Stepping stones
On gratitude, love, and being okay with not being okay
Greetings, Beautiful Humans!
I've not forgotten you! Like, at all. I have, in fact, often opened my Braille Cave folder with longing, before conceding defeat and shutting down my Braille tablet. I hope my sporadic entries of late do not send the message that I am any less committed than usual to you, Cave Dwellers! In other words: THANK YOU from the bottom of my queer, green, blind little heart, for hanging on as long as you have. I've not given you much reason to stay over the past months, but yet, here you still are! You know, it's true that writing, because it's so solitary, can sometimes feel like howling into a void. A mournful, lugubrious howl at the moon ... because my spirit animal is a wolf, so, obviously! But somehow, in this rainbow Braille Cave you've all helped me co-create and support, I find a lot of solace and feel quite held, because, y'all could have hit that unsubscribe button and walked away A LONG time ago, but for whatever reason, you haven't, and that means a GREAT deal to me!
So, real talk: I've ... not been well of late. That applies any way you slice it: physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, it's all been a bit of a jumbled mess. But I'm learning to live with the mess, to accept that it's just gonna be there for a while, and I guess that's all any of us can ask of ourselves, isn't it? My back injury has felt like a boomerang, with 1 careful measured step forward eventually bouncing me a hell of a lot of steps back to square 1. I've NEVER had a back injury like this, but then again, I've never herniated a disc before, either, so ... there's a first time for everything, right? What's literally been kicking my ass the most has been the sciatic nerve pain that radiates down into my left leg, but which mostly likes to hang out on the left side of my behind. (You are all learning FAR more about my anatomy than you need to, but so it goes, all part of the word vomit that is par for the course on this page!) Anyway, as you can imagine, this makes sitting, and therefore, writing, nearly impossible. Well, it did, anyway, until yesterday, when the cushioniest, most luxurious recliner from Costco was delivered to my domicile, and my painful posterior finally found padding (well, more of it, anyway, LOL) and thus, RELIEF. Like, it still hurts to move, but I can sit for longer and actually begin to crawl my way back to what resembles a normal work / writing day without too much butt bitching, as long as I take lots of stand breaks and make sure to change my position every hour or so. Given how much has felt quite heavy lately, I'm pleased to finally be able to call where I am physically a win. Special shoutout to my ABSOLUTELY FABULISTIC physical therapist, Aerie, too, who has provided SUCH an amazing, supportive, fun, much needed and judgment free space for recovery.
I've also been grappling with some mental health stuff—depression and anxiety related to traumatic memories rearing their heads. Though I'm not going to go into scintillating details for obvious reasons, I do think it's important (for my own growth and well-being) to be honest about this, and call it what it is. Despite many available mental health resources, our society (myself included) still likes to do a hell of a lot of gaslighting and shaming where mental health is concerned—well, in my case the gaslighting and shaming is all directed at myself, but still. So, this is the first time I've publicly owned depression and anxiety as substantive struggles that I combat frequently ... and real talk, it's fucking TERRIFYING. I almost deleted this whole paragraph. But I won't, (probably) because (come closer and listen up, self! And anyone else who needs to hear this) struggling with depression and anxiety is nothing to be ashamed about. I will repeat that, in my customary all caps. This is one instance where I wish you could like, make Braille font bigger: DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY ARE NOTHING TO BE ASHAMED OF. I just ... hope I can remember that the next time the wave crashes over my head. The truth is, that is unlikely, until I do a lot more healing, which (trepidaciously) will include finding myself a good, compassionate therapist and a lot less self-blame, but my incredible chosen fam is quite amazing at reminding me not to be mean to myself when I can't or won't. So I think I'm in good hands.
But yeah, it's actually surprised me how much I've internalized societal stigmas about mental health. Again, not in regards to others, but DEFINITELY for myself. Whenever I've struggled with motivation, found excuses not to engage socially, felt overwhelmed, anxious, stressed, hopeless or desperate, I'm quick to cite laziness or introversion, and while those things can definitely play a part, over the last month and a half, I've had to come face to face with, tentatively embrace, and (sometimes grudgingly) own depression and anxiety as cohabitors of my ridiculous railway station brain. I have Sarah, (of course) to thank for being able to own these parts of me. In a very characteristically candid conversation, she asked me, very gently and sensitively, of course, if I had considered the possibility that I was depressed. And, as so often happens with my beautiful wife, I knew she was right. She most often is ... except when it comes to her inexplicable love for buffalo sauce. Like, gross! Way to ruin a meal! LOL. But seriously, there is no doubt in my mind that woman is studying the right profession. She will make a first rate therapist, with her keen insights, her astute observations, her considerate and compassionate nature and sensitive delivery. (Um, I sound like I'm writing an infomercial or Yelp review for Sarah's future therapeutic practice!)
Anyway, my point is, that aside from Charriss (pronounced Charis), the new leather recliner christened by Leena because we name everything in this family, I also very much have my wife to thank for my return to the page—though really, I kind of ALWAYS have Sarah to thank, for all of the things, ever. This is a true and unchangeable statement, though I'm also subtly not so subtly trying to inject a bit of flattery into this entry so that, should she come upon it one fine unoccupied day, she will feel moved, touched, inspired, bolstered, and otherwise coerced into cooking me one of her epically delicious 5 star culinary masterpieces now that she's pretty much off school for the summer. And I know exactly what she'll say when she reads this: "You know you don't have to convince me to cook you anything!" This pronouncement will be made loudly, indignantly, and dripping with truth, which makes my exploitation / manipulation all the more duplicitous and deplorable. But hey, she's the nice one, not me. ... Another thing she might say is: "Thanks," in a suitably injured and sarcastic tone, followed immediately by something like: "Who says I'm cooking you anything?" This only proves my point, given her inclination and propensity to cook for any and all humans who even hint at wanting food.
Wow ... the tangents, though. I am, as those of you who have read my ramblings long enough know, the queen of digressivity (is digressivity even a word? Oh well ... it is now!)
TLDR: I've been struggly, and I'm learning to ride on The Struggle Bus with less resistance and self-judgment, which, in turn and among other things, has provided the key to my torrents of words. That ... wasn't all that brief, LOL. I suck at TLDR-ING, (i.e. brevity), but it's not a lesson I'm too invested in learning, clearly, because here we are!
You'd think, after 37 and a half years of life, I'd have learned that acceptance ALWAYS leads to greater ease, but I am nothing if not tenacious, and I like to control things way too much, including and ESPECIALLY the things that can never be controlled, like moods, emotions, and the time it takes to process and assimilate painful memories. One day, I hope to have the strength to speak more openly about said trauma. Not, as the vicious critic residing within the many and varied chambers of my mind likes to snipe at me, to gain attention, to garner sympathy or to invite pity, but because I have often been moved by the bravery that is vulnerability. I'm always so inspired by those who have chosen to share their stories, any stories, but I'm speaking specifically about the painful ones right now, the ones that scrape your soul raw, and that stay with you forever. I would like to offer that same hand of solidarity to others. But ... I think I need to do a bit more healing and reflecting before I'm ready to write about my own experiences. Baby steps. Today, it feels good just to admit that I'm not OK, but that I'm here anyway. And really, for me, writing has always carved a path to healing. The newest lesson I'm learning through words is that being willing to share those words with others, and therefore (hopefully) creating a community through words, can also heal. I've always written, and have even kept a blog of some sort before, but I've always ... approached public writing a bit more performatively. Not that I was fake, necessarily, but there was a very carefully tailored version of myself that I presented to the world. And I'm trying to make this place as authentic as I possibly can.
In my customary circular fashion, this brings me back around to thanking you all for remaining present! And while I'm on the subject of gratitude, I wanted to take a moment to just acknowledge all the big things (and little things whose impact still feels big) that have paved my way back to words. First and foremost, of course, my fam. Like, truly, without them, I don't honestly think I'd be me. They keep showing up, in all the ways: acts of support like listening and offering advice and space; kindness through hugs, holding my hand, and safe physical touch that always grounds me; making me smoothies or food because I literally cannot bend right now; through music: playing just the right song to decimate the dam holding back rivers of tears—something I used to feel so much shame about but have (slowly) begun to embrace as just a part of me; in helping me with laundry or just reading with me to help me escape or distract; the list goes on and on ... much longer than this run-on sentence.
Thing is, love has a funny way of doing that, just ... showing up. I feel it in seemingly insignificant every day exchanges that aren't actually insignificant to me at all. Like, I talked to my choir director, Lisa, this past rehearsal, confessing my embarrassment that my meticulous, perfectionist self felt even less concert ready than usual by this point in the season (we have AN AMAZING CONCERT coming up in a few weeks that local Austinites should 100% check out!) and rather than telling me that I wouldn't be able to perform because I'd missed probably what amounts to half of our rehearsals at this point, she helped me find some VERY useful workarounds so I feel more able and confident to sing. And then, there was my Lyft driver yesterday, on my way home from physical therapy. I ... don't know what it was about our interaction that helped lay that final stepping stone. In retrospect, I think it was her vulnerability, curiosity, and openness. That stuff always gets me right in the feels. The conversation started fairly innocuously, with us sharing common threads—she has a disabled child, and so of course, we talked advocacy. Answering questions about blindness also didn't feel like work, as it often does when I'm struggly. It just felt like, a normal part of the conversation. It hasn't felt ... quite that organic in awhile. And at no point was the i word invoked. For those who don't know, the i word is inspiration, as in: "You're SO inspirational for getting dressed, brushing your teeth, and living your life!" Then we got into more emotional territory, and she shared a piece of her story with me. The recounting brought her to tears, and though she apologized profusely, I assured her she had NOTHING to apologize for. I wasn't able to articulate this to her at the time, but, her vulnerability was a beautiful gift to me. Look, don't get me wrong, I know no one necessarily relishes breaking down in front of a virtual stranger. I've been there, it can feel ... almost uncomfortably intimate. But, as I witnessed her pain, I felt deeply moved. Obviously, I was moved by her story, but also, that she felt able to release, to let go, if only just for a little bit, of the control and restraint and just let the tears flow. At the end of the ride, after I casually mentioned my family, she said: "Chosen family is so beautiful." She'd never heard of the concept before, and she said she wanted to build her own. This, too, was very impactful for me. I remember that before having my own chosen circle, it was something I deeply yearned for, and hearing about others who had chosen to do life together gave me the hope that I could have that support, too. I hope she now also has that hope. Before I got out of her car, she asked me for my website address, so I hope she comes across this all-over-the-place scatter-babble post some day and reads this: thank you, so much, for sharing your story with me, for trusting me to witness, to listen. I've never gone through her particular experience, and can't fully understand what she's going through, yet I felt that in sharing part of it with me, allowing me to be there, she reminded me that sometimes, the way back to ourselves is through letting others hold space for us, and admitting when we're not OK. That meant more to me than I will ever find words for at this moment in my life. And so it is that, through the hand of a stranger, I find my way back here. Our conversation made me yearn for this space, this bumpy little Braille Cave. It's a community in progress where I once more feel able to open up conversation, and send out the reminder, should any of you lovely readers need it, that there's always space here for you if you want it, for whatever you've got to bring to the table—through comments, or just through the gift of your time—as you read this avalanche of nonsense. Thank you for lending a compassionate eye, hand, or ear (however you read things). I appreciate you SO much!
OK, so, what now? I think I'm gonna leave this post here. I won't make promises to be back soon, because when I make promises I don't, or in some instances, can't, keep, I find more reasons for blame and shame. But I will say this: I do hope, aspire, and intend to be back here quite soon. It feels right to write again.
A few housekeeping things: VIP folk: look out for an email probably tomorrow. My gift to you this month deviates slightly in regards to the standard complimentary intuitive reading I like to offer. As with many aspects of my life, the spiritual is one that needs a bit of watering and fertilizing so to speak, by which I mean I have not been as connected to my beloved and invaluable spiritual team as I'd like, so I don't feel that it would be right or fair to you to offer to read for you right now while I'm still on the mend. But I am still offering complimentary guided meditations ... with a bit of a plot twist! More on this in the VIP post to follow!
For those interested in Tactile Rainbows 2.0, my open mic night to celebrate Pride, I still plan on holding it this year, though I'm moving it back to August, per Leena's suggestion. I could use a bit longer to catch my breath before organizing an event, and honestly, I have NO clue what I'd even read at this point. So I want to have a bit longer to figure THAT out, too! Plus, August, weirdly, is when Austin holds its Pride celebration, and though you will NEVER IN THIS WORLD catch me going to Pride in the inferno that is Austin summer weather, which is always at LEAST 1 million degrees, all day every day, Tactile Rainbows will be my way of joining the party ... INSIDE, IN THE AC, and AWAY FROM CROWDS! Yay heat sensitive introverts! LOL. Also, I've made the executive decision that admission will be free for all this year. My primary goal has ALWAYS been to foster connection above all, and though as a baby writer I'm always accepting donations, I want to clear the way for anyone who wants to attend. This year has brought so much turbulence, upheaval, uncertainty, pain, and fear to so many vulnerable communities targeted by the travesty that is our current administration, that I want to do what little I can to reduce barriers and hold a safe, welcoming space for all.
OK, catch you later! I may be sharing some nonfiction and poetry with you shortly. Haven't dabbled too much in fiction beyond the editing of my novel. On that front, I'm still waiting on news from most agents. I've received a couple of discouraging rejections, which I'm trying not to stumble over too hard. I know they're par for the course, and that I just need to keep on trekking, but I won't lie, sometimes your cane tip snags on a particularly wide crack in the sidewalk, and it can be hard to yank it out and keep going. But move on you do, because, well, that's how you get places—uneven terrain, narrow sidewalks, weird street crossings, confusing GPS directions and all. Sometimes, though, you find a patch of smooth, wide pavement with no obstructions and the going gets easier. I've been slowly picking at this entry throughout the day, and as of 20-ish minutes ago, received a promising request from an agent, so ... positive energy, prayers, crossed fingers, whatever you do to put good vibes out into the universe, it's all welcome! Also, I have the WEIRDEST metaphors, which I'm sure surprises no one. OK, really shutting up now!
Love, light and peace to you all! Do something that brings your heart joy today, just because!
Amelia