During my very first session with Diana (the 2007 breakdown therapist), she kicked things off with some variation of the standard, “So, tell me what’s going on?” question.

I said, “I need some more joy, gratitude and abundance in my life.” I had rehearsed it several times and I thought it was a great first line (as far as sexy therapeutic pick-up lines go).  It was honest, upbeat and, most importantly, on the sane side of the crazy continuum.

Who knew that a midlife quest for such simple things would trigger a breakdown, ignite an emotional revolution and spark a fierce and unexpected spiritual awakening? Who knew that searching for joy, gratitude and abundance would mean spending an entire year  walking through fear and vulnerability AND excavating the blame, anger and self-righteousness that goes along with scarcity?

Seriously, why didn’t anyone prepare me for the humbling experience of becoming the kind of person that I’ve made fun of for 20 years? You know, an openly vulnerable weirdo with a soft, mushy heart and a penchant for arts and crafts.

Last week I was consumed by scarcity. It festers and grows and festers and grows. I’m getting better at recognizing it, but, unfortunately, I normally don’t put the breaks on until there’s some collateral damage.

Here’s what it is: In economics, scarcity is defined as the condition of human wants and needs exceeding production possibilities

Here’s the problem: Fear of needing more sleep, attention, validation and alone-time than can be produced by two well-meaning, first-born, rule-following parents with a 2 kids, 2 careers, and too much to do.

Here’s what it looks like:

There's a rhythm to it that always starts the same way:

Me: “Man, I’m tired.”
Steve: “Yeah. Me too.”
Me: “No, I’m really tired. Bone tired.”
Steve: “I hear ya. I’m wiped out.”
Me: Mumbling under my breath, but loud enough to hear, “Perfect. He’s tired too. What’s new?”

The scarcity soundtrack starts playing.

Me: “I need a break.”
Steve: “Sounds great.”  
Me: “Whatever.”

Music is louder and starting to drown out my better judgment.

Steve: “What’s wrong?”
Me: “Nothing. I’m good. In fact I’m just GREAT. I’m going to run to the store, drop off the cleaning, pick up a birthday present for the party this weekend, drop off Ellen’s camp form, take this new contract to the lawyer’s office, answer these 214 e-mails, get my article to the publisher before I miss my deadline; and get my eyebrows waxed. You get some rest.”
Steve: “OK”
Me: “OK???? OK??? Are you kidding me?”

Scarcity music is pounding . . . there’s not enough . . . we can’t both be tired . . . we can’t both have work to do . . . there’s not enough.

Me: “Perfect. Just frickin’ perfect. You’re going to watch TV and take it easy for a 20 minutes?”
Steve: “Yep. I’m wiped. Come sit down. Let’s rest for a few minutes then I’ll split the list with you.”
Me:  “Trust me. We can’t both rest. And, obviously, your rest is more important. So you just make yourself comfortable.”
Steve: No longer paying attention. Rolling eyes and focusing on DVD of “Lost: Season One.”

Scarcity music gives way to the martyr march. Off I go.  

I hate that scarcity grabs hold of us first. Steve is so reasonable. He really would scoot over, hand me the remote, and split the list. I just can’t do it. There’s too much to do. Time is running out. Got to do more. Now. I’m crawling out of my skin.

But here's the rub: when I don't keep my head down and soldier on, things don't get done. Important things. Big things that we both need to have done. Little things that make our family run smoother and work better. This is also part of the messy truth.

If the soldiering and scarcity is bad – like it was last week – it spills over to my friends and family. When I’m in a good place, a friend can have something without me needing it, being jealous or judging it. I can celebrate great things happening to and with other people without wondering when it’s going to be “my turn.”

In general, abundance means people can be different without being better or worse. Scarcity leads me to comparison and, as my friend Laura says, “Comparison is the thief of happiness.”  Who is the most tired? the most sad? the worst off? the best off?

After I posted my Love Thursday truth post, I prayed. Hard. I prayed for the only thing that moves me from scarcity to abundance: Grace. Both prayer and grace are new for me and I feel a little, "Can I get an amen?" as I type this; however, the more I see, the more I believe. And, the more I believe, the more I see.

Amazing. Grace.

On Thursday evening, I found myself in Amarillo, Texas, at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church. I was there for a potluck dinner and a lecture (I was giving the lecture). I left Houston exhausted and praying for grace. I found myself in Amarillo standing in grace and brimming with faith.  My night at St. Andrew’s was a deeply spiritual experience for me. The people were kind-hearted and open. They had gathered as a community to share a meal and learn more about shame, resilience and compassion. They embraced me as one of their own. I arrived tired and left renewed.

Amazing. Grace.

Ellen came with me on the trip so we could spend some time with my sister, Barrett, and her husband, Frankie, who live in Amarillo. There was sewing and giggling and snuggling. We all needed it.

Amazing. Grace.

On Friday morning I took a few minutes to catch up on my phone messages. There was a lovely message from my friend Marilyn. She’s a palliative care social worker, a therpist with a private practice, and a Cantor. She called to invite me to be her guest at a very special Women’s Seder this week. She is an extremely loving person and, for me, song is the most powerful form of prayer. I can hardly wait.

Amazing. Grace.

That same day I received an email from a wonderful Iranian women’s rights activist who thanked me for my work and told me that a copy of my book is finding its way to an Iranian library this week (there are lots of security issues). Iranian women are in tremendous struggle right now and need our support. It meant so much to me to hear from her.

Amazing. Grace.

Friday evening ushered in the beginning of a 3-day retreat for a group of deacons from the Episcopal Diocese of Northwest Texas. I led the workshop and, for three days, we laughed, cried, talked about compassion, burnout, faith, shame and hope.

The retreat was held right outside of Amarillo at a conference center that used to be a working ranch. I learned that coyote is really pronounced KY-OTE (there’s no EEEEE) and that roadrunners are actually called chaparrals. I learned that making eye contact with a mama owl that’s sitting in her nest with her two little babies gives me chills up my spine. I learned that watching the sun come up in Amarillo is a holy thing (see above). And, most importantly, I learned that there are some very special people who are quietly doing God’s work in West Texas. It was an honor to be with them.

Amazing. Grace.

Last, I shared my truth on this blog and you responded with more truth. Truly amazing. Truly grace. Thank you.

I came |this close| to putting up a cute picture of my kids, slapping a Love Thursday title on it, and calling it a post. But of course, that would have been dishonest and totally not in the spirit of the Shutter Sisters. Per usual, Karen seems to be roaming around in my head, wondering how she can provoke some honesty with this challenge: post a picture of something you love, but not a person.

I’m not feeling the love right now. I’m anxious and stressed. I’m worn down and worn out. I’d cry, but I’m too tired to find a box of tissue and too old to wipe snot on my sleeve.

My dig deep button is broken.

You know the dig deep button, right? Every woman I know has this button. It’s the button that you rely on when you’re too bone-tired to get up one more time in the middle of the night or do one more load of throw-up-diarrhea laundry or catch one more plane or return one more call or please/perform/perfect the way you normally do even when you just want to flip someone off and pull the covers over your head. My button is busted.

It’s going to take me a while to unpack the root causes of this funk, but I’m pretty sure the usual suspects are involved: exhaustion, fear, too much work, too little self-care . . . you know the list. On the surface, I was shitty to a good friend, cried for hours over something I thought was resolved, and got caught procrastinating. Puke.

I’m also flirting with this old thinking: “OK people, I’ve said I’m tired. Can’t you see how grumpy and miserable I am? I’ve been pretty clear that my coping skills are all but gone. What’s it going to take for you to take notice and give me some relief? Do I need to go completely crazy? Throw a totally huge fit? Have a complete and total breakdown? Is that really what you want? Are you sure? WHAT DO I NEED TO DO TO MAKE YOU BELIEVE MY BUTTON IS BROKEN?”

This is the part that totally sucks about therapy, self-work and getting sane. I know the answer doesn’t involve blaming anyone else for “not noticing.” The answer is to stop pushing the broken button. Take what you need. Ask for help. Say no rather than saying, “Sure, I’ll do it, but my button is broken I’ll resent the shit out of you while I’m doing it.”

I would like a few days alone in my house.

I would like to watch a lot of Law & Order, work out when I feel like it and sit in the backyard, by myself.

I would like to spend 4 hours on Etsy and not have to worry about getting back to work or picking up kids or going grocery shopping.

I would like to wake up early and not have to tiptoe through the house praying that I don’t wake anyone up until I’ve brushed my teeth and had one cup of coffee.

I’d like to get my house totally clean, light candles, sit on the couch and know that it will look that way for more than 20 minutes.

I’d like to not feel guilty about wanting these things.

I’d like to not flood myself with thought like, “Something horrible could happen to your kids and then your house would be super clean – would that make you happy?” Or, “Steve is always happy to take the kids to visit grandparents so you can get some downtime – I hope they don’t get in an accident because you needed to “find yourself.” STOP!

I'd like to remember that I don't need all of these things all of the time, just enough to keep the button working.

So, Karen . . . this Thursday, I love the truth.

I’m going to ask for what I need.

I’m going to admit that I wait until the stress gets so bad that taking time for myself is no longer a choice, but a necessity, thereby alleviating my guilt and wacko thinking.

I’m going to choose to be vulnerable rather than pissed off and resentful.

I’m going to show my real, crazy, tired, struggling self on this blog and choose to believe that I’m not alone.

Part One – I Peel

Those of us who teach and train therapists and mental health professionals often rely on the “peeling the onion” metaphor to help students understand the gradual and layered process of learning about clients and their issues. New therapists often want to take a cleaver to the onion during the first session. As you can imagine, this doesn’t work out too well. Lots of tears and terminations.

The onion peeling skills are extremely helpful with kids. During kindergarten, I experimented with all kinds of questions and, by the end of the school year, finally learned what questions lead to meaningful afterschool conversations with Ellen. Of course, I’m not one to spend much time on grade talk - I feel like I get enough academic feedback with graded work, progress reports, report cards and student conferences. I want to know about the social-emotional side of things.  The answers to these questions tell me a lot and are great jumping off points for conversations:

1. What was your high?
2. What was your low?
3. Who did you sit with at lunch? Tell me about it?
4. Who did you play with at recess? Tell me about it?
5. Who moved their pin today? (class behavior program)

A few weeks ago, Ellen’s high and low were both “playing soccer” at recess. She loves soccer, but she said that her and her BFF are “so tired of being THE REST.”  I peeled a little more, “What do you mean when you say, THE REST?”  (If you’re trying to picture this conversation, I’m usually driving or fixing dinner. I’m not sitting down in a chair while she’s lying on a couch, Freud style. In fact, I find it works best when she’s in her natural, active groove).

Ellen looked at me and said, “You know. When they pick teams.”  I forced a hard swallow, trying to keep my own inner 3rd grader from crying. Ellen went on,“They always say, I’ll take Susan, Brent, John and Harry.  You can have THE REST.”  

We spent a lot of time talking about THE REST. I had to work very hard to keep my hurt memories of team-picking in check. I've always been careful not to dismiss her experiences when my gut reaction is, "trust me, this isn't a big deal." Working on my parenting study taught me that doing the opposite - assigning or assuming hurt when there may not be any - is also a big block to empathy. It's so frickin' hard for me to stay with her, where she is, when I'm fighting off the urge to kill people or start crying.
 
In the end, she said it was worth being THE REST to play soccer, but she'd probably start switching between soccer and other games that her BFF liked better. So reasonable. So balanced.

Speaking of reasonable and balanced, you'll  be happy to note that I resisted the urge to beat up any 3rd grade soccer captains OR say bad things about how they were raised OR make fun of their parents (this time).

Two weeks later, Ellen comes home with this high: "I made two big saves during the first game and they picked me by name for the second game!”  She’s been Ellen and THE REST off and on since.

Part Two – Ellen Peels

Last week, Ellen spotted me on the couch looking dejected. She walked up, sat down next to me and rubbed my shoulder. “What’s wrong, Mom?”  I explained that last year I was invited by a very famous place to lead a weekend retreat on my work in July and to  participate in a big conference with a lot of very famous people in my field in September. I told her that I was excited about seeing my name and picture alongside the names of these really well-known people. I told her, “I thought if my picture was next to their pictures, it would mean that I’ve reached a goal.”

She was listening to me so hard that I wasn’t sure she was breathing. Then I pulled out the brochure and showed it to her. Her eyes darted all over the page. She traced her finger over the words. Then she looked up at me and said, “Well Mom, looks like you’re THE REST.”

I took a deep breath and said, “Yep. I’m THE REST.” She then took the words from our earlier conversations and shaped them into her own: “I see your picture on lots of things. You know how it goes. Sometimes you’re the captain and sometimes you’re THE REST. It just depends on who you’re playing with.”

 
Ellen strutted away from our conversation. I could tell she was so pleased by her ability to help me. I had to fight off the voice of fear that kept whispering, "Don't you want her to think you're perfect?" There is a part of me, of course, that wants her to think that I'm perfect, but there's a bigger part of me that is working really hard so she doesn't inherit my perfectionism. It was a pretty great moment.

Random updates:

1. Remember the "Bird Killed with Axe as Ostrich Watches" post? (If you're a new visitor, I think it's worth reading and watching the videos). After reading all of the thought-provoking comments, I decided to pull my head completely out of the sand and email Unilever. They actually emailed back and I just updated the post with their response and my thoughts on burying the bird.

2. Lent officially ended today and I can tell you that giving up my fear of photography for 40 days changed my life. I'm not sure if my photography has improved, but I've fallen in love with my camera. The whole world looks different. There's beauty everywhere I look. I'm still not experienced enough to capture it the way I see it, but I see it so much more clearly now. It's truly been a spiritual experience.

3. Also, I stuck to my Lent card commitment and I think I'm almost back in the habit (which was the point). I've had so much fun buying and sending cards. Right now, I'm loving the cards from Curly Girl Design (love her ultra-cool website too)! In May, Kelly Rae Roberts will also start offering cards based on her incredible art - can't wait!

4. Speaking of little notes . . . I've been leaving my hope notes all over town, but I just can't get any good pictures. I'm such a first-born-rule-follwer that I get nervous leaving the notes and by the time I pull out my camera, my palms are sweating. I've dropped my little point and shoot camera twice. I know that anonymously spreading hope is a worthy cause, but I'm not very good at undercover work. I'm the kid who almost had a nervous breakdown trying to make it back to base during hide-and-go-seek.

5. Last, and probably least due to frustration, the email notification for my blog isn't working. I know a lot of you aren't RSS feed people and I've received emails asking for a new email notification option. I'm working on it!

 

Happy Things:

1. Last weekend, my mom, Ellen and I went to a gourd painting class at Casa Ramírez - one of the best stores in Houston. The class was taught by nationally renown folk artist, Laura López Cano. It was a powerful experience for me. I've never painted anything in my life and I found it to be both terrifying and liberating. Laura and I had a wonderful conversation about courage and creativity (more to come on that topic).

2. My blog made the Squarespace Example page! I'm full of hee-hee-hee's and ya-hoos! I love Squarespace and highly recommend it if you're thinking about starting a blog. (btw - I still think "blockheads" is the perfect name for Squarespace junkies - their logo is a little green square). 

3. I was able to pull myself out of crazy-mother-vacation mode pretty quick and, after issuing several rounds of apologies, our trip to "Port A" was wonderful. We've been spending spring breaks and summers in Port Aransas for 20 years. We stop at the same little store on HWY59 to get kolaches and jerky. We eat at the same restaurants, fish and feed the seagulls from the same pier, and play on the same stretch of beach. New places are fun, but there is something special about tradition.

Yes, my sisters and I have the same feet.

Have a great Monday! If you have any random thoughts on the random updates or happy things to share, I'd love to hear from you!