whatever’s going on, and to find
clarity and, potentially, resolution. 
NOTE: I feel that describing a journey is much like the way some people tell others about their dreams – they’re fascinating to the dreamer, not so much to the listener, so feel free to read on or not. 
I usually shy away from doing journeys at home (as opposed to when I
do them in a group), because they are so powerful for me, and usually provide a
level of information that is hard to sit with when I’m by myself.
It was none too different this morning.
Back in January, when I was on the women’s retreat up in
Napa, we were talking a bit about how people get to the various places of these
shamanic “worlds,” and I mentioned that every time I go to the “lower world,”
as I go down, I pass through this room that’s like the indoor penguin enclosure
at the zoo. I usually just walk right through to the exit door, and on down to
the lower world, but I was curious as to what that room was about, if it was
just a “silly” fluke of my brain or what.
I’d never really looked around the space, having been told early that I was
supposed to be getting to a place in nature and if we hit a man-made environment to just keep going. This space has always been there during my journeys; it’s a dark
room/hallway, with that eerie blue lighting that happens in those enclosures
as it lights up the exhibits and penguin habitats and water.
It was suggested in January that I take a look at the nature
of the space, that maybe it is trying to tell me something. And, if you’re with
me so far, your suspension of disbelief will be needed further. …
So, today, in the journey, I head down, and when I get to
this room, I stop and pause. I walk through and go out another door, but I
just walk into a whole mess of large leafy plants, and I’m pretty sure this
isn’t the “right” way. So I walk back inside.
Then I walk up to one of the two exhibits, lit behind its glass, to see what’s inside. It’s not penguins. Perched on the craggy,
bird-shit stained fake rocks that you normally see, is a woman, naked, and
hunched over herself. Her head over her bent knees.
At this point, I call up one, then two of my teachers/guides, cuz I’m starting
to get a little anxious, and I ask them who she is. This dirty, matted hair
naked woman is Love. She is the part of me that is love.
I ask what I should do, and it’s indicated that I go and
approach her, so the glass in the exhibit between me and her disappears, and I
walk through, and up onto the stained rocks, and crouch down to approach her.
She looks up at me. Her eyes are wild, fearful, non-linguistic, but meaningful
nonetheless. She ticks and jerks, like we imagine cave-people did, like savages
did. Moving without grace, and in non-self aware spurts.
I ask her what she needs. She “says” she’s cold. I put this
enormous fur coat around her I’d gotten previously (like a prize in a video
game I can now cash in). It’s warm, and filled with love and calm. I give her
some pajamas.
— She throws herself on me, supplicant with gratitude, but
this strong, muscular woman is crushing me with herself. With her love. Her
thanks are out of proportion with the gesture. And she wants to hold on to me
with such force.
She, is Savage Love.
I ply her off of me, and don’t know what to do, where to go,
if I should leave. Instead, I take her to this safe place I have, this desert –
the cave of the penguin exhibit fades and we both find ourselves in the wide,
open, dry, sunlit desert.
I don’t really know what to do with her – this force that is
too big, doesn’t know her own strength, and once is shown affection wants to
consume the giver, to keep it.
I bring in my little 5 year old self who likes to hang out
in this desert, drawing at a picnic table. I sit my primitive, wild self down with
her to draw, and she makes a whooping and hollering mess of stabbing the
crayons onto the page. The 5 year old self tries to tell her no, that she’s
doing it wrong, and messing with her space, and quickly, she has had enough, and
gets up to go to the sandbox, an elsewhere safe place.
Savage Love is furious, rampant in her rage at this
rejection, at being chastised and rejected. She is dangerous.
I call on someone else, a woman who represents adulthood to
me, who isn’t me, but surely, as these all are, is of course me.
She comes in, and holds the untamed woman. Like a mother
calming a child. The differences between a toddler and a savage aren’t much.
And that’s when I realize that’s ultimately what this woman is. She’s an adult
in form, but in her manner, reaction, and action, she’s very like a small child
– you give me something nice, I want it all and more, and I don’t care or know
if it’s crushing you or more than you can give. If you reject me or chastise
me, I’m enraged and destructive.
This part of me does not know or have boundaries. She
doesn’t have language, or common sense. She has been in a sealed glass cage for
nearly a lifetime – of course she doesn’t have “people skills.”
And, to get “real” for a moment, I resonate with these
reactions and actions she portrays as I consider my own actions in
situations of love. If you show me affection, I will drape myself over you, and
become dependent upon you. If you put up a boundary or behave in a way I
perceive as rejection, I will shove you away and cause as massive chaos as I
can doing it.
As you can imagine, today’s journey has caused a great deal of
self-reflection, but is bringing about a great deal of self-compassion. This
part of myself has not grown up and has remained in reactionary patterns of
behavior that in the end cause isolation and solitude.
When I had to leave, which, by the way, I was considering
the entire time during my interaction with her – how can I get away from her –
which is interesting… well, I left her with the adult woman comforting her,
calming her. She was calm. And she will learn.
But, on the way out, reluctantly, I took a look in the
second penguin-like exhibit, to see who or what was in that one.
It was Depression.
And I backed away, knowing that would need a whole ‘nother
day of work.  
action · adulthood · finances · progress · self-care · surrender

Chaos Theory

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Chaos, perceived order, chaos, perceived order.
I won’t say “order,” because I’m not sure that’s exactly what
it is, but it sometimes looks like
order, in that things seem to make sense, and life is calm or happy, or the
check comes in time, or the person you were just thinking of appears, or the
trains all arrive just as you step down to the platform.
Order? Maybe.
My ferret brain is currently perceiving chaos. And
terrified, gnawing on its own limbs in visceral worry, that there will never be
order, even of the perceived kind.
I know that this is
part of the pattern of life – I’ve watched others go through it, I myself have
gone through it – but each time the chaos occurs, it’s like order never
existed; faith, calm, ease, joy, never existed, and never will again. We’re at
the end of days, and time’s up, and meter’s run out, and you’re screwed.
Do you ever get that?
Fear brain is in hyper-drive, and so the small action steps
I’m supposed to be taking are all the more important. My fear brain is stuck in
the gear of “you have no income, no prospects, no job, no career, no ambition
to a career, you’re lost and will never be found, and get used to asking for
handouts…again.”
Silly brain. I feel it. I get it. I am thrown by it, and
sometimes owned by it. Like today.
But, there are a few chinks in this armor of fear, and one
was an exercise in the Money Drunk, Money Sober book: “What would it feel like to let go of desperation? Explore.”
Hmm. Let go of desperation? Well, as I wrote in my Morning
Pages today, it’d feel like freedom, calm, availability, faith. It’d feel like
being open to what’s around me, the perceived order where coincidences do
happen, and help is available, and guidance is sure and strong.
To let go of desperation, would mean letting go of
smallness, isolation triggered by fear and financial insecurity (or fear of
financial insecurity). You know, “No, I can’t join you at that awesome event, I
don’t have any money.”
I was sent an email from a friend who I’m in irregular touch
with, so, it was rather unexpected. It’s for a job that my closed-off brain
says is too low paying, sounds too overworking, and is in a non-profit, which
usually means (or has meant in my experience) that half the time, if not more,
is spent on trying to beg funds from people.
I do that enough in my real life, eh?
That said, one of the other suggestions I read last night in
that book was: Step 1: Get. A. Job. And,
hello, applying to something is not the same as taking anything. And it would
be good for me to get off my high horse/pity-pot and just start to apply to
shit.
Cuz…here’s the fear brain ferret’s mantra: You don’t have
rent for May.
Here’s the recovery brain’s mantra: Next right action.
I have rent and all expenses for April, covered. I have
shelter, clothing, food (though in my typical pattern, I’ve scrimped on getting
to the grocery store this month, and thus have spent much more in eating out than
planned). I have this internet connection, hot water, shampoo, coffee, art
supplies, happy yellow rain boots.
Plus, I have all the resources of friends and fellowship
that I could want, if I avail myself of them.
There’s a line from another book which states something like
the following: Given the choice between going on to the bitter end, blotting
out the reality of our situation, and accepting help, we often balk at the
choice. Stall, hem and haw, measure our options.
Options: go to hell in a handbasket – OR – take an action
step. Hmmm…..
It is as much perceived
chaos as it is perceived order. There isn’t chaos here in my life at the moment
– there’s a tantrum. And a choice. I can give myself the gift of clear
direction, and let go of desperation by taking action. Or, I can continue to
pin abundant affirmations to my walls and discount unexpected emails.
My best ideas continue to send me to the edge – may I now
please accept a different solution?
commitment · community · progress · recovery · self-care

Scatterbot

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I dunno why. Sounds about right. Scattering parts of me
hither and thither. My apartment reflects that disarray most of the time. And as
I’ve written, the disparate parts of me are scattered. And my thesis, scattered.
I mention it today, as one of my action items is to print
the last 9 pages that I’ve written and consolidate them into the whole. This
isn’t like tacking them on to the end, that’s not the way my thesis is written
– not linearly. It is more like a collage, and I have to figure out what makes
these disparate pieces a whole.
As you can imagine, this is as – if not more – metaphorical as
it is literal. And I’ve been stalling. Not long, just a few days, but long
enough to notice. I went to the local library to print out the 9 pages, and a woman
was on the computer, so I waited about 5 minutes, and left. And, it’ll be time
for me to do that again today – but, uh, stay
this time, and print them out.
It’s like … gluing an old vase back together. You’ve hung on
to the pieces because you couldn’t bare to chuck them; and so you’ve lost some
of the little bits that used to create the whole. But I notice the missingness
of the vase.
I’ve asked a girlfriend of mine from school to take a look
at it once it’s in order, and to read it with an editing, writerly eye. She’s
agreed, and I feel safe and comfortable showing the work to her – she’s been in
workshops with me, and I trust her eye on my work – she gets it. Plus I respect
and love her writing, which is helpful in a partnership of this sort. So, I’m supposed
to get something – by my own deadline – to her by Friday. The end of Spring
Break – which, doesn’t look much different to me than any other week, except
I’m not on campus two days this week.
The other thing I have to unscatter for tomorrow are my
numbers – I meet with someone weekly to talk through financial clarity and do
some work, and it’s my self-imposed deadline to load all my numbers into my
spreadsheet before I meet with her – as when I was only doing it monthly, it
felt too vague, like I really didn’t know what I had to spend or had spent in the categories
I’ve designated.
I also have an “action partner” now. It was suggested to me
last week that I get an “art action partner,” but as I was talking with my
friend last night, we agreed, they’re pretty much the same thing in our lives.
So, I have someone who I’m emailing now daily the tasks I’ll do today – like
the printing and the numbers – and then, theoretically, I’ll email her tonight
to let her know what I’ve done.
We’ll see how it goes. We’re playing the structure of it loosely, but I know
I need a daily list at the moment. My fear is causing my lack of structure to
dissolve into procrastination and paralyzation. (The three “P”s, I’ve heard
are: Perfectionism, Procrastination, Paralyzation.) So I’m trying to head the
cycle off at the pass by creating a structure where babysteps are acknowledged
and doable… and accountable.
It is by baby steps that I won’t fuck it up, basically.
Inaction has the same result for me as too much or big action – taking an
outsized step, and falling, and then feeling like See, I can’t do it. When in
reality, it just was an outsized step for where I am in my development, and I’d
set myself up to fail.
I’m looking forward to some of this structure, because I
feel like by standing on the foundation of it, I feel supported, and like I’m
taking estimable acts.
Scatterbot, powering down. Gathering time, commence.