This Might Might Be Completely and Utterly a "Me" Problem

As happens a lot, I had a revelation about three quarters of the way through this post, which resulted in a totally unexpected worldview shift. Come along for the journey below 😂

I've been procrastinating a blog topic for a while now because...well, for two reasons. 1) It's a big topic. It's going to require a lot of thinking/processing/wrestling, and I haven't felt like doing that. 2) People are going to have Opinions, and I don't need them. It'd be too harsh to say I don't care about people's opinions, it's just that they won't factor into what I decide to do. In a way it feels misleading to blog about this (especially if I'm going to share the link to Facebook) and also be disinterested in conversation about the topic.

Okay, so what is the topic? My postpartum philosophy/plans.

There are two extremes and a million happy mediums in between. The two extremes: Bounce Back Boss Babe, and Healing Hibernating Hippie.

Bounce Back Boss Babe
You birth your baby and as quickly and seamlessly as possible get back on your feet cooking, cleaning, running errands, and taking your trendily dressed baby with you on light jogs.

- Very appealing from a pride standpoint—people will comment on how you have it all together, you can fake making motherhood look easy
- Required to some degree by American society. Even my company—which I LOVE working for and relies on family culture—only provides two weeks of paid maternity leave.
- What I saw growing up—especially from my dance teachers. They danced until they went into labor, and then sometimes performed in the recital like a week or two postpartum. Talk about #goals...right?

Healing Hibernating Hippie
Postpartum is treated as a sacred transitional time, where the mother is shielded from all strain and responsibility for weeks, fed in a way that prioritizes her healing, and cautioned against hosting visitors.

- Very appealing from a holistic, body-respectful standpoint—the first forty days of postpartum can allegedly make or break your entire experience of new motherhood
- Unquestionably accepted, nearly enforced, in many Eastern and Native American cultures.
- Radically different from anything I've ever seen anyone do. Granted, most women's postpartum experiences are pretty private (another Western thing), so I don't really know their approaches, but I'm guessing they didn't have a team making every single meal or keeping them warm around the clock.

I just started reading a book called The First Forty Days. I registered for it thinking that it was a cookbook on how to nourish a new mother, and it is...but around the first 55% is actually more philosophical. It's sparked a lot of feelings for me, most of which are summed up in this text to Cassidy:

It's probably that last sentence that really gets me. As a child, I was often told that I was lazy and selfish, which I've blogged about before. Although everyone in my life now tries to reassure me that that isn't true, internalized beliefs are hard to shift. Plus, both sides of my personality would like me to choose the Boss Babe approach to postpartum, albeit for different reasons.

The ENFJ in me desperately wants to behave in the most socially appropriate, commendable way. She doesn't want to be labeled as demanding or inconsiderate; she doesn't want people to talk about her behind her back; she doesn't want to ask more of her village than she has done for others. Yes, I've brought friends a meal or two—but I've also held the baby and watched the new mother do dishes or fold laundry, which is a huge No No in the Hibernating Hippie approach.

The Eight in me desperately wants to show the world how tough and capable I am. Due to sheer luck and the grace of God, I've had an extremely healthy, easy pregnancy. The Eight wants to carry that into postpartum and motherhood, proving that my mind and body are exceptionally strong. Not only does she shirk asking for help (something in common with the ENFJ), she shirks the idea of even needing it.

To be honest, I think I could get the Eight on board easier than the ENFJ. The Eight understands that the body keeps the score. Nourish the body and everything else becomes easier. I also really WANT to embrace the Hibernating Hippie approach, and the Eight thrives on fighting for what I want, even when it might make people annoyed or gossipy.

But I know that community is a powerful factor in motherhood, and community is the ENFJ's domain. She's the one who maintains and repairs relationship, and monitors when I'm being too "extra."

Obviously there are a million shades of medium between the Boss Babe and the Hibernating Hippie, and I'm sure I'll color myself accordingly when the time comes. It's just...modern American culture kinda sucks. I've been thinking so when it comes to religion for a long time, and now I'm learning that the suck extends to postpartum expectations too.

Gabe and I have an INCREDIBLE village, people who have already told us that they want to help in whatever way is most helpful and that they never want us to feel alone.

So...I am just now realizing that this might be completely and utterly a Me problem. No one has told me that I'm "extra." I've already said that people insist that I'm not lazy or selfish.

Wait, is the problem with postpartum that moms often can't make themselves ASK for help, not that their villages wouldn't show up?

*stares out the window for several seconds*

Is my real problem the vulnerability element? I don't want to appear weak or look disheveled in front of people? I don't want to be the first mom in my millennial circle to embrace a more traditional postpartum philosophy?

Well damn, now the Eight is really perking up. She might even be ready to take on the ENFJ.

I guess get ready for me to ask you for meals and help with chores cuz...we might be doing this.

~Stephanie

Permanently Scarred

I like to get a tattoo about seven and a half years XD I now have two.

Honestly, my first tattoo barely counts. When I went to the shop to get the second one, the artist asked if I'd ever gotten a tattoo before, and I said, "Barely. Like point five." The asterisk sits behind my ear where I can't see it (a very important requirement of a tattoo for me) and is slowly blurring because it was done slightly too small.

Cassidy and I first started talking about getting matching/best friend tattoos in May of 2023. One idea we threw out was a minimalist cat-eye eyeliner wing, our signature style in high school. We'd be getting ready together and one of us would lean away from the mirror, turn to the other, and say, "Mkay" and the other would scrutinize the wing angle, thickness, and length, and then give critique. You'd have been hard pressed to find more symmetrical wings when we walked out together.

But that tattoo would've been tough for a few reasons, including getting the shape and size just right (and you heard how important that is to us) and knowing where on the body to place a line of eyeliner. That idea faded, but the concept of matching tattoos never did.

Last July, Cass had the idea of getting tattoos that coordinated rather than straight-up matched. That made a lot of sense because while we've been best friends for about thirteen years, we are extremely different in most ways.

Cassidy enjoys being home; I could be happy living out of a van.
I'm impulsive; Cassidy is a researcher.
Cassidy is an Enneagram Nine, the Peacemaker; I'm an Enneagram Eight, the Challenger.
I have a phobia of vomiting; Cassidy doesn't mind throwing up so much.
Cassidy could have her arm blown off and say nothing; I will let you know if I have a hangnail.
I can live with mystery and unspilled tea; Cassidy needs to know all the things.
I embrace conflict as a way of increasing intimacy; Cassidy would rather live in peace as much as it is possible with her.
No one has ever accused me of being easygoing, whereas that is one of Cassidy's trademark characteristics.
Cassidy loves animals; I am allergic to cats and scared of dogs.
I would rather be hot than cold; Cassidy would rather be cold than hot.
Cassidy loves hoodies and cozy clothes; I love crop tops and generally wearing as little as possible.
My favorite season is summer; Cassidy's is winter.
I'm intense; Cassidy is calm.
Cassidy is a night owl; my mood is tied to the amount of sunlight I can get.

One might even say we're as different as the sun and moon.

*finger guns*

Now, I struggled a little bit with the idea of being the sun, because I'm obsessed with the moon and its phases. However...let's be real: I am not the moon.

After settling on this concept, there were still a lot of decisions to be made, like where and what exactly to get. Because of my OCD, it's important that I not be able to see my tattoos; I will obsess over any perceived imperfection. I had put a temporary tattoo on the back of my elbow in May 2023, and loved that placement.

And that temporary tattoo had actually been the sun symbol from Tangled.

It is important to me for my tattoos to have layers of meanings. While I love tattoos, I need a lot of symbolic bang for the buck when it comes to permanently scarring my body. Getting matching tattoos with my best friend was the main event, but if I got the sun from Tangled behind my elbow...

It would be a symbol of a bright spot in my very dark November of 2010.
It would champion the Disney movie Gabe and I think is criminally underrated.
It would match the temporary tattoo I had when I visited Paw Paw for the last time.
It would remind me of the last night of the beach trip, where we watched Tangled and I got to breathe the same air as some of my best friends (and even lean against Aaron).
It would remind me of the core of myself, which is more like Rapunzel than I'm usually comfortable admitting.

So, it was settled. Cass and I pored over styles and images of moons, and tattoo artists' Instagram pages. We chose an artist. We chose a date.

Two days before, I had this thought and texted Cassidy:

Growing up, I was discouraged from getting tattoos because "they're a permanent reminder of a temporary decision." What if they're a permanent reminder of a decision you've been confident in for six months? A year? Thirteen years? The reality is, Cassidy's friendship has marked me whether or not I choose to represent it on the outside. There are lots of permanent things in the world (including having children); permanence in and of itself is a neutral quality.

And when your best friend is involved, it might be one of the biggest blessings in your life.

~Stephanie

Insatiable

When Gabe and I have a nice date or a fun conversation or an amazing trip, Gabe enjoys the experience and then is glad to part with it and move on with the happy memory.

I never want it to end.

I have an insatiable appetite for fun/experiences. If something is good, I want it to keep going. It doesn't compute for me that someone can both be enjoying something AND want—or even accept—its conclusion. There are plenty of times that I do want something to end, but it's because I'm no longer having a great time. Maybe I have been, but the amazingness is winding down or wearing off. It's hard for me to believe that's not the case for everyone. I feel like if someone is ready for something to end, they are no longer having a good time. If I'm with them in such a scenario, I believe I am not fun enough to keep them engaged. They have gotten bored and/or tired of me.

This means that if Gabe and I are having a great evening together, I feel an invisible cloud of doom hanging over us: he is waiting for things to wind down so that he can move on to something else; I have a chokehold on the happiness and I'm trying to make it so good that he can't possibly want it to be over.

As you can imagine, this takes a toll on fun experiences. I begin mourning their ends prematurely; Gabe feels compelled to reassure me that he IS having a good time, but we DO still have to go home/go to sleep/go inside/etc. I always feel like he can't genuinely be having a good time if he is okay with things ending, and he always feels like he's raining on my parade. I fear that he's going to end a fun conversation before I'm ready (which is never), and he fears that he'll hurt my feelings when he does.

When I was little, one of the refrains I heard constantly whenever I was doing something "cute" or playing with adults was "part of having fun is knowing when to stop." As an enneagram Eight (craves intensity) with a Seven Wing (craves more), this translated into guilt for apparently involving people in things that they weren't enjoying, and a paranoia that there would never be enough of the world for me. Someone else would always get tired first. Someone else would always leave the party first. Someone else would always get over me first. I would always be left standing alone, wanting more from every situation long after everyone else had gotten their fill and gone home.

Am I envious of people who can be content with conclusions? Honestly no. I would rather everyone else expand their capacity for fun XD However, since that has proven unlikely and the only thing I can control is myself, I know the solution is to work on being content. I need to work on a) being present so that I don't have regrets about missing things in the moment, and b) cherishing memories without living in the past.

I've never been good at living in the present. When I was little (like birth until age sixteen), I dwelled in the past mostly. I got nostalgic super easily and mourned friends that I didn't see anymore or places I no longer lived.

Since college, I've been bad about living in the future: when we have kids, when we have a house, when the Fire Faery Story is published...

Right now is nice, I guess. I'm at Local Roots and it's sunny and warm enough to sit outside. In a few minutes I'll leave, and I guess it isn't because I'm not having a good time anymore, but because I've finished my thought and I have other things to do.

I dunno.

~Stephanie

"That Hurt My Feelings": Part 3

Disclaimer: There's a chance I'm just in a bad mood [June 24]. I may still decide to publish this, for tRAnsPaRenCY, but we'll see.

A minute ago, I was flipping through old posts on this blog and I found these: "That Hurt My Feelings": Part 1 and "That Hurt My Feelings": Part 2.

Those posts feel so far away*. I had forgotten that for twenty-five years I didn't know the difference between being "open" and being "vulnerable."

To be honest, I feel nostalgic for the person I was back then. Remember when nothing hurt my feelings? Remember when I was fine? Remember when I could handle whatever? Those were the damn DAYS, man.

And I could go back to them, easily. I can turn off my feelings. (Gabe compared this ability to a vampire's ability to "turn off their humanity" in The Vampire Diaries. Accurate.) When I'm watching something that might be heartstring-tugging, I can turn off the part of me that would feel it. I used to live like that 24/7 because...well, to be honest, I don't think I knew another way to be. I don't think I realized that there was a doe-eyed little crybaby lurking inside of me. I thought non-vulnerable me was me. And maybe she was/is, I don't know.

Ever since learning about the Enneagram, I've been making an effort to grow in this area. I've been trying to tell more people (and by "more" I mean like two, in addition to Gabe) when they hurt my feelings. I've been trying to feel more.

Telling People When They've Hurt My Feelings: A Review
"4/10, cannot recommend yet. More than half the time it ends with a 'Sounds like a You problem; you're too sensitive.' The other 40% of the time, when the person owns it and apologizes, it makes you feel instantly sheepish and embarrassed, like you were in the wrong for being hurt in the first place. I give the practice 4 and not 0 because I'm trying to trust the process. I trying to believe that one day it'll feel like progress instead of masochism."

Feeling More: A Review
"3/10, cannot recommend yet. I'm sadder more often. I have to be more careful about what I watch/read/listen to, if I'm gonna do it with my feelings turned on. Gabe appreciates my effort. I think his Four heart is encouraged to see me feel more. I'm sure he'd defend what he sees as progress. It doesn't feel like anything to me, except being weaker."

So far, trying to become a more vulnerable person does not make me feel stronger. It makes me feel weaker. I don't know if I'm not doing it right, or if it's a process that takes—apparently—longer than three and a half years. I can't think of ANYTHING I've tried to do for that long and felt no progress on. I feel like I'm touchier, moodier, and less fun to be around. Regular life feels like a battle I've decided to walk into without armor.

I think maybe I'm just in a bad mood right now. I told someone [not Gabe, obviously] that he hurt my feelings today and he responded by saying I was being a "brat" and a "baby." Most of me agrees with him. The temptation to "turn off my humanity" is so strong. I could absolutely stop feeling. It's difficult for me to remember why that's not the best option for everyone.

On an intellectual level, I understand that broadening my capacity for sadness should also broaden my capacity for joy, but I was pretty joyful before all this junk. I would not say that I experience more joy now than I did then. I definitely experience more sadness.

Is this normal? How long is it supposed to take before vulnerability and feeling things pays off? Or maybe this just isn't for me?

I'll try to come back to this when I'm not feeling...like this.

~ Stephanie

* Oh jeez, I just realized that that's the time I said I'd been struggling ever since. Have I been struggling because of this openness/vulnerability revelation? Did I accidentally break myself in 2019? XD

The Only Reason You Should Read This is If You Want to Know About the War Inside My Brain

And possibly to become aware of the one inside your own.

Y'all know I've gotten a lot out of the Enneagram. It's been the biggest game changer for Gabe's and my growth in communication. It's helped us have a lot of moments where we go, "Ohhh, you're not mean/stupid/weak/oblivious, you're just seeing this in a completely different way than I am, and THAT'S why this is so painful/annoying/infuriating/confusing. Why don't you try to see X, and I'll try to see Y, and let's try this again."

I'm an Enneagram Eight, which means my core fear is betrayed or controlled; my most accessible emotion is anger; and I prefer to make decisions based on gut instinct, followed closely by reason, and I have to reach much deeper down to access my heart/feelings.

However, I've actually struggled a lot which whether I'm really an eight. Gabe and Cassidy are sure that I am, and their combined knowledge of me + the Enneagram leads me to believe they're right.

But I am so unlike other Eights.

Enneagram is cool because it allows for lots of variation. It's like me saying, "Stephanie is a white female with brown hair and green eyes." There are MILLIONS of other people on the planet who fit that description, and ZERO of them really look like me. Likewise, the fact that I'm an Eight means that I'll have some core things in common with other Eights, but I'll still be a completely different person.

But, I repeat, I am so unlike other Eights.

Enter MBTI.

For a while, Gabe and I had been wanted to learn more about Myers-Briggs personality types. And by that I mean, I've been wanting to learn about it, but haven't been willing to do the research, and Gabe will only do research via books and not the internet, so we were waiting for Christmas when we both knew I was going to get him books on the subject.

Which I did.

Gabe spent a lot of Christmas break reading about this type of personality assessment. Then we talked about it, and we discovered another game changer for me.

I've always thought that I was an ENTP ("The Debator") or maybe an ENTJ ("The Leader"):

an Extroverted (prefer to DO things rather than THINK about things)

iNtuitive (make leaps rather than love information)

Thinking (as opposed to Feeling)

Perceiving (see the world descriptively—the way things simply are)

or

Judging (see the world prescriptively—considering the way things should be)

Gabe cautiously put to me that he thought I was actually an ENFJ: a Feeling type rather than a Thinking type.

My whole life, I've believed that thinking is superior to feeling. In fact, feelings can sit quietly or get out. Intelligent people don't use feelings to make decisions. Some people may include feelings in a decision-making process, and that's fine if they need to do that to make themselves feel better, but really, the ideal way is to use reason and logic alone. Sort of like the apostle Paul and marriage: like, if you have to, fine, but not if you can resist.

My Enneagram Eightness fully supports this mindset. Go with your gut, make sure it makes sense, then move on. My whole life, I've cultivated my faculty of thinking and tried to become more and more reasonable. I equated becoming more reasonable with becoming smarter, wiser, and more actualized.

But...MBTI isn't about what you've cultivated—it's the opposite. MBTI is about your natural, initial, easiest-to-access preferences. MBTI says that everyone should work on cultivating their non-preferred "letter." Healthy Extroverts should develop their Introvert muscles, iNtuitive types should develop their ability to Sense, Thinkers should develop their Feeling skills, and Perceivers should develop their Judging faculties. MBTI isn't about limiting you; it's about helping you see where your natural limits are so that you're aware of them enough to move beyond them.

The very fact that I've spent my whole life leaning into Thinking as hard as I possibly can, with every tooth-gritted fiber of my being, so help me God, might be an indication that that is not my natural tendency.

It would also explain a lot of the asterisks and struggles to my being an Eight.

Eights thrive on controversy; ENFJs are friendly and considerate.

Eights are feelings repressed; ENFJs are feeling dominant.

Eights are generally in the "facts don't care about your feelings camp"; ENFJs are acutely aware of the way people are feeling.

Eights have tough shells; ENFJs are sensitive to criticism.

Eights just want to do their own things and let other people do their own things; ENFJs are kindergarten-teacher-type helpers.

Eights are big-pictured minded and tend to steamroll; ENFJs want to slow down and hear your life story, and how you feel about it.

Eights don't particularly care what you think about them; ENFJs want to be fun and popular.

Gabe and I really believe I'm both these types.

My Eightness + the way I was raised led me to bury my Feeling self as deeply as I could. Eights don't want to be hurt, and having feelings is the way you get hurt.

When I discovered I was an Eight, it was like unlocking the key to why I was the way I was—but there were also things that didn't make sense. Like, why did I sometimes shy away from confrontation depending on the makeup of the group I was in? Why was I sometimes more likely to validate someone's perspective, when in another context, I might eviscerate it with logic? Why did arguments sometimes make my chest squeeze when Eights were supposed to love them?

These questions made me feel weak and wrong—the Eightness again.

I know I don't need some stupid personality test to give me permission to feel—but in a (stupid, embarrassing) way, MBTI kind of did that for me. It explained why I feel sensitive to people's emotional states even though another part of me loves confrontation and arguments. It explained why I don't always assert myself and my point of view with all the conviction of a CEO-type Enneagram Eight.

I know some people are going to read this and roll their eyes, thinking, "Yeah, this is literally why personality tests—both Enneagram and MBTI—are silly and useless. These two paradigms are telling you something completely different. Clearly one of them (I mean, both of them, if we're being rational) is incorrect. People cannot be reduced to 'types' and any attempt to do so will lead to wild rationalization of results, and tons of asterisks and exceptions. People just are who they are; there are no types."

To which my ENFJ says, "I totally get that. People are super complicated. Personality types might not be for you, although I really think you'd benefit from doing a legitimate study of them—like reading books and talking to experts, not taking quizzes on Google and following Instagram accounts. Don't be dismissive of something you don't fully understand."

You don't wanna know what my Eight says.

~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

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

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

All In

(Handy Reference Post)

"I'm all in, palms out, I'm at your mercy now and I'm ready to begin.
I am strong, I am strong, I am strong enough to let you in.

I'll shake the ground with all my might
I will pull my whole heart up to the surface.
For the innocent, for the vulnerable,
I'll show up on the front lines with a purpose

And I'll give all I have, I'll give my blood, I'll give my sweat,
An ocean of tears will spill for what is broken.
I'm shattered porcelain, glued back together again,Invincible like I've never been."
~"Eight" by Sleeping At Last

Eights are intense. The songwriter of Sleeping At Last, Ryan O'Neal, says that "when Eights use the word 'all,' they really mean it."

When I finally decided that Gabe was safe—that he loved me and was trustworthy and would not exploit my vulnerability—I was all in. ALL in. Palms out, at his mercy, and ready to begin. Let's do this. Let's—honestly, let's both of us—get to know me. I'm open. I'm out there.

I became strong enough to let him in, which is the craziest thing I've ever done. And so far, I haven't regretted it.

I interpret the last two sections of the song as what an Eight—what I—can do: inflict (weird word choice, I know) incredible positive change on the world. When Eights are healthy, they shake the ground for all the right reasons: for the innocent, for the vulnerable. My own fierce protectiveness has the potential to shield people who need that. The sword I laid down to let Gabe through can be wielded on behalf of other people. 

Eights are theoretically awesome humanitarians, whether through an organization or just in their circle of friends. Healthy Eights show up on the frontlines with a purpose. They give all (ALL) they have: blood, sweat, an ocean of tears. They want to right the wrongs, protect the vulnerable. You want a healthy Eight on your side.

A completely healthy Eight, one who has pulled her whole heart up to the surface (which I think probably means being vulnerable with more than just one or two people), is invincible like she never could have been with her heart buried. Strong enough to be vulnerable. Strong enough to let people in. Strong enough to acknowledge how much about the world is painful to her.

The song builds to apex of intensity—a musical scream of power and love—before everything drops into silence, leaving the listener wondering, "Then what? THEN WHAT?" And the Eights of the world smile slowly and ask themselves,

"Yeah. Now what?"

And then they go and do it.

~Stephanie