One thing I've learned to do since becoming disabled is to simply sit or lay and be. Often that is all I can do. As I sit and be, I'm not thinking about the next thing to get done because I can't do it anyway.
In those times, I become quite aware of my surroundings and my being with or in them. Or maybe it's more like aware of the quiet between the breaths of life that surround me. Or more observant of the accents of life on the backdrop of quiet or stillness. This can happen even on a busy city street, which I don't prefer as my sitting spot, but I do enjoy it from time to time. Wherever us humans go, there is always a backdrop, a canvas. And there are always accents rearranging like a kaleidoscope.
I like sitting on our back porch, observing and being with the life in the back yard. Lately, with so much rain, I feel we live in a temperate rain forest. Birds have been abundant. I wish I knew the names of the birds and could recognize their different songs. But I don't, so I just enjoy.
We have a large backyard, at least it's large for small-city, suburbia USA. It's about an acre, I reckon. Our total yard is 1-1/3 acres, so I figure the house and front yard take up about a third? But I'm guessing.
Our yard is deep, not wide. The back yard slopes slightly upward toward the wooded area which is the back of the property. The wooded area is about 200 feet deep and backs up to a small graveyard and small old church. I should learn about that church.
The wooded area is totally naturalized. If I could, I would make paths through the tiny section of woods. I'd erect a small yurt within the coverage of the trees. It'd be my get-away without having to get away.
Our back porch is screened-in with a metal roof. Raindrops become the clouds' fingertips as they play their percussion instrument. A gentle rain is soothing. A storm, energizing as the percussion pounds and the sky puts on a light show.
My back porch chair is a wooden, slider rocker. It's 29 years old and still has the original cushions. Oh my! I have looked for replacements, but have never found the right size. The rocker is not designed to be outside going from hot to cold and damp to dry and back again. The wood of the rocker is worn and the cushions faded. But it's still comfy and in safe working order.
I have an upholstered ottoman with wooden legs which I use to prop my feet and legs when I take my rocking chair perch. The upholstery is worn and faded because it too is not designed to stay on the back porch all year long, but it does. It and the rocker have spent fourteen years out there.
A cream-colored metal table with a Formica top and matching metal chairs with padded seats sits in one corner of the porch. They too are aged displaying wrinkles and cracks and a little rust. We used to use them often. Not now though. I don't cook or entertain and seldom have visitors, of the human variety.
I've thought for over a year, I wish I had a bed back here so I could just rest flat. Flat is one of my preferred positions, especially when symptoms are exasperated.
As I back-porch sat this past weekend, I decided upon a "bed" and ordered it online using birthday money I'd received from my generous mother-in-law. The "bed" is a bamboo chaise lounge chair with a sienna-colored two-inch think pad for a "mattress." The pad is designed to fit and fold with the lounger as the head-end is raised and lowered.
We'll get rid of the old, worn metal-and-Formica table and matching chairs. We'll move Hubby's porch chair into a different corner and put the lounger in its place. The lounger has wheels so I'll be able to move it to lay it totally flat. I hope I like it.
This past weekend I decided upon a name for the giant oak that sits near the deck which extends from the screened-in porch. As I was thinking about a name, I couldn't decide if the oak was male or female. Hmmm. Him. Her. Herm. Herman. A few thoughts later, Herhim. Hiram. I think I like Hiram. I looked up the meaning - "exalted brother," an apt description for the big, old oak. I thought of changing the spelling to "Hirem" to reflect the gender combo. But I'll stick with Hiram; it fits the oak well.
A tall red-bud tree grows a ways over from Hiram. The tree looks whimsical, like a Dr. Seuss tree. I wish I had a wooden Lorax statue that could sit in the limbs. I'm gonna keep an eye out for some Lorax yard art, like a Lorax gnome. For years I've call the redbud the "Dr. Seuss tree" or "the Lorax tree."
May 31, 2017
May 29, 2017
how do i give in to my chronic illness
I've had another really hard three days.
Endeavoring to rise above, cope with, find some hope.
To help cope with the fatigue, the weakness, the numbness in my right fingers, my ever-so-weak right thumb, slight loss of control of bodily functions, dizziness, shakiness.
And other stuff.
Some of my recent symptoms I haven't had (to this degree) since 2013 and 2014.
I feel like I'm going backwards.
Tonight, as I rose from a lying to sitting position, the belly cauldron boiled.
That is, the heartburn that I manage daily.
And I started crying.
And I whispered, "I just want a break from the battle. I'm in constant battle with my body. Everything is such a task."
Tears rolled.
And I asked my self, 'I can't be at battle with my body. How can I give in? I need to give in.
I felt so weary.
I feel so weary.
~*~
how do i give in to my chronic illness
I typed the words into my computer and hit enter.
And I found the perfect article.
It describes my life.
And it describes how to cope.
It's not new information for me.
I have used the suggestions and some of the exact words to help me cope.
Of all the strategies I've used to cope, most of them, I had not previously read about.
I think these coping mechanisms must be instinctual for survival.
Here's the link: When You’re Chronically Ill: “Giving Up” Versus “Giving In"
I agree with the whole article.
~*~
I went for my nine-month follow-up with the surgeon last week. I shared with him how I'm doing compared to pre-surgery status - that I'm 100% back emotionally (which is no small thing) and that I'm about maybe 40-to-60% back physically depending on the day. I'm still weak and I have little "spark" even in my good weeks between epidurals (currently more like "days" instead of "weeks," and "semi-good" instead of "good"). We discussed that an able-bodied person takes a year to recover from this kind of surgery. I might take 1-1/2 to 2 years, due to the my nerve damage.
I told him, "I'm holding out hope that getting the metal levels lower will make some difference. I'm gonna stay in denial until I die or get well." Denial that I'll be like this for the rest of my life.
I guess I should have used the word "improve" instead of "get well," because I really doubt I'll ever get well. That hope has pretty much faded. I guess I'm not in denial about that. And "well" is a relative term. But that's a whole nuther tangent.
Dr. Surgeon nodded his head with an affirmative look of "go get 'em girl." I gave a determined nod back. We both chuckled.
And he said, "I think you'll see a difference in the next six months. We'll check the metal levels then. Just keep doing your stretches, riding your bike, and walking as best you can."
He gave me a friendly, light, from the side, round the shoulder hug. It was the perfect gesture, like he was saying, I care and I'm rooting for you.
Dr. Neurologist does the same thing - that light, round the shoulder hug. I saw him last week too when I got my six-week neck injections. He said, "Let's see if these help."
The neurologist also drew some blood for labs. All is normal on the lab front.
So, it is a wait-and-see and manage-the-best-I-can, which is what I always do anyway. It's what we all do. What else is there?
I'm lucky to have good doctors.
Endeavoring to rise above, cope with, find some hope.
To help cope with the fatigue, the weakness, the numbness in my right fingers, my ever-so-weak right thumb, slight loss of control of bodily functions, dizziness, shakiness.
And other stuff.
Some of my recent symptoms I haven't had (to this degree) since 2013 and 2014.
I feel like I'm going backwards.
Tonight, as I rose from a lying to sitting position, the belly cauldron boiled.
That is, the heartburn that I manage daily.
And I started crying.
And I whispered, "I just want a break from the battle. I'm in constant battle with my body. Everything is such a task."
Tears rolled.
And I asked my self, 'I can't be at battle with my body. How can I give in? I need to give in.
I felt so weary.
I feel so weary.
~*~
how do i give in to my chronic illness
I typed the words into my computer and hit enter.
And I found the perfect article.
It describes my life.
And it describes how to cope.
It's not new information for me.
I have used the suggestions and some of the exact words to help me cope.
Of all the strategies I've used to cope, most of them, I had not previously read about.
I think these coping mechanisms must be instinctual for survival.
Here's the link: When You’re Chronically Ill: “Giving Up” Versus “Giving In"
I agree with the whole article.
~*~
I went for my nine-month follow-up with the surgeon last week. I shared with him how I'm doing compared to pre-surgery status - that I'm 100% back emotionally (which is no small thing) and that I'm about maybe 40-to-60% back physically depending on the day. I'm still weak and I have little "spark" even in my good weeks between epidurals (currently more like "days" instead of "weeks," and "semi-good" instead of "good"). We discussed that an able-bodied person takes a year to recover from this kind of surgery. I might take 1-1/2 to 2 years, due to the my nerve damage.
I told him, "I'm holding out hope that getting the metal levels lower will make some difference. I'm gonna stay in denial until I die or get well." Denial that I'll be like this for the rest of my life.
I guess I should have used the word "improve" instead of "get well," because I really doubt I'll ever get well. That hope has pretty much faded. I guess I'm not in denial about that. And "well" is a relative term. But that's a whole nuther tangent.
Dr. Surgeon nodded his head with an affirmative look of "go get 'em girl." I gave a determined nod back. We both chuckled.
And he said, "I think you'll see a difference in the next six months. We'll check the metal levels then. Just keep doing your stretches, riding your bike, and walking as best you can."
He gave me a friendly, light, from the side, round the shoulder hug. It was the perfect gesture, like he was saying, I care and I'm rooting for you.
Dr. Neurologist does the same thing - that light, round the shoulder hug. I saw him last week too when I got my six-week neck injections. He said, "Let's see if these help."
The neurologist also drew some blood for labs. All is normal on the lab front.
So, it is a wait-and-see and manage-the-best-I-can, which is what I always do anyway. It's what we all do. What else is there?
I'm lucky to have good doctors.
May 27, 2017
I know why robins still sing...
The last sixish weeks have been difficult. But in comparison to 2013 through 2015...well. I just hope I never go back there. I'm thankful I have described those times in my own words. It's helpful to read when I feel I am making no progress or am creeping backwards.
~*~
A couple days ago I read a post I'd written in 2015. It was about the suffering exacted by polyradiculitis, including the terrifying, earth-sucking heaviness and the extreme weakness I once constantly battled. I no longer experience the terrifying heaviness. It gradually lightened (an apropos word for the context) after I added Charlotte's Web Hemp Extract in June, 2015. (Charlotte's Web became legal for North Carolina in May, 2015.)
While I dealt with the debilitating heaviness in my body, I became more aware of the presence of birds. The birds' lightness helped lift my spirit at times. Still does.
This past Thursday as I rode my bike on the Mt. Airy Greenway, a flock of about fifty robins were feasting from the soil in a large field beside the Greenway. It rained a lot this past week so earthworms at the ground level have been abundant. As I cycled by, the robins scattered to the tree tops.
I felt gratitude toward those robins and other birds, as I often do these days, especially when I ride the Greenway and they escort me along.
Later that same Thursday, in the evening, I continued my reading of Rachel Carson's book, Silent Spring. Just so happened that the chapter next up for me, And No Birds Sing, includes studies and observations regarding DDT and earthworms and robins. I read that worms ingested the soil which contained DDT from run-off or direct spraying. Then robins ingested the worms. Then the robins died or became infertile, in devastating proportions. Of course, robins weren't the only lives to suffer and DDT wasn't the only chemical culprit.
The robins I had seen earlier that Thursday came to mind. I had to pause and just sit with that image from earlier in the day, and the reality of it. I hope to never take songbirds for granted.
As I lay in bed on Friday morning and listened to the chorus of songbirds outside my bedroom window, I was thankful and pensive. I thought to the birds, You sing to honor Rachel. Never stop.
~*~
The chemical companies, their scientists, and thus the U.S, government had assured citizens that DDT was safe, even good for you. They were wrong. After Rachel Carson began to share the data and facts as to the destruction of DDT and other -cides, she was viciously attacked with public defamatory assaults by these companies and their circles.
In Silent Spring Carson compiled studies and observations from herself and others into one book, bringing it all together in one place. The book was published in 1962. The Environmental Protection Agency was founded in 1970. The use of DDT was cancelled in 1972. Rachel Carson was posthumously awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1981.
Thank god, or the universe or whatever, that Rachel spoke up and that President Kennedy launched federal and state investigations into Carson's claims. If that had not happened, we would probably be living in a gray and desolate wasteland.
DDT is still found in human and animal breast milk; it's persistent. That said, compared with its alternatives, breast milk is still the best food for babies. DDT is not the only poison that we carry inside our bodies.(2004 article)
I wonder how these residual toxins affect our generations to come? Could some modern physical and psychological illnesses be a response to these residues? My gut says, yes. But sometimes my gut is wrong. I'm sure there are articles on the subject.
Toxins within us include heavy metals, an intimate subject for me. My own body has dealt with mercury toxicity in the past and is currently dealing with cobalt and chromium toxicity.
For our planet and its wildlife and nature and humanity, Rachel Carson is a heroine.
PBS American Experience Rachel Carson
~*~
Big Yellow Taxi
Written 1970 by Joni Mitchell
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
With a pink hotel, a boutique
And a swinging hot spot
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
'Til it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
They took all the trees
Put 'em in a tree museum
And they charged the people
A dollar and a half just to see 'em
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
'Til it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
Hey farmer farmer
Put away that DDT now
Give me spots on my apples
But leave me the birds and the bees
Please!
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
'Til it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
Late last night
I heard the screen door slam
And a big yellow taxi
Took away my old man
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
'Til it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
~*~
~*~
A couple days ago I read a post I'd written in 2015. It was about the suffering exacted by polyradiculitis, including the terrifying, earth-sucking heaviness and the extreme weakness I once constantly battled. I no longer experience the terrifying heaviness. It gradually lightened (an apropos word for the context) after I added Charlotte's Web Hemp Extract in June, 2015. (Charlotte's Web became legal for North Carolina in May, 2015.)
While I dealt with the debilitating heaviness in my body, I became more aware of the presence of birds. The birds' lightness helped lift my spirit at times. Still does.
This past Thursday as I rode my bike on the Mt. Airy Greenway, a flock of about fifty robins were feasting from the soil in a large field beside the Greenway. It rained a lot this past week so earthworms at the ground level have been abundant. As I cycled by, the robins scattered to the tree tops.
I felt gratitude toward those robins and other birds, as I often do these days, especially when I ride the Greenway and they escort me along.
Later that same Thursday, in the evening, I continued my reading of Rachel Carson's book, Silent Spring. Just so happened that the chapter next up for me, And No Birds Sing, includes studies and observations regarding DDT and earthworms and robins. I read that worms ingested the soil which contained DDT from run-off or direct spraying. Then robins ingested the worms. Then the robins died or became infertile, in devastating proportions. Of course, robins weren't the only lives to suffer and DDT wasn't the only chemical culprit.
The robins I had seen earlier that Thursday came to mind. I had to pause and just sit with that image from earlier in the day, and the reality of it. I hope to never take songbirds for granted.
As I lay in bed on Friday morning and listened to the chorus of songbirds outside my bedroom window, I was thankful and pensive. I thought to the birds, You sing to honor Rachel. Never stop.
~*~
 |
| 1950s advertisement |
In Silent Spring Carson compiled studies and observations from herself and others into one book, bringing it all together in one place. The book was published in 1962. The Environmental Protection Agency was founded in 1970. The use of DDT was cancelled in 1972. Rachel Carson was posthumously awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1981.
Thank god, or the universe or whatever, that Rachel spoke up and that President Kennedy launched federal and state investigations into Carson's claims. If that had not happened, we would probably be living in a gray and desolate wasteland.
DDT is still found in human and animal breast milk; it's persistent. That said, compared with its alternatives, breast milk is still the best food for babies. DDT is not the only poison that we carry inside our bodies.(2004 article)
I wonder how these residual toxins affect our generations to come? Could some modern physical and psychological illnesses be a response to these residues? My gut says, yes. But sometimes my gut is wrong. I'm sure there are articles on the subject.
Toxins within us include heavy metals, an intimate subject for me. My own body has dealt with mercury toxicity in the past and is currently dealing with cobalt and chromium toxicity.
For our planet and its wildlife and nature and humanity, Rachel Carson is a heroine.
PBS American Experience Rachel Carson
~*~
Big Yellow Taxi
Written 1970 by Joni Mitchell
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
With a pink hotel, a boutique
And a swinging hot spot
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
'Til it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
They took all the trees
Put 'em in a tree museum
And they charged the people
A dollar and a half just to see 'em
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
'Til it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
Hey farmer farmer
Put away that DDT now
Give me spots on my apples
But leave me the birds and the bees
Please!
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
'Til it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
Late last night
I heard the screen door slam
And a big yellow taxi
Took away my old man
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
'Til it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
~*~
May 23, 2017
Lucky
This morning I read more from Rachel Carson's book Silent Spring.
As I read about the overuse of pesticides in the 1950s, I thought, I guess our yard is a good example of native growth. I'm glad Hubby pulls weeds and uses homemade weed killer.
Hubby's weed killer is a homemade mix of vinegar and salt and Dawn. Hubby seldom treats or weeds the lawn itself; he mainly treats the mulched areas. I thought, A plant is only a weed because a body doesn't want that plant to grow where its growing. Our lawn doesn't contain just grass, and we kind of like it that way. Unless I start comparing. Phew on that!
Back to Carson's book. I continued to read. The subject of bees came up and I thought, I'd like to have some bee hives some day.
And now, as I have just written this, I think of an elderly man and wife whom I met at Mabry Mill along the Blue Ridge Parkway last week. I was walkering with my walker along the paved, meandering paths at the Mill. One of my best friends was attached by a leash. My friend is a blind dog, one of my abled-differently comrades.
Along in our conversation about where we were from, family, dogs, etc., the wife gently and kindly and respectfully inquired if I had MS. I responded that I did not and gave a brief account of my story. The man responded, "You're lucky, you know? I mean that you can still walk."
We chatted a bit more and ended our conversation about where they were headed after Mabry Mill.
As I walkered away with my pet friend, I was smiling and thinking, He's right, you know. I am lucky.
As I read about the overuse of pesticides in the 1950s, I thought, I guess our yard is a good example of native growth. I'm glad Hubby pulls weeds and uses homemade weed killer.
Hubby's weed killer is a homemade mix of vinegar and salt and Dawn. Hubby seldom treats or weeds the lawn itself; he mainly treats the mulched areas. I thought, A plant is only a weed because a body doesn't want that plant to grow where its growing. Our lawn doesn't contain just grass, and we kind of like it that way. Unless I start comparing. Phew on that!
Images came to mind of the pristine neighborhood in which two dachshunds and I had walked for five days last week. The lawns are perfect. All green. All grass. No weeds. Mowed in reverse diagonal angles to make an eye-pleasing pattern. Many of the yards have backyard fences. The fences are all the same black wrought iron. Probably one of the many neighborhood homeowners' agreements.
For five days, about 30 minutes each day between noon and 2PM, the only people I saw outside the homes were:
It felt kind of eerie as I noticed this day after day for five days in a row. I thought, Where are the people? I guess they are held up in their homes, or at work. I wonder how busy it is on the weekends? Do people come out to play? And maybe the purpose of all this is too look at it?
The whole scene had a sterile feel.
For five days, about 30 minutes each day between noon and 2PM, the only people I saw outside the homes were:
1) construction workers building another beautiful, large home. The dried, red mud for a yard which spread onto the public sidewalk didn't match its neighboring lawns and sidewalk. But that will be remedied in the weeks to come.
2) lawn maintenance crews standing on their mowers keeping the area surrounding the local pond with its adjacent tennis and volleyball courts pristine, diagonally mowing so as not to disrupt the blanket of green that stretches between houses.
3) a home-maintenance crew doing some power pressure cleaning to a concrete driveway that, appeared to me, didn't need cleaning. But maybe there had been a spill or something that I couldn't detect with my eyes.
4) a young woman walking two active dogs who were pulling and barking a bit as they saw myself with the two dachshunds who had me in tow. I figure she was another dog walker, like me. Except she wasn't wearing hand-wrist braces, wasn't using a trekking pole to walk, wasn't consistently pushing sliding glasses back up her nose to their proper-seeing position, and didn't have her two dogs' leashes attached to a waste band so she could be hands free. Because of the all the dogs' excitements, we non-verbally knew to keep our two sets of dogs from getting to close to each other.
2) lawn maintenance crews standing on their mowers keeping the area surrounding the local pond with its adjacent tennis and volleyball courts pristine, diagonally mowing so as not to disrupt the blanket of green that stretches between houses.
3) a home-maintenance crew doing some power pressure cleaning to a concrete driveway that, appeared to me, didn't need cleaning. But maybe there had been a spill or something that I couldn't detect with my eyes.
4) a young woman walking two active dogs who were pulling and barking a bit as they saw myself with the two dachshunds who had me in tow. I figure she was another dog walker, like me. Except she wasn't wearing hand-wrist braces, wasn't using a trekking pole to walk, wasn't consistently pushing sliding glasses back up her nose to their proper-seeing position, and didn't have her two dogs' leashes attached to a waste band so she could be hands free. Because of the all the dogs' excitements, we non-verbally knew to keep our two sets of dogs from getting to close to each other.
It felt kind of eerie as I noticed this day after day for five days in a row. I thought, Where are the people? I guess they are held up in their homes, or at work. I wonder how busy it is on the weekends? Do people come out to play? And maybe the purpose of all this is too look at it?
The whole scene had a sterile feel.
Back to Carson's book. I continued to read. The subject of bees came up and I thought, I'd like to have some bee hives some day.
Images came to mind of our backyard the way I would like it to be including a couple raised-bed gardens and beehives at the back of the yard next to the woods. Images transformed into a moving picture in my head - myself in the yard, working the garden and the hives, moving like a normal abled-body moves. The sun was shining. I could smell the soil and feel the sweat. It felt good to work, in my movie.
The imaginary movie was interrupted by current reality as I thought, Yeah, like I'll ever be able to do that. I can barely do laundry.
I felt the feeling I've felt many times. A feeling of the permanence of my current condition, that I'll never get well or at least well enough to ever live the imaginary movies that go through my head. A reality I do not want to accept as long-term, so I deny the permanency.
And then I remembered, You used to think the same about asthma. You used to dream of running like a deer in the woods, able to move and breathe freely. And then you'd interrupt the dream with reality. But...that dream came true at least on the breathing end. You seldom think about the asthma anymore. You've breathed freely for almost 18 years now.
The imaginary movie was interrupted by current reality as I thought, Yeah, like I'll ever be able to do that. I can barely do laundry.
I felt the feeling I've felt many times. A feeling of the permanence of my current condition, that I'll never get well or at least well enough to ever live the imaginary movies that go through my head. A reality I do not want to accept as long-term, so I deny the permanency.
And then I remembered, You used to think the same about asthma. You used to dream of running like a deer in the woods, able to move and breathe freely. And then you'd interrupt the dream with reality. But...that dream came true at least on the breathing end. You seldom think about the asthma anymore. You've breathed freely for almost 18 years now.
And now, as I have just written this, I think of an elderly man and wife whom I met at Mabry Mill along the Blue Ridge Parkway last week. I was walkering with my walker along the paved, meandering paths at the Mill. One of my best friends was attached by a leash. My friend is a blind dog, one of my abled-differently comrades.
Along in our conversation about where we were from, family, dogs, etc., the wife gently and kindly and respectfully inquired if I had MS. I responded that I did not and gave a brief account of my story. The man responded, "You're lucky, you know? I mean that you can still walk."
We chatted a bit more and ended our conversation about where they were headed after Mabry Mill.
As I walkered away with my pet friend, I was smiling and thinking, He's right, you know. I am lucky.
 |
| My blind friend as we walker the Greenway. |
May 13, 2017
Half-sleep
I was enjoying re-tweaking my story. Updating it from a distance of over eleven years out of The Way is different from when I originally penned it two to three years out of The Way, in 2007 and 2008. Now, in 2017, recalling how I felt is less muddled and the memories seem clearer. Maybe that's an age thing - clearer long-term memories.
And then, last Friday happened.
Via an email, I learned Bob and Dottie were recently made "mark and avoid," The Way's shunning and excommunication practice.
In updating my story, I'd added some information mentioning our state leaders in 1995, about their influence in Hubby's and my decision at the time to continue with The Way. Those state leaders were Bob and Dottie.
Their influence wasn't bad, in the sense that they didn't strong arm us. Not at all. They weren't verbally abusive, or anything like that. Hubby and I had grown to trust them. Our decision to stay with The Way at the time was solely our own.
But I think, in another sense their influence was bad. It was a manipulative influence, whether intentional or not. Call me naive, but I want to believe their intentions were good. Yet secrets, that should not have been secret, were kept from us. But that's a whole nuther story and not the point of this one.
I received more emails later on Friday containing copies of three letters. Two of the letters sounded to me like a coup to force retirement of the recent president of The Way who served in that position from 2000 until 2017. Bob and Dottie's names endorsed those two letters. Within a couple hours of when I received the letters, those two letters were posted publicly on Greasespot Cafe, the ex-Way online forum.
My insides were like a ping-pong ball, bouncing all around. I felt anxiety. I felt like I'd had some sort of encounter. I felt "tarazzoed," supposedly from a Greek word for confusion or anxiety or turmoil, something I'd been taught in The Way. I felt a feeling of being pulled into an unhealthy enmeshment again - enmeshment with ex-Way stuff, the Knapp stuff, and the whole cult-recovery mindset, for lack of a better way to say it right now.
I didn't like it. At all.
And it became harder to continue the updates and edits to my story. Harder to clearly recapture what I had felt at the time things happened in the past. My recall became foggy and murky. Hazy. At one point, I felt the haze come over my mental sight like a half-sleep. I physically shook my head and said, "No."
I had to walk away from becoming involved on any level with the current situation of top Way leaders defecting, though they say they aren't defecting. They say they aren't starting another Way splinter group, though I don't see how they can get around not doing that.
As I've grappled with my emotional responses, I've not been quite sure what to appropriately label them. Which would help me, I think - to more clearly label them. Or maybe what I seek is to more clearly understand them. I'm not sure.
But what I did feel pretty sure about was what to do to help rescue my self from going down a not-good rabbit hole.
And that is, to walk away. It is not my responsibility to do anything about the situation or to be involved on any level.
Though, the thought hits me now, that by writing this post I am involving myself on some level. But, then, not. Because my point of this post is to share my responses, or part of them, to what happened. And that's the extent of my involvement in any of it. At least at this point.
Since making that decision to walk away, and following through on it, my clarity is coming back.
I'm feeling grounded again.
And that's good.
And then, last Friday happened.
Via an email, I learned Bob and Dottie were recently made "mark and avoid," The Way's shunning and excommunication practice.
In updating my story, I'd added some information mentioning our state leaders in 1995, about their influence in Hubby's and my decision at the time to continue with The Way. Those state leaders were Bob and Dottie.
Their influence wasn't bad, in the sense that they didn't strong arm us. Not at all. They weren't verbally abusive, or anything like that. Hubby and I had grown to trust them. Our decision to stay with The Way at the time was solely our own.
But I think, in another sense their influence was bad. It was a manipulative influence, whether intentional or not. Call me naive, but I want to believe their intentions were good. Yet secrets, that should not have been secret, were kept from us. But that's a whole nuther story and not the point of this one.
I received more emails later on Friday containing copies of three letters. Two of the letters sounded to me like a coup to force retirement of the recent president of The Way who served in that position from 2000 until 2017. Bob and Dottie's names endorsed those two letters. Within a couple hours of when I received the letters, those two letters were posted publicly on Greasespot Cafe, the ex-Way online forum.
My insides were like a ping-pong ball, bouncing all around. I felt anxiety. I felt like I'd had some sort of encounter. I felt "tarazzoed," supposedly from a Greek word for confusion or anxiety or turmoil, something I'd been taught in The Way. I felt a feeling of being pulled into an unhealthy enmeshment again - enmeshment with ex-Way stuff, the Knapp stuff, and the whole cult-recovery mindset, for lack of a better way to say it right now.
I didn't like it. At all.
And it became harder to continue the updates and edits to my story. Harder to clearly recapture what I had felt at the time things happened in the past. My recall became foggy and murky. Hazy. At one point, I felt the haze come over my mental sight like a half-sleep. I physically shook my head and said, "No."
I had to walk away from becoming involved on any level with the current situation of top Way leaders defecting, though they say they aren't defecting. They say they aren't starting another Way splinter group, though I don't see how they can get around not doing that.
As I've grappled with my emotional responses, I've not been quite sure what to appropriately label them. Which would help me, I think - to more clearly label them. Or maybe what I seek is to more clearly understand them. I'm not sure.
But what I did feel pretty sure about was what to do to help rescue my self from going down a not-good rabbit hole.
And that is, to walk away. It is not my responsibility to do anything about the situation or to be involved on any level.
Though, the thought hits me now, that by writing this post I am involving myself on some level. But, then, not. Because my point of this post is to share my responses, or part of them, to what happened. And that's the extent of my involvement in any of it. At least at this point.
Since making that decision to walk away, and following through on it, my clarity is coming back.
I'm feeling grounded again.
And that's good.
May 1, 2017
Re-tweaking
In an earlier post I stated I had tweaked my Way story and thought I was happy with it.
I was wrong. Ha!
So, I've been re-tweaking and re-tweaking. It will probably be an ongoing project.
But, I feel that Parts 1 and 2 are more complete.
I again rearranged some paragraphs and the lay out. And I've added more personal details which hopefully add some color to the narrative. In the past, those details were just too big of a task for me even though I'd written about them in various memoir vignettes posted on my blog(s).
I also added a link to a blog post I wrote "About The Way," which describes some of the doctrines and just a wee bit of history.
Part 3 needs quite a bit of work and will be the most difficult. It covers a lot of years. I may have to add an additional addendum or two to flesh out more details. I'll see as I go along.
Links:
About The Way
My story, Part 1
My story, Part 2
~*~
Update, 5/03/17
I got Part 3 tweaked, again...
My story, Part 3
I was wrong. Ha!
So, I've been re-tweaking and re-tweaking. It will probably be an ongoing project.
But, I feel that Parts 1 and 2 are more complete.
I again rearranged some paragraphs and the lay out. And I've added more personal details which hopefully add some color to the narrative. In the past, those details were just too big of a task for me even though I'd written about them in various memoir vignettes posted on my blog(s).
I also added a link to a blog post I wrote "About The Way," which describes some of the doctrines and just a wee bit of history.
Part 3 needs quite a bit of work and will be the most difficult. It covers a lot of years. I may have to add an additional addendum or two to flesh out more details. I'll see as I go along.
Links:
About The Way
My story, Part 1
My story, Part 2
~*~
Update, 5/03/17
I got Part 3 tweaked, again...
My story, Part 3
Beaches, birthdays, and belly laughs...
Last week, Hubby and I went on vacation to Daytona Beach Shores, Florida, just south of Daytona Beach. It was perfect! The weather, which was clear the whole time. Our room, which was beachfront. The bicycles we rented and the routes we rode. The restaurants where we ate. The state parks we visited. Just perfect.
The only thing I didn't like was I-95. It'd been five years since we'd driven it. It's gotten worse. Geez, what a race, and what a boring road. And I didn't even drive. Hubby drove the whole trip.
We left the balcony door of our room open the whole time, when we were in the room. Every night the ocean lullabied us to sleep.
The bike rental place had two mountain bikes, which were perfect for our riding. We rode the beach, two rail trails (Lehigh in Palm Coast and part of the East Central from Enterprise to Osteen and back), a local route from our hotel down to Ponce Inlet and back, and across mangrove marshes on wooden decks. I rode a few trails solo in a couple state parks.
I didn't take any beach walks because I would have had to use my trekking poles, and I didn't want them to get sandy and rusty. So it was wonderful to have the bike to ride the beach. Since our room balcony was ocean front, we felt the full beach experience without the sand sticking to sunscreen. Our room was on the third floor right beside the elevator, which made my life easy. The hotel was only three stories high.
We didn't see lots of wildlife. But, from our balcony, we saw dolphins almost daily. We saw a bald eagle up close along the right side of the road as we were driving back from one of the rail trails. The eagle was pulling some roadkill off the paved shoulder into the grass and sand. Smart bird. I saw three box turtles, two with hubby and one when I was on a solo ride. It was a delight to watch them diligently make their way to their destinations. One of them, which we saw in Tomoka State Park, made its way to a tunnel. He knew exactly where he was going. I wanted to see an alligator in the wild, but didn't.
My birthday was last week, so the trip was a wonderful way to celebrate life. I turned 58 years young. I wasn't far from where I was born in Holly Hill, Florida. But I didn't visit there.
I received one of my best birthday gifts, if not the best, earlier in the month on April 1. The family took a day trip to Grayson Highlands. We all rode in the same vehicle. No one could remember the last time we took a road trip all together in the same vehicle. It was great fun and included some belly laughs.
~*~
The only thing I didn't like was I-95. It'd been five years since we'd driven it. It's gotten worse. Geez, what a race, and what a boring road. And I didn't even drive. Hubby drove the whole trip.
We left the balcony door of our room open the whole time, when we were in the room. Every night the ocean lullabied us to sleep.
The bike rental place had two mountain bikes, which were perfect for our riding. We rode the beach, two rail trails (Lehigh in Palm Coast and part of the East Central from Enterprise to Osteen and back), a local route from our hotel down to Ponce Inlet and back, and across mangrove marshes on wooden decks. I rode a few trails solo in a couple state parks.
I didn't take any beach walks because I would have had to use my trekking poles, and I didn't want them to get sandy and rusty. So it was wonderful to have the bike to ride the beach. Since our room balcony was ocean front, we felt the full beach experience without the sand sticking to sunscreen. Our room was on the third floor right beside the elevator, which made my life easy. The hotel was only three stories high.
We didn't see lots of wildlife. But, from our balcony, we saw dolphins almost daily. We saw a bald eagle up close along the right side of the road as we were driving back from one of the rail trails. The eagle was pulling some roadkill off the paved shoulder into the grass and sand. Smart bird. I saw three box turtles, two with hubby and one when I was on a solo ride. It was a delight to watch them diligently make their way to their destinations. One of them, which we saw in Tomoka State Park, made its way to a tunnel. He knew exactly where he was going. I wanted to see an alligator in the wild, but didn't.
My birthday was last week, so the trip was a wonderful way to celebrate life. I turned 58 years young. I wasn't far from where I was born in Holly Hill, Florida. But I didn't visit there.
I received one of my best birthday gifts, if not the best, earlier in the month on April 1. The family took a day trip to Grayson Highlands. We all rode in the same vehicle. No one could remember the last time we took a road trip all together in the same vehicle. It was great fun and included some belly laughs.
~*~
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| View from our balcony |
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| From the water...light. Sunrise, 4-25-17. From our balcony. |
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| My rental bike in Florida. I named it Cypress. |
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| Mangrove marsh deck. Ponce Inlet, Florida. |
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| Turtle along the rail trail |
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| Family pic. Grayson Highlands. April 1, 2017. It was chilly. Of course Son wears shorts. He likes the chilly. |
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| Dogs had a comfy ride to Grayson and back. April 1, 2017. |