Tag Archives: second track

Mental Health Monday: The monkey in my mind has thumbs.

Mental Health Monday, Recurring Themes, , , , , , , ,

From an evolutionary perspective, monkeys are very nearly people. Our genomes know it. And so do our brains.

For as long as I’ve been crazy (always), I’ve thought of what the Buddhists and Evolutionary Psychologists call the “monkey mind” as my second track.

My second track is that source of unceasing, never ending criticism; second guesses; should, would, and could haves. It doesn’t matter how concentrated I am on something else, something completely unrelated. The second track is always running.

Maybe I’m working on a manuscript about a community-based underage drinking prevention program. Yet my second track is likely stuck on some other common refrain – “you’re fat, so fat, gross and ugly and disgusting, get it under control, fat fat fat.” It’s unstoppable. Distracting. Painful. Damaging.

 

I first came across the monkey concept when I read Thank God for Evolution by the Revered Michael Dowd, a once-upon-a-time strict evangelical and biblical literalist who fought vehemently against evolutionary principles, but later came to embrace and even promote evolution as part of what he calls the Great Story. Although Dowd’s discussion of the  evolution of the human brain is somewhat simplistic and over-emphatic, he puts it into a really interesting perspective by diagramming it out using the different animals that have brains as evolved as the different sections of our own… including that monkey.

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Several years later, Dr. C explained it to me in the more zen sense — the Buddhist monkey mind being responsible for the incessant chatter many, most, probably all, of us experience. For over 5 years, Dr. C and I have worked and worked and worked on strategies to calm the monkey… quiet down the second track.

We’ve tried modifying or replacing the message. We’ve tried mindfulness practices, dissociating/separating from the chatter. We’ve tried finding and addressing the root issues (the perfectionism, weight concerns, anxiety, and so on). We’ve tried and tried and tried.

But seriously. The monkey in my mind seems to be a bit more advanced. I honestly think it might have thumbs. And it’s using those thumbs to hang on for dear life — refuses to be ejected, refuses to be quieted, refuses to leave me be.

It exhausts me and after so many years of incessant trying and failing to put the second track, the thumb-y monkey, to rest, I’ve reached a point where maybe I’ll have to accept that this is just how I am.

I said so to my psychiatric nurse practitioner a week or two ago – she tends to disagree. I suspect Dr. C will as well. And I guess that’s the best I can do for now; trust in my team of professionals. That’s got to be better than giving into the monkey, no matter how highly evolved he is.

Loudly, Clearly, Always

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Bad news bears: my knee SUPER hurts. Turns out, it’s very much more difficult to recover from a fall at the age of 31 than it was at the age of 26. Very much. I better quit this falling thing before I get too much older or I’m going to end up needing new joints way before my time.

BUT… good news bears: my new shoes came today and despite my extreme crotchitiness (uh huh– it’s a word), I went out for a quick (quick is a relative term, remember… and what I really mean by “quick” is, in fact, short… right) 2-mile run and they were super sweet. They’re just so bright and while appearance isn’t the most important thing about running shoes, it certainly doesn’t hurt.

BAM! So bright!!
BAM! So bright!!

Also, my heels weren’t bloody at the end. Sigh. I really needed new shoes. I always let it go way too long.

But anyway. What does Joan suggest we mediate on today?  Let’s see, shall we?

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind.” –Romans 12:2

Renewal of the mind…

And Joan?

“Exactly how does a person go about not being ‘conformed to this world’? We live in the belly of the beast. It is our politicians, our banks our business that cheat poor laborers, make the dirty military alliances, sell the weapons, hike up the interest rates. And we are the ones who buy from them, and elect them, and collect their dividends. Is there any hope for our own purity of soul in such a world as this? Is there any hope for mine? Well, Paul seems to think so. He says, ‘Be transformed by the renewal of your mind.’ Change the way you think, in other words. And say so. That’s what I must do. Whatever the ridicule, whatever the criticism, I must say so. Loudly, clearly, always. Then maybe someday I will find myself lost in a chorus of voices all shouting ‘no’ together. And then the world will change.” –Joan Chittister

I think Joan is talking about how our mind interacts with the external. And I don’t disagree. But for me, the thing that provides the ridicule and the criticism (frequently and loudly and constantly) is my second track.

Remember that bad boy? It’s been a while, eh?!

But it’s still there. And it’s been louder than loud as of late. I didn’t really recognize it until today– thank goodness for therapy. It’s like I pay someone to keep notes on my life and remind me of what’s what once a month. Good deal. So what do Dr. C and I think that I can do about it?

Four things:

1. Focus on helping other people;
2. Take my own advice after I spend time talking other people up;
3. Talk about the bad feelings;
4. And don’t let perfect be the enemy of good.

In other words, change the way I think.

So, here’s what I have decided to think. I think that I just endured a nasty storm and that, despite some minor damage, I’ve come through to the other side. I think that IVF is scary and that receiving my packet of info with all that crazy, crazy, crazy set me up for some major anxiety and that my husband heading out of town and working round the clock on a big, important grant made it harder to deal than usual. I think I dealt with all that by eating. By crashing. By dealing in the best way I could deal– not perfect, but good enough. Good. I’m good.

I think I am good.

Renewal of the mind.

I know it’s not that simple, really. But if feels alright right now. And I will keep saying that I am good — loudly, clearly, always.

A Creepy Ode to My Friend Krystal and a Reminder to Keep Trying

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This morning a beautiful e-card full of hummingbirds and flowers popped up in my inbox. It was from that crazy nice security guard who gave me a ride on Friday– he was thanking me for the doughnuts! All I wanted to do was thank him for being so kind on so many yucky days! Goodness gracious, do I ever love living in Wisconsin. The kindness in this place, it’s nearly overwhelming!

A Jacquie Lawson e-card. A huge smile on my face.
A Jacquie Lawson e-card. A huge smile on my face.

It’s the littlest things, isn’t it?

This is the reward for trying.

I was reminded of that all weekend. How important it is to try, even when you’re scared or shy or nervous or anxious. Trying makes all the difference.

You see, my friend Krystal came over this weekend (and she brought her husband and daughter with her– also kind of cool!) and I was stressing before hand. Why? I don’t know… but I always do. Krystal is super happy and kind and fun and pretty like you wouldn’t believe. She’s an amazing mom and crafty and hilarious and has excellent taste in movies and gorgeous, super long, curly hair. Every time I see Krystal I get nervous all over again that she’s not going to like me.

Except the first time I really met her, she proved me wrong right away.

Seth was one of Krystal’s husband’s groomsmen and I flew to Green Bay from DC for the wedding. I didn’t know them much at all– I just knew that they were cool (perhaps a little too cool for a nerdy girl like me) and that Seth loved them. I had to go to the rehearsal with Seth since he was in the wedding and what else was I going to do in GB (in January!) while he was busy with wedding stuff. I thought it would be awkward and I’d be out of place, but I wasn’t! At all! Krystal was so warm and kind and actually excited to meet me. Krystal’s one of those people who attracts people just like her too– her family was warm and kind, her friends were warm and kind, everyone there was just welcoming and happy and all around good to an overwhelming degree.

In my warped mind I kept thinking… but, she’s pretty!! how can this be? and yet it was, and my warped mind was w-r-o-n-g wrong. My second track tries to get it’s punches in every time I am going to see Krystal again, but when she gets out of her truck, smiles big, gives me a hug, squats down to pet my overly-excited pup and then gets excited that Curly still pees for her (Krystal is literally the only person who still gets excited pee from Curls, quite the compliment), I’m instantly at ease.

I don’t have any babies, but Krystal trusts me with hers. My dog is a maniac, but Krystal loves on her anyway. I’m not an exciting person, but Krystal is content to chill on the couch and watch movies. I make a lot of Harry Potter jokes, but Krystal always laughs at them. I tell Krystal a story about eating an entire can of Pringles, and Krystal tells me that not only did she eat an entire can of Pringles, but she did it laying down and got so many crumbs all over her chest that her husband threatened to take pictures.

The best part is that Krystal does all of this even though she’s seen me at my worst. I remember going to their house in GB one time when I was in the midst of a pretty deep depressive episode. I could barely force a smile and I was horrible, horrible company the whole weekend. Another time I had a migraine like you wouldn’t believe and all I wanted to do was lay down on a cold pillow in the quiet dark and pop a couple Excedrin every couple hours. They took me to the drugstore for Excedrin (sweet relief!) and made sure we had enough puppy chow (mmmmm… puppy chow…) to get through the weekend. (I really, really like puppy chow.)

It’s true that things don’t always work out as you’d hope, but trying is always worth it because it just might. My sister-friend* Melissa told me one time that while she’d prefer never to see me hurt, she would always prefer that I get hurt for trying rather than for not. (And FYI, she told me this on a phone call from the freaking Ritz-Carlton Laguna Beach while she was celebrating her birthday with her husband. Taking the time out to call me– crazy woman, and crazy good friend!!!!) Even though it’s scary and the prospect of not being well-received is difficult, it’s worth it for those instances in which you befriend a Krystal or make someone’s day with doughnut holes.

 

*On vacation, Melissa and I automatically become sister-wives and it’s awesome. Our husbands joke then that they are brother-husbands, but that’s ridiculous and doesn’t make any sense (obvs). We are sister-wives in that we cook together and hang out together and take care of the (Melissa’s) kids together… and all those things are more fun because of it. It’s so awesome! I’m pretty sure I would not dig the polygamy aspect of sister-wifery,** but the companionship part? Totally!

 

**Pronounced WHIFF-ery, not WIFE-ery… like the brothers Deslaurier on The Mindy Project.

What’s in a name? Everything, if it’s Grace.

Story Telling, , , ,
 

Dang– I’ve been missing a lot of posts lately.  Last night’s detour was completely necessary though.  I made four accidentally enormous candy corn jello shots last weekend and I needed to trick some people into eating them last night.  Only Sister Doctor fell for it.  At least they looked nice and festive even if they were mostly disastrous.

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Seems awesome, right? It’s not.

I have a nice story for you today to make up for it– get ready to find some grace!

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When I was in fifth grade one of our first classroom assignments was to draw a self portrait… but with a twist.

First, we had to look up the meaning of our name and then incorporate the meaning into our drawing.

So, I looked up Rachel.  The meaning?  Ewe.

Ewe?

So, I looked up ewe.

Lady sheep.  Nice.

My teacher was excited and thought I should draw myself with short, curly hair (wool, if you will) and little sheep ears.  Or not!  I was in fifth grade and I was a nerd.  I was not about to draw myself as a sheep.  Can you even imagine?  (Incidentally, that was the year of the shroom-cut.  Wool for hair?  Yeah, it could be worse…)

So Plan B: middle name.

And I looked up Ann.  (Which was my middle name before the Social Security Administration let me change it to anything I want– nothing too exciting here, but it could have been!!  I chose Vonck, my maiden name, just like my mom did.)

The meaning of Ann?  Grace.

Grace?  That was something I could work with.

So I drew my fifth grade version of grace.  I was wearing a long, red, Disney princess style dress and white, elbow length gloves.  Pearls around my neck and sparkly, dangling earrings from my ears.  Hair in a fancy up-do and perfect make up.  (All of this as a fifth grade illustrator, mind you, so nothing amazing.  I‘m sure it included blue eye shadow. It was nineteen-ninety-something after all.)

That fancy pants version of myself was what I thought of when I heard the word grace for a long time.

I think perhaps I had confused the idea of grace with the ideas of elegance, class, and finesse… to be graceful.

Or maybe confused is the wrong word.  Perhaps the real idea of grace was just beyond me at the time.  Which is likely considering that it’s still hard for me to grasp even today… many, many years removed from 5th grade.

Fortunately, I have spent much of the last… umm… approximately 20 years?  Yeah, about that.  So I’ve spent the last 20 or so years slowly figuring out what grace really means.

And WOW.

Even the limited understanding I have of the concept is enough to leave me somewhat floored.  It’s a powerful idea really, that you can be “flawed” and still be perfect.  That you can do “bad” things, but still be a good person.  That you can sin and yet you still have infinite opportunities to be forgiven and to be loved— even at your most unlovable moments.

Perhaps it’s cheesy to put too much stock in song lyrics, but I really think that Mumford & Sons say it so crazy succinctly and brilliantly and understandably in their song Roll Away Your Stone:

It seems that all my bridges have been burnt

But you say that’s exactly how this grace thing works.

It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart

But the welcome I receive with every start.

The whole song is great really, but I’ll play it on repeat again and again and again (especially while I’m running) just to hear that line.  I love it.  It resonates with me so strongly.  That idea, that we can always try again, no matter how bad it seems, is what I’ve searched for for a long time.

Want to know something kind of crazy?*  My little friend Emily, the one I keep telling you about– the amazing girl who colors my vision, survives my attempts at destruction, and is in so very many ways just like me… her middle name happens to be Grace.  And she is grace to me, because she gives me a chance to start over loving myself… and giving myself grace from the very beginning.  It’s powerful stuff.

Now, when I talk to her beautiful and amazing mama and hear about Emily’s struggles, it’s so meaningful to me because I can give Emily grace in the same situations in which I’ve so long been unable to give it to myself.

I really think we all deserve that from ourselves, even though it’s hard to do.  Forgiveness is difficult, even for other people, but I know I tend to hold myself to a ridiculously high (and largely unattainable) standard.  (But I’m sure you’re not like that…)  Life seems a little better with a dash of grace though.  When I can stop the second track for just a second to give myself a break, knowing that I can try again and do better next time.

I suggest starting with a pair of elbow-length satin evening gloves.  You can only go up from there.

 

*Ok, ok… that wasn’t really crazy.  Grace isn’t a terribly unpopular name.  But to me, it’s quite meaningful.  And if you knew Emily’s parents and knew how unbelievably graceful AND grace-giving they are, you’d really appreciate how big of a deal this is to me.  It’s big.  Bigger than my hair on a rainy July day in New Orleans.  Big.

The day I forgot my light.

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I forgot my light today.  Literally and metaphorically.

Literally:  I deal with persistent depression and as the days get rapidly shorter, my symptoms tend to worsen as a result of seasonal affective disorder (SAD– such an appropriate name).  As we head toward fall and the weather cools, the days quickly get shorter here in central Wisconsin.  And with every early nightfall, I can feel myself becoming more and more down.  Down in the dumps.

(Whew… I wrote that.  Depression.  I told you.  Sigh of relief.)

Last year, the brilliant nurse prescriber that I see to manage my symptoms (seriously love her– and I don’t mind paying for friends, whether they teach me pilates or prescribe me drugs) suggested that I get a light box to bring some sunshine into my life from October through April.  (Mexico helps too, but insurance doesn’t seem to get it.)  It makes a surprising difference!  Surprisingly gradual, yes… but that seems to be the nature of all things depression.

I intended to bring my light box to work with me this morning.  But I forgot.  Which presents issues for my metaphorical loss of light…

Metaphorically:  The down-in-the-dumps feeling pretty much feels just like that to me… like I came to work without my light.  My inner light (cheesy, I know)– the glow that fuels my smile and my general drive to a be a friendly, positive person; the person you want to read blog posts from.  That light… it’s dim.  Instead I want to sleep.  I want to hide.  I want to crawl back into my hole and shut out the world.

Depression is a silly thing like that.  (And don’t get upset– I know depression is not in fact silly, it is a serious issue, perhaps what I mean is more some combination of silly, weird, strange, abstract, I-don’t-know-what…)  I think it’s probably different to everyone who experiences it and for me, it’s totally a dampening of the light– never as quick as an an on/off switch or burnt out bulb.  More like a slow dimmer, the changing of the seasons and creep toward winter, the gradual graying of the bright orange charcoals in a fire pit.  So subtle that I have a hard time noticing at first… and it feels like all of the sudden, the tears come easy and the motivation to do even the things I love seems to have disappeared.

I love to read, but I don’t feel like picking out a new book.

My stomach is finally ready to run, but it seems like a lot of work to change my clothes and lace up my shoes. (But seriously, putting on a sports bra takes an annoying amount of work, don’t you think?)

There’s a new Parks and Rec on the DVR, but I’m afraid that I  won’t be able to laugh.

I have a Mexican vacation coming up in a week, but all I can think of are the stressors between then and now.  (Come on, brain!  Pina-freaking-coladas!!)

So many reasons to be happy (30 minutes of Leslie Knope on the DVR and 5 days of Melissa in Cabo!!), but my brain chemicals tell me NO.  And as much as I want the normalcy, the happy feelings, they allude me at the moment.

The light also keeps my second track in the shadows and lets me see past it, around it.  Without the light, the negative thoughts creep into my brain and around my heart and it takes so much work to remember that they are untrue.  The insidious black threads of negativity color my thoughts and my feelings… and even though they are superficial and meaningless, they are pervasive.

Too fat.  Too frizzy.  Too boring.  Not good enough.  Just give up.  Be sad.

But this time, I say NO.  Rationally, I know that I will get back to normal, I will be happy, and my light will be restored.  I just need to fan the flames by taking the steps I know help– bringing my light box to work, for example.

And this time, I’m also going to try sharing this with you.  Because it’s true that misery loves company, and as sad as I feel for other people who struggle with depression, I find it encouraging to know that I am not alone.

So maybe you struggle.  And maybe I can be the miserable company encouraging you.  Crazy encouraging.  Crazy.

 

Crazy I can do 😉

 

Comparison: The (Square) Root of All Evil

The Big Idea, ,

Comparison is an important concept in math and one of the most important math lessons you have to carry over into life.  (I often compare prices at the grocery store, it’s pretty rare that I solve differential equations.)  Comparison also has other useful functions.  Is this bluegill bigger or smaller than this sunscreen bottle?  (Bigger?  It’s a keeper!)  Is that bag of popcorn bigger or smaller than my stomach?  (Answer: it’s always bigger… and my stomach always hurts after a movie.)  But comparison can also be touchy when we apply it outside of math.

In my mind, and probably only in my mind, comparison is at the root of so many of our problems.  For most of my life, I’ve looked at another girl… and then another young lady… and then another woman… and seen how much (fill-in-the-blank)-er she is than me.  Prettier than me, taller, shorter, fatter, younger, older, cuter, smarter, etc, etc, etc… and that has always been my point of reference.  The place from which I begin my relationship with this girl… young lady… woman… before I even know her.

In thinking about these comparisons now, however, I realize that there is no way to truly compare myself to any other person on this earth.  The endless number of physical, emotional, intellectual, and even environmental and circumstantial characteristics that can be used to describe a person truly are unique to that person and are always changing.  I have my own set and it is literally impossible for the same set of characteristics to describe two separate people, even if only because two people cannot physically occupy the same space at the same time, assuming every other single thing is the same (which it’s not and never will be).

So how can I really compare?  It can never really be apples to apples.  So perhaps my life would be more enjoyable if I just enjoyed being an apple and accepted the orange for the orange that she is without feeling the need to point out how, as an apple, I’m more or less anything than the orange.

fruit 1

(Although… edible skin? Apple win!  But that’s not fair.  I really don’t like oranges at all.  Especially the way they smell.)

Granted, comparison isn’t always a bad thing.  We can learn so much from each other’s differences.  But the key is to use comparison to point us toward the unique quality in the other person rather than using it as yardstick for ourselves to measure up to.

Yes, yes, yes… all beautiful and thoughtful things to say.  But how do you put it into action?  How do you make that leap from bad comparison to good comparison?  I wish I had the answer.  I suppose the first step is admitting you have a problem.  So…

Hi, my name is Rachel, and I’m a compare-aholic.

(You, in unison now: Hi, Rachel!)

Thanks, friends.  Feels good to get that off my chest!

The weird thing: you will never be too anything to me.  (Yes, you.)  My comparison is always focused entirely on myself.  (How narcissistic of me!!!)  And as much as I try for good comparison (my friend Melissa is so much kinder than me, being around her makes me feel calm and grounded…) I often find myself focused instead on bad points of comparison (my friend Melissa is so good at eating vegetables, I embarrass myself eating around her).  (Both of those things are true by the way.  Melissa is the kindest, calmest vegetable-eater I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.)

The worst part of this crippling comparison syndrome is that I short change myself and miss out on opportunities for awesome things, like friendship, because I’m too busy comparing.  For example, I work with an amazing pediatrician on a regular basis– she is kind and interesting and so different from me in so many ways, I find her absolutely fascinating and I think I want to be her friend-friend (as opposed to just a work-friend).  (Good comparison!)  But, she is a beautiful and stylish physician (you know, first class doctor), and I hate myself for saying this, she is… thin… and therefore, would never want to be my friend.  (Bad, bad, bad comparison!)  So I find myself hesitating when I interact with her, afraid to say the wrong thing or wear pants that might “make me look fat” when I know I’m going to meet with her.  My rational self says, “Seriously?!  WTF is wrong with you?!”  while my jerk second-track prods me along down that self-limiting path.  Ugh.  That second track.

Am I the only one out there with this crippling comparison syndrome?  (No, pumpkins have it too.  Which is really unfortunate because everyone knows pumpkins actually are the best.)

fruit 2

 

PS: Do you like my math joke in the title?  Not a very good joke since I had to point it out, huh?  But I’m going to force it anyway.

What would you do if you weren’t afraid?

The Big Idea, , , , , , ,

Have you read the book Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg?

Yes?…  Excellent!

No?… I highly recommend it!  It’s truly excellent.  Link again, so you don’t have to scroll up.

Throughout the book, Sandberg asks her readers to “lean in” and actually do the things that they would do if they weren’t afraid.  My thing, my dream: start a blog!  (Should I be dreaming bigger?  Maybe…  this is just a start.)

Even the mere thought of putting myself out there makes my stomach churn and my second track (the negative, ever present, stream of thoughts that constantly plays through my head) say things like: “isn’t it a bit narcissistic to write about your own life?  who cares what you have to say?! no one is even going to read it!”  (Then my third tracks says: “and you’re going to put that on your blog?  You sound like a paranoid schizophrenic!”  But that’s a whole other series…)

So, I am working very hard to forget that track, to be done with the second guessing and the negative nelly-ness, and to lean in and do it anyway.  (Oooo… lean in italicized, that’s clever, I like it.)  To silence that second track: who else would I write about besides myself? Isn’t it a bit narcissistic, really, to think I could write about anyone else?  And if no one else wants to read it, that’s fine, at the very least, my mom is obligated.  (Hi, mom!  It’s cool if you just catch up before I visit.)   At any rate…  This is what I would do if I weren’t afraid.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m still afraid (omg, do you hate me?!), but I’m also leaning in and leaning past that fear and doing this thing… this thing I really want to do.  Woot woot!

Right, so the blog does have a point besides just being a thing I really, really want to do.

This is a blog about looking for the bigger picture, the blessings in disguise, and the long-awaited silver linings.  The name “Under the Tapestry” is based on a really great analogy for just that… the idea that we’re looking up at the messy underside and the tangled threads of a tapestry that, from the other side, is really rather nice.  More on that to come, of course– tomorrow, I present the idea in the form of a poem, a picture, and as a pseudo-quantum mechanical theory.  You know, for fun 😉  See you then!