Emotions: Acrylic Pour vs. Piet Mondrian

One day I really am going to write the post explaining what I mean by saying I'm "feelings repressed," but this is not that day. Today is the day we talk about how Gabe is working to help us be aware of, connect with, and process our emotions in a healthy way. He is a gem of a human and God outdid himself fulfilling some of his promises to me through Gabe.

At dinner one night last week, we had a conversation that went something like this:

Gabe: "You know how I sometimes have trouble knowing how I feel about specific events or ideas?"

Me: "Yes."

Gabe: "I discovered today that if I approach it from the other direction, it's way easier. If I take a minute and assess all the emotions I'm feeling, I can usually trace them to the event or idea that's triggering them. I thought that might also be helpful for you as you try to get in touch with your emotions."

I cocked my head to one side. "Okay. Can you give me an example of what that looks like?"

He proceeded to say an emotion he was feeling, take a beat, and find what was causing it. He did this with 5–7 different emotions.

"You're feeling that all right now?" I said, staring. "Like ACTIVELY?"

"Well," he said. "Some of them are in the back of my mind, but yeah, actively. Do you want to try it?"

"Sure."

He gave different emotions and asked if I were feeling them, giving me a minute to test myself and see if they were present. Some of my responses went something like this:

"Well, I know X makes me stressed, so if I think about—"

"No," he interrupted kindly. "Don't seek out things that trigger an emotion. This is just about emotions that are going on right now, without you forcing things to mind."

More staring from me. "So, what, you're feeling all those things just...without trying?"

This made him laugh.

Shortly, the list of emotions petered out. "I'm having trouble thinking of names of emotions," he said. "That's my problem. I don't know the names."

"Oh, I can do THAT," I said, in a mixture of incredulousness and relief. I listed off approximately six trillion emotion words for him and he continued the exercise, seeing if any of them were present in himself, then asking me the question.

We've checked in like this a few times since: "What all are you feeling right now? Are you feeling X? Y? Z?" I'm surprised to find I like it. It makes me aware of the emotions that are happening in the background, not being enjoyed. Like, I can be really happy and not notice. I might also be apprehensive and not realize it, but naming it gives us a chance to work on it and mitigate any unpleasant side effects.

It's an extremely interesting exercise, on many levels. We've learned a lot about each other very quickly.

First, we've learned that Gabe is a breathtaking acrylic pour of emotion virtually all of the time, whereas I am usually a Piet Mondrian or, like, maybe actual fire: mostly one color but very, very intense.

Second, we've learned that Gabe feels a very wide range of emotion somewhat mildly, whereas I am usually feeling one to two emotions ONE HUNDRED PERCENT, THE MOST I EVER HAVE, IN FACT.

Third, we've—well, I've—learned that I might be feeling more than I realize. The emotions are there, and having a process for finding them is surprisingly liberating and kind of fun.

Fourth, it's a very low-risk, safe environment for me to practice Feeling. I don't feel exposed in a way that I hate. It makes us feel closer in a way that is vulnerable without being stressful. It opens the door for conversations that make our lives easier, our souls healthier, our marriage stronger.

Moral of the story: Growing with Gabe is one of my favorite things in the world.

~Stephanie

Snipping Heartstrings: Thoughts on Grief

People keep dying. I know that that only makes sense. As one gets older, so do all the people in one's circle of acquaintances. As people get older, people die. The older I get, the more often people around me are dying, and I know that that makes sense.

But it's sad.

As I write this, I'm not in the mood to feel. I am often not in the mood to feel. I am an all-or-nothing person, and it's hard to find the time and space to feel All of...almost any emotion.

I have never had to deal with grief before, not really. Even now, most of the deaths in my circle are contained in the mid-to-outer rings. Papa died when I was seven, and I was very sad and I cried and I miss him, but I was seven. I didn't have particularly complex experiences or expectations of future experiences to process.

On the whole, my heart has a very efficient way of dealing with grief and loss: it immediately cuts the injured heartstring, singes the end, coils it up, and tucks it away. Snip.

This doesn't only apply to dealing with death, or even only to people. This strategy is how I deal with things I hate that I cannot reverse or control. If I get a clearly permanent stain on my favorite shirt, heartstring cut. I must instantly stop caring about that shirt unless I want to be consumed by regret, anger, and sadness. If I have to pay an abominable amount for a car repair or medical bill, I pay it and cut the heartstring. Nothing to be done. Can't care. The one time I got in a car accident, I took stock of the fact that it had happened, and cut the heartstring. I'd do what needed to be done, I was mentally sorry for any choices I made that contributed to it, but I didn't see the value in caring about it. "Caring" wasn't going to negate the need to produce insurance, talk to the officer, or pay for repairs. And, for me, "caring" wasn't what was going to cause me to be more careful in the future.

However, I've since learned that society doesn't understand or appreciate this approach. It looks cold, selfish, callous from the outside—and I can see why. I'm not actually a sociopath; I'm not actually heartless; I do actually "care" about things, just not in a heart/emotions way.

So, I've had to learn to emote without feeling. I have to produce the external signs of emotional caring without feeling any of it in my heart. I "feel" things in my head and body, but they're not emotions; they're thoughts and instincts. For all intents and purposes, they do the job, but they don't look like they do the job. It'd be like Sacagawea watching us follow someone via a GPS. We aren't examining the ground, we aren't listening, we aren't following any signs in nature, so how can we still call what we're doing "tracking"?

I think at some point I forgot that my external emotions weren't actually feelings. I fooled my own self, totally unintentionally. I began to believe that emoting and feeling were the same thing, and I am great at emoting. It's just that I'm emoting what I think, not what I feel.

Maybe that doesn't make sense. It's taking me a while to untangle it all too.

What am I talking about? How did I get here? What am I trying to work out again?

Emotions. Grief. Loss. Right.

My method of cutting heartstrings is very efficient and fairly comfortable. It may even be a correct way to handle some types of loss, like a stupid favorite shirt. However, I think that at some point, when I am faced with an actual loss, it will be important for me to learn to grieve with my heart properly. You always hear about how repressing feelings isn't a long-term solution, how one day the suitcase of repressed feelings is going to pop open and if you don't know what to do with it, it can overwhelm you.

I'm sure that's true. Until recently, though, that possibility hasn't felt imminent enough to catch my attention. Every once in a while I'll think about how it would Feel to lose someone I'm very close to, and all I can imagine is that it would either destroy me or I'd cut their heartstring, and neither of those are the right course.

The older I get, the more people around me are dying.

I almost cried today thinking about it. I started to pray for friend who is on the cusp of a great loss, and the next thing I knew I was starting to cry. I felt the sadness in my heart, and it began to rise like a tidal wave until I could either let it crash over me, or I could put it away and try to process my feelings with my head.

Given this post, we know I chose Door #2.

But I need to sort this out soon.

~Stephanie

The Power of "Dear Future Self"

Today I read over some blog posts from seven years ago. They made my stomach clench. They made my lips feel dry. I was not okay seven years ago. Well, I was "okay," as in "I survived." I'm here now. But I wasn't doing WELL. I was doing far worse than I even had the perspective to see.

I don't know why I'm writing this post except that I want to recommend you keep records for yourself. Not everyone journals, not everyone blogs, not everyone updates her Facebook status so that it will pop up as a "Memory" every year, but I want to encourage you do do SOMETHING to capture how you're feeling and how you're doing these days. In a few years, you'll care. In a few years, you'll want to know how far you've come in a specific, tangible way.

Consider writing letters to your future self. I've done that before too. Write a letter and date it to be opened sometime in the future. My fourteen-year-old self wrote a letter to my twenty-four-year-old self. My first-day-of-college self wrote a letter to her first-day-of-Christmas-break self. My Christmas 2013 self wrote a letter to my Christmas 2014 self.

Reading those letters to yourself is...almost magical.

It really helps in the moment. It helps you realize that there is a future; that the moment you're in in just a moment, the phase you're in is just a phase—for better or worse.

It gives you purpose. It makes you excited to "meet" your future self.

It can be a great way to keep your priorities in check. You can spell out what your principles are as a whatever-year-old, and remind your future self to bear those principles in mind. It can help you realize how much you've grown when something that was so crucial to your past self has given way to more important things.

It's cathartic.

It's fun.

10/10, would recommend.

If you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to write a blog post to myself and schedule it to post one year from today.

~Stephanie

I Wrote a Love Scene at Age Eleven

I'm watching The Vampire Diaries. I'm not proud of it. It's not part of my Becoming journey. However, the thoughts it's making me have might be. As I watch this show about teenaged angst and emotions and love, I have the urge to roll my eyes, but I like to stop myself (mostly XD). The drama might seem melodramatic to me now, but it's not a bad portrayal of what might have resonated with me ten years ago.

I also recently watched The Outer Banks. Honestly, I can't think of anything good to say about that show. Oh, one of the main female characters isn't super skinny. She has a more "realistic" body type. There. There was something good.

The whole time I was watching that show, I kept thinking about how much I just couldn't care. I must just be way too old for this crap. A bunch of children run around and think all the adults are out to get them, and think they're Really Truly in Love, and that no one understands them, and that they're forced into making bad choices. It was so aggressively ridiculous that it almost crossed the line from "lol" into infuriating.

But the thing is, when you're fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, you believe those things. You believe them really, truly, deeply. Now, y'all know I am not one of those "whatever you feel is true" types. There's Truth and it doesn't care about your feelings. Two plus two is going to keep being four no matter how upset that makes you.

But if someone comes up to you and says, with tears in his eyes, "I'm looking at two plus two, and I swear to you I see them equaling five," the right thing to do isn't to roll your eyes or tell him he's stupid or crazy or that he'll grow out of it one day. You need to understand why he thinks that. What is he seeing that's different from what you see? Where is the disconnect? What mathematical laws is he breaking without realizing?

If the math equation is actually the fact that all the adults are out to get him, that he's Really Truly in Love, that no one understands him, or that he's forced into making bad choices, there's a good chance he still isn't going to leave the conversation believing that the answer is four.

And, to be honest, I think that has to be okay.

I wrote a love scene between these two characters when I was in sixth grade. The characters were fourteen (and lived in maybe the mid-1700s). They finally kissed, and the boy character felt "passion." Not in a sexual way that would've been inappropriate for an eleven-year-old to write, but in an emotional way.

I showed the story to an adult, and the adult said said in a tone of disgust, "He's fourteen. He's too young to feel passion."

I was, myself, disgusted—and offended. I am to this day.

Who gets to say when someone is old enough to feel "passion"? Is not the person who feels the passion the ONLY authority on that? How dare an adult tell me that I couldn't understand passion or that my characters were too young to feel that strongly about each other?

I guess I understand where the adult was coming from, but I still disagree. The older you get, the bigger and deeper your emotional cup becomes. You're able to feel more and more deeply than you possibly could have when you were fourteen.

However, just because you can fit more into your adult emotional cup doesn't mean that the fourteen-year-old's cup isn't legitimately full.

I'm actually REALLY conflicted on this subject. On one hand, I feel like someone should punch the kids in the face and tell them they're wrong and to just zip it—mouth, heart, etc.—until they're, like, twenty. Stop ruining your life over crap that is literally not going to be important in the grand scheme of your life. On the other hand, the above personal anecdote. How DARE I start to become the very thing I set out to destroy? XD

I get that there's a healthy balance to be struck; I just don't know where it is. I tend to think it's...in the middle? XD I don't know. (I also remember, as a child, losing respect for adults and adult characters who were TOO taken in by teenage antics.)

It bothers me that I had such a condescending reaction to The Outer Banks. Granted, I think other shows and movies do a WAY better job of portraying the legitimacy of teenage emotional journeys, but, out of respect for my incredibly emotional and passionate eleven-to-eighteen-year-old self, I generally strive to take these things seriously.

It's why I do not laugh at kids when they tell me things that might seem "cute" or "funny" or "precocious" or any number of other things that make grownups laugh. It upset me so much to be laughed at as a little kid. It happened almost all the time. I have a mental list of people in my head who treated me respectfully, and I love them very much. (Bon, you’re on it.)

I know when I have teenaged kids, they're going to say things and feel things that I "know" to be ridiculous. But I really hope I still remember what it was like to be convicted of the legitimacy of my adolescent feelings. I don't know how to translate that into good parenting, but I hope at least remembering will be helpful.

...?

~Stephanie

This is Where I Might Lose You

I'm about to say something that is going to make some of you curl your lip in disgust and stop reading. Before that happens, I'd like to ask you a question:

Do you think that little of me?

The answer might be "yes," and if so, that is totally fine. I know many people for whom the answer would be "yes, I do." If that's the case, then feel free to curl your lip in disgust and stop reading. But if your answer was, "Well, no" or "Not usually," then I would ask you to hear me out. If you respect someone, then you ought to hear them out, even—maybe especially—when they start down a road you wouldn't normally travel.

I think Dungeons and Dragons might be helping me grow as a person.

If you're still here, let's get some things straight. (Gabe also blogged about this last year, so if you're interested in his take, you can check out his post here.)

1) Dungeons and Dragons is not necessarily a game about magic.

Dungeons and Dragons is a game where everyone except one person makes up a character, and the remaining person is like the narrator. The rules of Dungeons and Dragons are basically just a guide to translating any conceivable action into a die roll so that you're able to "do" it in the game in a quantifiable way. If you want to have your character squawk like a chicken and jump off a roof wielding a spatula, DnD can tell you which dice to roll to see how that goes.

Most people who play Dungeons and Dragons are into magic, so they set their games in magical worlds and have their characters use magic. Most DnD resources cater to this group. This is a choice, however. Gabe is currently playing a Sci-Fi game where there is zero magic; everything is technology-based.

2) Dungeons and Dragons has no more agency than video games, books, podcasts, or playing pretend with the kids you babysit.

DnD does not have the power to make you possessed, obsessed, or...duressed? Help me out with the parallelism XD DnD is just a game. It does not involve anything legitimately spiritual. If anyone has ever gone crazy from Dungeons and Dragons (and I know they have; Hello Satanic Panic of the '80s), the person was unstable to begin with, played with bad people, intentionally summoned demons, or some combination of the above.

As Christians, we do not need to be afraid of our imaginations in and of themselves. Monitor them, yes. Do an idolatry check on them, yes. But no game has the agency or authority to possess a person—especially a Christian.

3) Dungeons and Dragons is role playing, yes—but so is fiction writing, acting, playing video games, etc.

Role playing is not an inherently slippery slope. Most people will be able to keep fantasy and reality separate. For people who cannot, DnD is not for them. But neither are a lot of other things that would require a person to think clearly and keep her feet rooted in reality.

If you're concerned and it's bothering you, I suggest doing some research into what the bare bones of the game entail, or talking to someone who plays. Gabe would be glad to have a conversation about this (and he is much more empathetic and diplomatic than I am).

However, at the end of the day, I'm not here to convince you that Dungeons and Dragons isn't evil. I'm just here to ask you to read the next post that mentions it, because I think it's going to teach me how to open the Feelings Door.

~Stephanie

Jesus Had Limitations

I have always considered myself to be a lazy person.

Growing up, I was often told that I was lazy, and I assume it was true. I internalized it as part of my identity. Being told that I was lazy did not make me less lazy; it just made me aware of the fact that apparently laziness was part of who I was.

If I didn't get my homework done, it was because I didn't try hard enough. If I didn't take all the college classes I wanted to, it was because I didn't want to apply myself sufficiently. If I'm late to a function, it's because I didn't plan well enough. If I'm not a good enough friend to someone, it's because I'm too lazy to try. If I don't finish a work project on time, it's because I didn't work hard enough. If I'm not in the physical shape I want to be in, it's because I don't commit to it. If I can't have three careers and also be a stay-at-home mom, it'll be because I'm lazy.

It's part of my identity. I AM a lazy person. I don't have any limits at all except an unwillingness to work. There is no other reason besides laziness that would account for the above things. I am capable of literally ANYTHING and the failure to do literally anything is 100% a lack of focus and determination.

Except, maybe that's insane?!

I was listening to the Made for This podcast by Jennie Allen this morning and Kirk Franklin was a guest speaker. I was going about my day when he started hitting me with truths I had never considered before. The scales have fallen from my eyes and now I feel like an actual crazy person.

He quoted the book Ordering Your Private World by George MacDonald: "Jesus knew his limitations well.* Strange as it may seem, he knew what we conveniently forget: time must be properly budgeted for the gathering of inner strength and resolve in order to compensate for one's weaknesses when spiritual warfare begins."

If JESUS needed time to recharge, if JESUS had limitations, then how appallingly arrogant of me to assume that I have none; that my only limitation is laziness; that I have no spiritual, physical, emotional, intellectual, relational limitations whatsoever. (I'm hearing how insane and arrogant this sounds as I process it. Good grief.)

Kirk went on to point out that one thing Satan does is tempt us to go beyond our limitations, to exhaust ourselves in any or many of the above categories. "Rest is a weapon," Kirk said. "It's very hard to tempt well-rested, emotionally healthy, happy, and serene people."

Maybe I'm not fundamentally lazy. Maybe I'm TIRED. Maybe I'm really, really tired. Maybe my assumption that I have no limitations has led me to be not only overextended, but emotionally abusive to myself. Until this morning, I ACTUALLY THOUGHT that the ONLY reason I had not succeeded in any number of "failures" was because I just hadn't tried hard enough, because I was lazy.

And honestly, I'm not sure which camp I find more uncomfortable: the You Are Lazy camp, or the You Have Limitations camp.

On one hand, acknowledging that I have legitimate limitations is both reasonable and reassuring. On the other...well, it is a strangely difficult pill to swallow. I have always been comforted by the fact that I COULD do literally anything, I just CHOOSE not to because I'd rather be lazy. It is humbling and disconcerting to think that I may not be ABLE to work a 40-hour a week job, tutor Challenge B, teach dance, have children, homeschool those children, run a perfect house, read a book a week, write and publish a novel, have a great tan, get into perfect shape, have a deep relationship with God, be a great friend, be involved in church, be politically active, become fluent in multiple languages, and relearn math simultaneously NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY.

That was not hyperbole for the sake of making a point. That was the actual list of things I assumed I was capable of doing concurrently if I just weren't so lazy.

Even now, it's hard for me not to look at that list and narrow my eyes and say, "But, like, you COULD. You just WON'T." I still kind of feel that way. Maybe it's a weird millennial side effect of growing up on "you can do anything you put your mind to" culture.

I'm not sure what to do with this. Do I take a vacation? (It's been over a year since I took one...) Do I quit a job? (LOL) Do I...?

~Stephanie

*Obviously as God, Jesus had no limitations. However, he was also human, which comes with limitations that he chose to acknowledge and live within.

Centering Prayer Part 2: The Maddening Impossibility of Stillness

Centering prayer. Sitting in solitude, silence, and stillness. Stilling one's heart, mind, and body.

It's hard to control your thoughts; they seem to be a part of existence.

It's hard to control your feelings; they're involuntary.

But at least—at LEAST—you can control your physical body, right? Being still is easy. You just don't move.

Wrong.

Well, wrong if you're me.

And this drives me absolutely insane.

Why can't I sit still? Why can't I just SIT. STILL?! It's not hard. It should be the opposite of hard. It's not doing anything, it's doing NOTHING. Can't I just do nothing?

Every morning, I sit myself down and say sternly, "Okay. This is it. Do not move. You can do this. Just. Don't. Move."

And every day, I lose my mind because I HAVE to pop my toe, I HAVE to sit up straighter, I HAVE to scratch my temple. Sometimes it's a choice, like I decide that I'm far too uncomfortable and I must move in order to be able to focus on God. But sometimes it's not a choice. Sometimes I just MOVE, and I'm like, "Wh—? WHY?!"

I know that the stillness part of centering prayer is not this rigid. It doesn't mean that for twenty minutes, the most important thing you can do is remain immobile. The most important thing you can do is...nothing.

It's just that I seem incapable of silencing my thoughts and I don't even want to DEAL with my feelings, so the one thing I feel like I ought to be able to do is sit still.

But no.

Centering prayer is the exact opposite of what Eights are "good at." Eights are good at DOING things. They do things even when they shouldn't be doing things. They do things even when there are massive obstacles in the way. They do things when they should be resting. They do things when they should be listening. They do things when they should be planning. Give an Eight a "to-do" list and he will do it harder and with more attitude than appropriate.

Centering prayer is about dwelling with God. You have to submit to the solitude, silence, and stillness. It is completely passive. There is no checklist. There is no "doing." You can't muscle your way to the state of deep time with God.

I "do" centering prayer every morning. More often than not, I end up punching the floor mid-session and muttering under my breath. I cannot seem to do it and it frustrates me to my core.

I know that's the point, in a way. I CAN'T "do it," for at least a couple of reasons:

1) It's not a thing you can "do."

2) It's probably designed to show me that not everything can be done in my power. Some things—the biggest, deepest, best things—can only happen when I surrender completely and let God do them for me.

I'm going to keep trying. I'm going to keep failing. I hope that one day I'll get this. Or at least get out of the way for God to bring it to me.

~Stephanie

I am a Republican, Therefore So is Jesus

A couple of months ago, I realized I was falling into a trap that I think Americans struggle with more than any other nationality: prioritizing politics over Christianity.

(Note: I went off on a tangent that I didn't see coming. It is thoughts that have been floating around my head for a long time, needing to be organized. It is relevant to this post, but not necessary. If you want to read that part, it's in a PS at the bottom.)

I get why America has a high degree of national pride. I believe in her founding principles and I really hope that one day they are—and feel—true for everyone equally.

Because I believe in America's founding principles so wholeheartedly and am proud of her potential as a country, belief and pride in her have become values of mine. Because they have become values of mine, I believe that they are right and true, as is the case for values that anyone holds. If you didn't believe a value was right and true, you wouldn't hold it as a value, would you?

However, as you are aware, we also have a lovely thing called "political parties." I would like to think that both parties have the interests of America and her citizens at heart. So, assuming that we all have the American value of loving our country, we all pick a political party that we think best upholds that value.

Love of freedom, one's country, and one's neighbors feel easily compatible with Christianity. Jesus is all about freedom, I imagine that he would rather a healthy country, and we know he prioritizes loving our neighbors.

With that in mind, we tend to assume that if we are Christians, our politics will align with Christianity automatically. If we hold X values related to our country and we also hold X values related to Christianity, they're probably going to coexist fine because they're held by the same person. It wouldn't make any sense for the same person to hold values that were at odds with each other. Because of this, we usually choose one of the Lovely Political Parties that aligns with our political beliefs and assume that it aligns with our Christian beliefs.

In theory, that should work. But we have two major problems:

1) Only one of them can be the top priority.
You can have Christian values and you can have political values (and theoretically they can coexist). However, one of them is going to be the deciding vote at some point. If you can't serve both God and money (Matthew 6:24), you can't serve both God and your political party either.

2) Politics is in our line of sight more often.
This may not always be the case (it certainly should not be the case), but thanks to social media, we are drowning in politics 24/7. Everything is political. EV. ER. RY. THING. EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!! You literally cannot swing a dead cat* without hitting an opinion that finds itself rooted in politics.

Because politics is what's in front of us most often, we allow the positions of our parties to dictate our opinions on politics, which is—as we established—actually our opinions on EVERYTHING. We don't stop to think, "How is this aligning with my beliefs as a Christian?" because we assume it must.

We continue on our merry ways, drinking the Kool-Aid of our given political party and assuming that whatever it thinks is what Jesus would do.

Well, folks, there are Christians of both parties, so clearly that's not true. Clearly politics is NOT synonymous with our Christian values, at least not all of the time or by default.

So what do we do, as Christians?

We need to stop voting by political party.

We need to check in with Jesus and the Bible for our values and political opinions. We need to pray. We need to prioritize loving our neighbors and living the fruits of the spirit and fighting for justice. We need to put Jesus in our line of sight more often than politics. We need to saturate ourselves in the Word. We need to dwell with Jesus, letting him transform our hearts and minds to be more like his.

THEN, with our minds informed by Jesus, we should form our opinions on current issues and find a candidate/bill that aligns with our value as a Christian. Sometimes that may be one political party, sometimes it may be another.

And you know what? As Christians, that shouldn't bother us. Our loyalty is not to a political party or our country. Our hope is not in a political party or our country. Our loyalty is to JESUS. Our hope is in JESUS. The end.

It's embarrassing that it took me this long to untangle my patriotism from my hope in Jesus. It's embarrassing that I would form a political opinion and then ascribe it to Jesus. It's embarrassing that I was letting the opinions of my political party transform my mind rather than the Holy Spirit.

I want to be done with that. I want you to be too.

~Stephanie

P.S. In general, I think Americans have more national pride than most other countries. In general, I think this makes sense. America was founded very much "on purpose." She didn't evolve as much as she shouted, "NOT TODAY" at England and then sat down with the journal prompt "If I could start a new country, what would it be like?"

When America closed her journal with a contented sigh and nod, she had decided on several specific principles that I happen to agree with wholeheartedly:

- Everyone has the right to political and religious freedom.
- No one has the right to rule without the people's consent.
- Governments are naturally power-hungry and should always be kept in check, hard.

Has America lived up to these ideals? Not so much. However, that doesn't make her ideals any less beautiful or noble or worth fighting for. The Founding Fathers were onto something, and the fact that we've executed it imperfectly is not cause to disparage them or their ideals, but an inspiration, an obligation to do better.

It makes sense to me that a nation founded with this degree of intentionality is generally proud of itself. If you move into a house that's a few generations old, you will redecorate it and make it your own and you'll like it. You may move later, or your children may decide to sell it after you die, but for now you like your house and—sure—you're "proud" of it.

However, if you buy a couple of acres of land, design a house, and build it from the ground up? Whole 'nother level. That is YOUR house. You will be PROUD of it. You will think long and hard before moving. Your children will know that you built that house and they'll be a little bit proud of it too. This house belongs to the family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* Like, actually imagine swinging a dead cat and how you would get caught and BLASTED with an admonishment that quickly turns political (even though, like, it really wouldn't need to because swinging a dead cat would be wrong for reasons in many other spheres first).

Metalcore Therapy

To me, metalcore music is intensely beautiful and relaxing, in a cathartic way.

When I feel overwhelmingly stressed or angry or chaotic, I can't control it from the inside. It's too much. It makes my heart pound and my skin tingle and I just feel so overwhelmed and powerless. I need something to organize my frustration.

Metalcore music mimics the way I feel on the inside. It matches the chaos and roughness and loudness and overwhelmingness. It tears into my consciousness and matches what I'm feeling. My feelings sync up with the music. I feel heard and connected.

My feelings become anchored to the music. The emotional waves rise and fall with the music. They're together, but the music has taken the wheel.

And music resolves. Music is organized. Music has a pattern.

Between the blast beats and death growls, a melody is born. It swells and weaves and marries the overwhelming, angry, rough sounds with something beautiful.

Having fused with the music, my feelings are forcibly dragged from chaos into something...else.

Music has keys. Music has counts. Music resolves.

The intensity grows and builds; my emotions have no choice but to match the music, and when the music composes itself, it bends the iron will of my feelings with it, and when the music resolves, I resolve with it.

I can't control a prerecorded song. It's going to organize itself and come home to its key with a final note that is the final word. Metal music meets me where I am, befriends the scariest parts of me, and drags me to a resolution.

The tension in my chest releases.

~Stephanie

Centering Prayer Part 1: Knock Knock. Who's There? Not Feelings.

I've known about centering prayer for a year or so. I was planning to start doing in December, but I didn't feel like I understood it well enough. Then quarantine hit, and I was like, "Wow, what a perfect time to start a new, slightly time-consuming habit!" but then I just didn't. Then, over Father's Day, my dad pointed me to some different resources that made centering prayer seem more approachable, and I actually started doing it.

"Okay, so what is it?"
Centering prayer is a type of prayer that is completely and only about dwelling in God's presence. For twenty minutes you sit in silence, stillness, and solitude and focus on a word or phrase that reminds you of God (e.g., Immanuel, Jesus, Savior, Love, Truth, etc.). Whenever you feel your mind wander, gently direct yourself back to your word or phrase for the session. Eventually you should be able to experience "deep time" with God.

"I feel like this probably has an Enneagram connection. *sigh*"
You'd be right, kind of. I don't think centering prayer itself has anything to do with the Enneagram, but the resources I've used to understand it were Enneagram-related, and understanding the Enneagram may help you recognize where and why you struggle with centering prayer.

The three elements of centering prayer—silence, stillness, and solitude—are related to the Enneagram centers.

For body-centered people—Enneagram Eights, Nines, and Ones—the stillness is going to be the hardest part to achieve and will probably poke their most accessible emotion: anger/frustration.

For heart-centered people—Enneagram Twos, Threes, and Fours—the solitude is going to be the hardest part to achieve and will probably poke their most accessible emotion: shame/guilt.

For head-centered people—Enneagram Fives, Sixes, and Sevens—the silence is going to be the hardest part to achieve and will probably poke their most accessible emotion: fear/anxiety.

"Okay, how do you actually DO centering prayer?"
1) Get into a position with a straight back and hands open in your lap that you can maintain for twenty minutes.

2) Check in with all three of your centers, and formally set aside the distractions they pose:
How is your body doing? Take note of sensations. Acknowledge them. Decide to set body sensations aside for these twenty minutes.

How is your heart doing? Take note of your emotions. Acknowledge them. Decide to set emotions aside for these twenty minutes.

How is your mind doing? Take note of thoughts racing around. What are you thinking about? What's distracting you? Decide to set those thoughts aside for these twenty minutes.

3) Close your eyes and invite God into your space.

4) Spend twenty minutes dwelling with him, focusing on your one word or phrase. Whenever your body, heart, or mind presents a distraction, don't "resist" it, just set it aside and turn your focus back to your word or phrase.

"How's this going for you?"
Um...

Not well.

Like, I'm doing it*. But I've run into some roadblocks.

First of all, I can't find my feelings. I go through the other two steps just fine: "How is my body doing? My neck feels kind of tight. I'm hungry. Got a little bit of a headache behind my eyes. My shin is itching. Lips are chapped. Okay. I'm going to set these things aside for now. They'll be here when I get back.

"How is my mind doing? Lots of thoughts. Wow. Lots to do today. Can't forget to add tortillas to the grocery list. Need to check in with work earlier today. Need to find somewhere to get that dress dry cleaned. Okay. All of this will still be here in twenty minutes. Gonna set it all aside.

"How is my...heart? doing? What am I feeling?"

*crickets*

"Come on! Emotions! Hello?! Okay, stressed? Is stressed an emotion? Or is that a thought? ...distracted? Also a thought? Okay, they're not here. I don't know where the emotions are. Whatever. Putting them aside...?"

The first time I did centering prayer—and every time since, really—this is what happened. I know where my physical sensations are: they're in my body. I know where my thoughts are: they're in my mind. I know where my feelings are supposed to be—in my heart—but it's like...I don't know where that is. Literally in my heart? Like, in my chest?

For the first solid week and a half of doing centering prayer, I got nothing. I couldn't even find/see the door to my heart. Right this second as I think about it and try to locate my "heart," it feels...rude of me? Like, "excuse me, that is not for your eyes." I'm not very comfortable with the idea of my heart/feelings (which makes sense since Eights are heart-center-repressed**). It's not a door that feels safe or wise to knock on.

This has been a real sticking point for me. Eventually, I just decide that "stressed" or "overwhelmed" is close enough to an emotion and move on to the rest of the centering prayer checklist*.

Then I run into different roadblocks that will be covered in future posts XD

I talked to Gabe about this. He's heart-centered. It made him chuckle to think about not knowing how to find his emotions. He is made of emotions. He says he doesn't even think in words or thoughts, but in colors and feelings. He is body repressed, and thus rarely immediately aware of what he's physically feeling.

His advice to me was twofold: 1) practice, and 2) try to trace my thoughts back to their emotional roots. If I'm feeling "stressed," why? Where is that coming from emotionally?

This is going to take a lot of practice. I think the fact that I can now "find/see" the door to my heart is a sign of progress. Now I just need to open it and acknowledge what comes out before deciding to set it aside for twenty minutes.

Yeah, but what happens after the twenty minutes?

via GIPHY

~Stephanie

* The ideas of "doing" centering prayer or treating it like a checklist problematic in itself though. That's another post.

** I think I need to clarify this though. People who know me probably think 1) I seem like a pretty emotional person (easily excited, happy, frustrated, passionate, etc.), and 2) I seem pretty aware of myself/my emotions. Isn't that what this blog is about? Fair enough, and I used to think the same thing. Clarification coming in a future post then.

Anxiety As a Body Type

When I was little, my stomach hurt all the time: when I had to be away from my mom, when I had to do something new, when I might have to eat at a new restaurant. My stomach hurt when I was nervous, hungry, constipated, sick, ANYTHING. (I never threw up though, because I hated that too much to allow it.)

I went through a phase when I was about ten where I got too hungry once, and being so hungry made me nauseous, so I didn't want to eat, so I stayed nauseous, so I didn't want to eat, and on and on. Within two weeks I was so thin my pants wouldn't stay up and my parents were offering me literally anything I wanted to eat but I didn't want anything because I felt sick. Even after I got past all that, for years I lived in this bizarre fear of falling into the cycle again.

To explain the post's title very briefly, Enneagram types are divided into three triads based on what they're most in tune with: their head, heart, or body. Eights are body types. (The heart is our repressed center, but that's another post.)

I am very aware of my physical body. I feel everything. For Gabe and Cassidy, their repressed center is the body, and it has always blown my mind their ability to ignore—or even be oblivious to—physical discomfort. Cassidy will be like, "Yeah, I got a concussion and my arm is a bloody stump, but it's not really a big deal." Meanwhile I'll be in the corner with a hangnail like, "IF I DON'T FIND CLIPPERS IN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND."

My body physically reacts to everything I think and feel. I am angry in my body. I am happy in my body. I am excited in my body. I am sad in my body. Every time I post something on Facebook, my heart beats harder and my arms tingle. Every time I enter into a debate with someone, I feel spikes of adrenaline radiate from my chest to the rest of my body. Every time I feel overwhelmed at work, my chest gets tight and my mouth hardens. Whenever I see someone who makes me happy, it feels like a lamp turns on in my chest.

My body's reacting to everything + my being incredibly aware of anything I'm physically feeling has led to a lot of "maybe it's all in your head?" being thrown at me from various people for as long as I can remember.

"Are you sure you feel X?"

"You're making yourself sick."

"It's all in your head."

"It's probably nothing."

"So just don't do that with your leg/arm/wrist/whatever hurts."

"Maybe if you ignore it it'll go away."

"Just try not to think about it."

I feel like my whole life, people have tried to convince me that because some of my physical reactions have mental roots, they don't count. They aren't legitimate. They aren't "real."

In the past couple of years, I've started having the physical symptoms of anxiety sometimes. My breathing will get extra labored. My hands will shake. I'll break into a cold sweat. My heart will beat irregularly. The corners of my vision will start to dissolve into nothing. I feel panicked in a tangible, literal, overwhelming way, but with nothing causing it.

It's really frustrated me, because I won't feel nervous. I won't feel anxious. I won't be able to think of anything triggering this physical reaction. Gabe is really supportive. He doesn't demand an explanation; he's perfectly accepting of the fact that my body is freaking out and I don't know why.

Lately I've been reexamining the whole "in your head means it isn't real" philosophy. Maybe both parties are right: maybe everyone else is right in that many of the problematic things I feel come from my head (or heart); however, maybe I'm also right in that they are actual manifestations in reality.

Just because something is in/from my head doesn't mean it isn't real; it might just mean I have to "treat" it differently. I don't think the solution for me is to ignore physical symptoms, but to find their root in my head or heart. I really am feeling X—in my body—for real. However, it could still be my outrageously body-centered self interpreting something mental or emotional as physical because that's just what I do.

This has really reassured me and validated what I've always felt: I'm not crazy, I'm just different XD Maybe now that I understand this, I can make some progress.

I still don't know what sets off my anxiety attacks, but maybe one day I'll figure it out.

Probably the day after I figure out where to find my emotions during Centering Prayer. *finger-guns at the teaser for a later post*

~Stephanie

Core Beliefs: My Massage Therapist is Probably Going to Ruin Me

I was sitting on our couch talking to Cassidy and Gabe. They were basically comparing notes about counseling resources because they both see Jay. They were chatting about the different and similar tools they'd been given, how they've been applying them, what kind of successes they've had, etc. Cassidy mentioned that she and Jay were beginning to investigate what her "core belief" might be.

"What is that?" I asked.

"It's a deep-held, usually negative belief that you hold, sometimes without even knowing it, that shapes how you view the world," Cassidy said. "Like maybe 'I'm not worthy,' 'I'm a bad person,' 'I don't deserve love,' that kind of thing."

She gave me a Core Belief sheet with a chart that shows how a core belief acts as a lens that shapes the messages you get from your circumstances and interactions. For example, if you think about asking someone for coffee and your core belief is "I'm not worthy," then the message you hear from yourself is "Why would this person ever go out with me?" and so you don't ask him/her.

"Did you figure out what your core belief is?" I asked.

"Not really, not yet," she said. "He suggested a few for me to think about, like 'I'm not worthy,' or 'something bad is going to happen to me,' but none of them completely fit."

She and Gabe continued having a conversation, but I was having a Phoebe Moment.



Something bad is going to happen to me. That was it. That was my core belief.

I always think something bad is going to happen to me, and not because bad things happen, quite the opposite, in fact. I've led an extremely blessed life. I have amazing luck. My life has been one happy coincidence/fluke after another. The world seems to go out of its way to defy the laws of probability and bring me good things.

And yet every second of every day, I am deeply convinced that something bad is on the horizon for me. Every twinge is probably the beginning stages of cancer. Every late arrival is probably my husband dead in a car crash.

When "bad" things do happen to me, I feel vindicated. "See?! I knew it. I told you it was too good to be true/wouldn't work/would fall through."

I told Cassidy and Gabe my thoughts: "I feel my life has been so good that all the bad stuff must be waiting for me, like I've used up all the good and now comes the bad, or like now I 'deserve' bad stuff to even out the good."

"That's not how life—or God—works," Gabe said. "People make the same mistakes about dice rolling, thinking that if a die has rolled bad numbers a bunch, it has to start rolling better soon. But the probability is the exact same every time you roll."

"Yeah," I admitted. "And I know that, but I just know that the time I let my guard down or expect good things is gonna be the time it all goes bad."

"And that's like the Eight's worst nightmare," Cassidy pointed out. "Being blindsided."

The thing is, as we went on to discuss, my brand of anticipating the worst has no effect on reality. I don't plan for the worst. I do absolutely nothing differently in my life. Now that I'm thinking it through, it is actually pretty ridiculous (and a sore trial to Gabe). I soldier on the exact same way, taking zero precautions and preparing none at all for the worst I feel looming on the horizon.

I considered changing my perspective. I mentally feigned taking off my armor of cynicism to see what that would feel like.

I felt totally exposed. I resisted the urge to physically cross my arms. I felt exactly like I always had: like if I let my guard down, THAT'S gonna be the end of me. THAT'S the moment the universe has been waiting for and it's going to slit my throat and throw me in a blender.

I cannot explain this. I know that that's not how life works. I know that the only thing I'm doing is making myself stressed and worried and miserable for absolutely no reason. I know that if I were to stop believing that bad things are going to happen to me, the main effects would be more happiness and more peace.

I experimented in a concrete way when I got a massage a few weeks ago. I enjoy getting massages, but there's always a part of me that believes the therapist is going to ruin my body, that she's going to rub a muscle the wrong way and it's going to snap out of alignment and my body will never, ever recover. (Yes, I know I'm insane.) I tried actually relaxing and trusting the therapist. It was terrifying and I could only do it in tiny bursts before I went back to my safety blanket of "You're probably going to ruin me."

It was a very interesting experiment to me. I'm going to keep trying this whenever I feel like I can. I need to replace the core belief of "something bad is going to happen to me" with "God loves me and I can ultimately trust him," or something.

What is your core belief?

~Stephanie