Just me and my dad

Dec. 14th prompt: Appreciate. What's the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it?

I was Daddy's little girl. Riding in the child seat on the back of his bike on the way home from kindergarten, the fence on both sides as we escaped the school and rode through the park toward home. Collecting tadpoles I hoped would grow into frogs; catching my first (and only) fish and throwing it back into the pond; reading stories; proud to "teach" his class at school; squeezing through the cemetery fence behind our house to play across the street in the "Hundred Acre Woods." Everything was learning, stories, play, silliness, and the voices of characters, with every creature having its own silly voice.

Around age 10, I grew up quickly, into an awkward adolescence in which a silly father was more embarrassing than fun.

Dad may have lost his crown at home, but he was still the king of the high school where he was a teacher--teasing students with endearing nicknames; playing practical jokes; rewarding good behavior with a can of pop or chocolate bar. He had two blood children, but played the role of father to thousands more.

When I was 16, he was hit with his own bout of severe anxiety and depression, which in turn, worsened mine. I wasn't old enough or experienced enough to reach out to him with understanding; simply a frightened teenager who still had to follow her parents' wishes, no matter how they acted themselves.

As boys entered my life, my dad felt swept aside all the more. Not feeling my father's love, I became the cliché of looking for love everywhere else.

Our relationship remained tenuous as I moved on to university. Then we discovered email and slowly began to communicate again.

When Pete told my dad he was planning to propose to me, my Dad said later that he couldn't say no--Pete was exactly like him. I'd spotted it myself when I refused someone else's idea that Pete and I start dating. "I can't! He's exactly like my dad!" I said.

Similar, yes, but not exactly. And we all adored him. On our brief visits to Sarnia, my father had a taste of fun again, as he and Pete played games in a video arcade and gobbled down M&M's in the movie theatre. Pete brought him movies--science documentaries that they both loved, plus shows like House and CSI that he and my mom started watching together.

Still struggling with my childhood issues, I often felt my parents liked my boyfriend/husband better than they liked me. Looking back, I must have been jealous of him--for his own sense of fun and silliness--traits that still bewildered me for all they'd meant in the past.

When Pete left me, my dad once again became my champion, riding the delicate line between a father's anger at the boy who broke his daughter's heart and a father's love for the man his daughter still loved. The three of them: Mom, Dad and Pete moved me into my own small apartment after we sold our house, my dad often driving the 2-and-a-half hours from Sarnia to surprise me with groceries, drag me out to a restaurant, or fix something around the house. He often spent the night, sleeping on the couch as Pete had done for so many months, his very presence reassuring.

He took me out for breakfast one Sunday morning, as Pete and I had done for nearly seven years--a ritual I'd missed desperately since he said the word "divorce." And we talked, for the first time since my childhood, with honesty and without bitterness. Part of the reason I moved back to Sarnia was to mend our broken relationship the way my sister and I had and my mom and I had over the years I'd lived in Kitchener.

Ironically, I spend more time with my dad now than I do anyone else. He teaches in town and my parents share a car, so he often stops by after school to play with my cats, listen to me cry, help me wash dishes, give me a reason to cook a meal, or watch an episode of House. And in less than 3 months, we've talked on the phone more than we did in 10 years.

It's funny, but if I had somewhere warm to go, I'd no longer feel held back. I've reached my goal--in my eyes, my dad and I are close now; close enough to hug him goodbye without somehow feeling guilty, or to lean on his shoulder and tell him how I really feel.

In a year filled with broken promises, my dad has kept his--to be there when I need him. I may not quite know how to show him I appreciate him, but after all these years, I finally do. And in this final week before Christmas, I'm not frantic about what to buy him--he never wants much in the way of things. I hope the greatest present I can give him will be having his daughter back--newfound sense of silliness and all.

Baby step by baby step

Dec. 13th prompt: Action. When it comes to aspirations, its not about ideas. It's about making ideas happen. What's your next step?

I'm a genius when it comes to listing dreams and goals--I can even break them down into actionable steps and set reasonable deadlines. I suck at follow through. So after that post of things I want to get rid of in 2011, this is definitely a necessary reality check.

How does one make ideas happen?

Here's a quick background on Learned Helplessness-- part of depression; definitely part of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and something that so many times keeps me in dream world and prevents me from trying again. Ingrained from childhood, my very core believes that there's no point trying because I will only fail again. Someone will step in and take it away. Somehow the other shoe will drop.

But Growing Up Jenny means rejecting that idea--at least as much as I can at this moment. And so I resolve to try.

A few examples:

* I joined Day Zero, where you create a list of 100 things you want to complete in the next 1,001 days. For me, that's August 2013, which is far enough away to actually accomplish some of the things I've listed. And my goals are as varied as "Read Glad No Matter What by SARK" to "meet-up for a weekend with Sarah," (a friend and fellow blogger who I know only online) to "buy a car."

* Focus on treating my PTSD. Connect with someone at the Canadian Mental Health Association; research treatment options; go to a psychiatrist (the only therapy I can afford with no health plan); get involved in as many relaxing, stress-reducing activities as possible.

* Practice art therapy. I've completed 7 or 8 scrapbook pages, but most of my materials only remind me of the love I've lost. I'm too much of a perfectionist right now to use expensive, beautiful cards and stickers and I never seem to print out photos. Through my internet travels, I've discovered art journaling.

Many journals are the work of amazingly talented artists, but I'm going for the simple version, my goal being to play around with paint and drawing (which terrifies me!), making collages and scribbling quotes and words. The purpose will be play, not perfection; in fact, the less perfect I allow my journal to be, the more progress I'll be making!

My sister took me to Hobby Lobby in the States the other day, where I picked out the basic tools, which she'll wrap up and give me for Christmas. This way I can fill those awful days between Christmas, New Year's, my anniversary and Valentine's Day with creative, therapeutic, healing, hands-on play--despite the freezing cold weather.

~ Special thank you to those who helped with my questions about art journaling:
* Dina Wakley
- blogs here: http://dinastamps.typepad.com/
- teaches online, self-paced classes on art journaling here: http://debbiehodge.com/store/art-journaling-classes/ (If anyone wants to take one, let me know. I'd love to work through the first course with someone!)
* Tami Taylor
- blogs here: http://michigirl74.blogspot.com/ (met through reverb10!)
* Get it scrapped! http://debbiehodge.com/

Here's to a good start (and hopefully one that's not quite as ambitious as my last attempt)!

5 minutes of memories

Dec. 15th prompt: 5 minutes. Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010.

First of all, I am SHOCKED by how little I can write in 5 minutes. Scary! Maybe I should try this for every post. ;)

Florida (don't have to be always busy to be good enough) ~ Laura Hollick--discovering True Jenny; how she felt, danced, talked and walked ~ Being her throughout 3 days of Pete's wanting to divorce ~ Epiphanies of where we/I went wrong ~ Joy and a new relationship as Pete wanted to try again--seeing our marriage as it could be ~ First time I laughed after he left ~ Hope of living with Mary, Jon and Jonathon ~ Meeting Jenn ~ New relationship with Laurie ~ Living Amanda's life for a week ~ Photographs ~ Love and support of those who reached out ~ Babies ~ Better relationship with family ~ Belief in a new life

Does this mean I get to forget everything else that happened this year? If only...

Spa day

Dec. 12th prompt: Body integration. This year, when did you feel the most integrated with your body? Did you have a moment where there wasn't mind and body, but simply a cohesive YOU, alive and present?

Answering this prompt requires cheating, recalling a moment in late 2009. But it's a moment I haven't written about, and the only one that fits.

Most of the time my body and mind exist on different planes. Whether this is a coping mechanism I developed to shield my mind from the physical pain of fibromyalgia and piano-playing injuries, or one learned through decades of emotional abuse because my body literally wasn't allowed to respond to the stress hormones coursing through it moment by moment, the fact remains. I have no awareness of where my body is in space. I catch a glimpse in a mirror or a photograph, and it might as well be someone else's.

In Fall 2009, I attended SHINE, a conference for entrepreneurs, held in Las Vegas. I planned my flight schedule so that I'd have a full day after the conference to enjoy the Canyon Ranch Spa at the Venetian. I'd pay for a massage, which I sorely needed, and for just a few dollars more, I'd have use of all the fitness and spa facilities for the rest of the day.

And it was more than worth it. I attended a strip fitness class, which was hilarious because the instructor was filling in for someone who was sick and had just learned the moves the night before. Later, I took a meditation class. And in between, I pedaled away on an exercise bike for far longer than I'd thought I could--just because I had time between classes.

After the meditation class, I moved on to the spa. One room was dimly lit, filled with lounge chairs. I sat down, tilted mine back, and gazed at the ceiling, where blue lights danced in random patterns. And for the first time, I caught a glimpse of meditation as it was meant to be. Progressive muscle relaxation I could do because I was always in so much pain. But keeping my thoughts empty, focusing on a word or my own breathing, this type of meditation I could never find meaning in.

But as I lay there in the spa that day, I focused on the beauty of movement and patterns and light, and my muscles relaxed. I was distracted, intent on something beyond my mind and body, and for just a few moments, I understood. My mind and body ceased to matter. All that existed was the light and the wonder of what would come next.

I don't know how to replicate that feeling in the real world. But if I could have just one day each week like that, to focus on the health of my body, mind and soul without feeling guilty, I swear I'd be a different person.

And again

After yesterday's overly ambitious post, I truly thought that I could become that woman--that I just had to try hard enough. But I forgot about my mood, about the demon of depression--the true thing that controls me.

I got a lovely note from my ex-sister-in-law, letting me know how things were going with the family; that she'd missed me at their Christmas dinner, and that Pete had left early for a pizza and movie, just like the old days. She told me what was new, but said not to mention anything to Pete since he'd probably want to tell me himself.

And what can I say? We don't talk anymore. He's happy with his new life. And no one but her and her sister will ever know the truth about why I'm no longer part of the family I thought I'd belong to forever. Pete says nothing, leaving others to assume that I'm an impossible bitch; that I wasn't good enough for their precious golden boy; that it was all my fault.

And they'll never know that while I spent two years in counseling working on myself in order to save our marriage, agonizing over everything he said, everything I might have done wrong; that he was unhappy, too, but that as much as I asked, he never told me what was wrong. He believed that every time he wanted to leave, but didn't, he was giving me, and our marriage, another chance. No one will ever know that I would have moved heaven and earth to make him happy if only he'd told me what was wrong.

Because those weeks when he promised to try were more real than any communication we'd ever had. Things he'd done for 3 years that confused and troubled me, like grabbing my arm and dragging me away, when he was being honest with me became perfectly clear. "I'm insecure in large groups," he told me, and suddenly his actions made perfect sense. If only he'd told me the first time it happened. Instead of resentment, I would have felt love. We would have worked together to make sure we both got what we needed. We had so many chances, but he was too afraid to tell me--the one who would have lived and died for him--how he really felt.

And the feelings came back, but I was too numb to cry. My plans were a joke. Who was I to think I could change my future? As if in writing them, I'd tempted a vengeful universe to show me just how futile my hope really was. And so I turned on Counting Crows, the only band I'd been able to listen to during the worst years of my depression; and I turned off the lights, pulled a pillow under the heat vent and wrapped a blanket around myself. And I sat and sometimes I sang along. Because when I'm truly depressed it hurts too much to feel.

I miss the self I was becoming; I miss the couple my husband and I could have become. His honesty lasted for a mere 6 weeks, but it showed me what we were truly capable of. I wish; I wish; I wish; I wish; I wish I wasn't punished every single time I tried.

Change, change, change

Dec. 11th prompt: 11 Things. What are 11 things your life doesn't need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?

The last few reverb10 prompts have been rather tricky for me. So many of them just don't apply to where I am today. So I've decided to choose the prompts that resonate with me because many of them do.

This prompt stuck out to me: Choosing 11 things on Dec. 11th to eliminate from my life in 2011.

My original list was ridiculously long, so here's my attempt at condensing and brevity!

11 things to get rid of in 2011

1) My guilt/savior complex. It is good to be a sensitive, loving, caring person. I love that I'm the type who loves much and cares deeply. But in 2011 I will learn to find the line between caring for others and caring for myself. I will not worry excessively or take on the pain of everyone around me. I will care, love, encourage and help wherever I can. However, I will not hold myself accountable for solving the world's problems and punish myself if I don't. Yes, I still have to learn how to do this, but it will change my life by allowing me to be who I am and to help those I love in a constructive, practical way, while preventing me from experiencing guilt, pain and anxiety over things that aren't even within my control.

2) Overwhelm/Analysis Paralysis. I will no longer waste time procrastinating, obsessing, planning, and worrying about every single thing in my life. I will refuse to be overwhelmed, especially by things I sincerely want to do; instead, I will respond to emails and blog comments; write and send cards and gifts; allow myself to relax and enjoy the stacks of books and magazines I collect; actually read the hundreds of blogs I follow (or perhaps pare down my list!); invite friends over; travel, and be physically active. I will make plans and follow through with them. They don't have to be perfect. I won't obsess and wait for things to happen; I'll be proactive and just DO them.

3) Loneliness. Of course I will feel lonely sometimes, and that's okay. But I choose to stop blaming my loneliness and lack of social interaction on everything but myself. I will make plans with friends; join a gym; create the kind of home that people want to spend time in; figure out how to visit far-away friends. I will be myself, but I will be the right self at the right time--saving talk about depression and sadness for close friends, and keeping it away from casual interactions. I may not have my husband, but I can still have happiness, closeness, affection and love.

4) Complications--and the belief that things are much more complicated than they really are. Thinking that I can't have a friend visit just because I don't have 10 different kinds of tea and freshly made muffins to offer her is ridiculous. Baking doesn't have to be difficult. I've done it before and I can do it again. And 2 kinds of tea are more than enough. I will think about what really matters. The bottom line is that people just want to be listened to, cared about and loved. I don't need to be a perfect cook; have a perfect house, or be some kind of Martha Stewart in order to do that. I will do what I can and I will let that be enough.

5) Poor health. Obesity, pain, sitting inside doing nothing--I've had enough of it all. I will find therapists who can help with my injuries and fibromyalgia. I will move--a little at a time--but I'll do it. I'll stop finding excuses for not stretching; not using ice when I need it. And when I do get a car, I'll continue working with the rehab experts I found in Kitchener. I will become aware of my body instead of ignoring it to numb the pain. I will feed myself more protein and vegetables, and find sources of comfort beyond emotional eating. I will explore the YMCA, swim in the pool at Amanda's apartment, and look into the yoga studio within walking distance. I will slowly begin to feel better and be capable of much more than I ever imagined.

6) Poverty. I'm intelligent and have good ideas and access to experts and resources. I will discover what makes me happy and share that gift with the world. I will attend the entrepreneur conference I signed up for in January, and I will go into it with enthusiasm and high expectations. I will still appreciate every morsel of food someone offers me, but I will no longer believe that that's all I deserve. In 2011, I will have all the monetary resources I need to travel to visit friends and to escape the depressive influence of winter as much as possible. I will no longer feel restricted by money's power over me. I will feel secure. And in the meantime, I will be grateful for the work I have.

And for today, 6 things are enough. Perhaps I did a better job of combining concepts than I thought I could.

This is an ambitious list, but a necessary one. I'm tired of spending half my life wishing I didn't have one; sick of looking into the future and seeing nothing but more pain, more depression, more loneliness, more time without love.

I want to change. I need to change. What's the point of living otherwise?

Community 2011

Dec. 7th prompt: Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?

I can't ignore the research that "real life" friendships are crucial for mental and emotional health. I love that I can chat with someone halfway around the world with just my laptop and an internet connection, however, the deepest parts of me crave more--long for a hug hello; for the intimacy of watching a movie while playing with another's hair; for the sound of contagious laughter or a quick "I love you"; for private jokes shared in public places.

My upstairs neighbors have been wonderful to me--inviting me upstairs to knit, decorate cookies, eat, and hang out with their kids. I almost feel like I'm a part of something. The last time I visited, both girls had their husbands with them. I noticed the subtle touching; the feeling of being outside looking in; but I didn't dwell on it and no one rubbed my face in it. I love the feeling of being able to walk upstairs in my slippers; of knowing that if I forget something, I can just run back down and get it.

Su, my landlord, tries to plan a monthly ART night, where everyone brings some type of crafty project they're working on, whether it be making jewelry or cards, painting, or crocheting a baby's hat. The first night was overwhelming. I was thrilled to be invited, but retreated into my shell once I discovered that one of the attendees had been a close friend of my mom's about 12 years ago. I expect people to ask about my marriage and career, but this was someone who knew nothing about any of that. I felt awkward in a room full of strangers; gave vague answers when she asked why I'd moved back and whether I had a job here; quickly retreating to a hidden corner.

This week, with only Su, her daughter, me, Su's sister-in-law (a long-time friend), and later, their husbands, I felt homey and comfortable. Their Christmas tree sparkled, and Karla stopped in the midst of crocheting adorable baby hats to get me started on my knitting again. We chatted and Su kept us fed and warm.

This is the type of community I'd like to connect with more deeply in 2011--a group of creative, friendly, accepting people. I'm open to larger groups; different groups (perhaps some with other single 30-somethings), but creativity is paramount.

I may spend hours making a card and feel uncomfortable with anything that hasn't been vetted by someone else, but I do want to learn and I want to try. I believe there's a crafty, creative person hiding inside me, she just needs some nudging to come out.

And I need help to get started--beginner's kits; someone with all the tools to sit beside me and show me exactly what to do and offer feedback. Whether it be sketching, creating collages, sewing, knitting, crocheting, scrapbooking, editing photos, making cards or making hair accessories, I'd love to have an expert help me get started.

How about you? Do you have a skill you'd be willing to spend a few hours teaching me? After all, it's all part of creating a new 2011 and in Growing up Jenny; I may be slow, but I'm a patient, willing student.

I can't wait to hear what you have in mind!

Community 2010

Dec. 7th prompt: Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?

The online world has SAVED me during this difficult year when just getting out of bed--forget leaving the house--is a dreaded chore. Through blogging, I've made friends in Italy, Seattle, Hawaii, Las Vegas, and New York--friends who are thankful to know me, who appreciate how much I care about the ones I love, and who know me as a wealth of encouragement and knowledge, not as "that clingy, depressed girl." Seeing myself through another's eyes has made a world of difference in climbing out of that rut time and time again.

Facebook and email have made it possible for me to re-connect with people from my 10-years-ago past--crucial when leaving everything you know behind. The telephone scares me, but through my computer, I can leave a message for someone that I'd like to see or even just comment on one of their photos. One of the things I'm most looking forward to over the holidays is a visit from a now-20-year-old woman that I once baby-sat and taught piano lessons to, and who I haven't seen since I moved to Kitchener. I'm nervous and excited to see the years I've missed out on, and eager to learn who she's become.

I've searched for community through my October blog challenge and in the December challenge that this post is a part of. But I want to spread my wings--to transform an experience of reading a post that resonates within me into something that reaches out and touches others.

I struggle to maintain the friendships I make online. A few weeks of depression, and I've lost touch, lost the moment, forgotten what to say. I wait weeks to reply to messages, but it's the depression talking, or sometimes the fact that what they've said is so important that I want to consider my comments carefully before responding.

In 2011, I'd love to become a more vital part of the online communities I belong to. What I'm missing out most on seems to be taking one-on-one relationships into group territory--to write a blog post and start a dialog between readers; to post photographs and have people (gently and constructively!) critique them; to feel as if I'm part of something larger than myself.

In Perpetual mourning, I wrote about how difficult it is for me to be left in the dark as to when I'll hear from a certain person again. I have so many interests that I'm easily lost. If I tell the world (or at least my online community!) that I need them to reach out to me--that I care deeply, but haven't yet learned to keep depression from pulling me under water, will they offer their hands to me?

There are so many relationships I'd like to hold on to. Perhaps if I can encourage people to keep checking in with me through my blog and facebook, I don't have to lose them.

Is anyone there? Will you help buoy me up so that I can stay the best part of the me I'm becoming?

Perpetual mourning

Watching my friend deal with the sickness of her baby, I've started to think how much depression is like grief--a grief that got stuck somewhere along the way and never reached a point of healing. As I watch friends and family encircle her, bringing meals, offering childcare and helping her keep distracted and busy, I think about how much that would help me in my depression. Just be there with me; help me stay busy; keep me engaged with another human being so I won't dissolve into my head and the dark places it holds.

Depression is difficult to understand. But perhaps less so, if you think of it as mourning.

A recent article in Macleans magazine highlighted aspects of my depression that I've always felt, but never been able to explain.

"A distressed person will be comforted if you tell them, 'I can call you Monday night,' but then make sure you call. People in distress suffer more when they are left in the dark about when contact will be made. No one wants to appear needy by having to call out for help.”

http://www2.macleans.ca/2010/10/27/what-grieving-people-need-from-you/

This is exactly how I've always felt--this desperate need to know when I'll be seeing someone next. I'll drag out goodbyes, standing with the car door open as someone drops me off, saying, "So I'll see you when..." Not knowing feels helpless. They don't know that if I have one or two things on my calendar, I can make it through the week, while an empty page terrifies me, leaving me to darkness and sleep.

Just to know that someone will be there; to have them reaching out to me so that I don't have to be the clingy charity case yet again; to have some sort of routine; to be never left alone for long.

And so I'm reaching out to ask friends and family to reach out to me. Because knowing ahead of time can keep me sane. And by the time I think to ask for help myself, it's already too late. Perhaps it's not too late to be healed after all.

Creative therapy

Dec. 6th prompt: Make. What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?

I made cards for both of my sister-in-law's birthdays (which I, of course, have not sent yet!) I'm thrilled with how they turned out, but creating them required intense hand-holding. Writing inside and finding an applicable quote to add were both easy, but the actual card-making part--that's where I get anxious.

Perhaps I'm so terrified of not being perfect that I can't create something as seemingly simple as a card without someone else essentially telling me what to do; where exactly to cut a line; paste a cardboard cut-out.

I want to be more creative--to take a piece of scrap paper and scribble on it with pencil crayons; glue on random images cut from magazines; stencil words; create an explosion of colors and shapes to express my mood; let all my emotions bleed out onto the paper until I am free of them.

I don't think a standard-size sheet of paper; even a standard-size table; will give me room enough.

Curious cat!

Just a quick note.

I'm thrilled to actually have 24 people following my blog! I'd love to know how many subscribe to it through email or rss, but I'm afraid I don't have the technical knowledge that discovering that requires!

I wanted to let everyone know that I DO respond to your comments, though it sometimes takes me awhile. I'm not sure if there's any way for you to know that I've responded, so if you've written something in the past, please check back every once in awhile. I'd love for this blog to become a dialog between all of us. :)

Oh, and if you're visiting because of a certain friend, link or site, I'd love to know so that I can thank them!

That's enough curiosity for the moment! Now on to the reverb #10 post of the day...

Teach us to care and not to care...

Dec. 5th prompt: Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?

I let go of so much this year, and it was seldom my choice to lose what I lost. If you've been reading for awhile, you'll know that in 2010 my writing career crumbled in the recession, my husband left me and sold our house, and I moved back to my hometown--2 hours away from where I'd lived for the past 10 years. So yeah--a lot of things slipped through my fingers. And after months of being "best friends" with my ex-husband, with no hope of anything more, I decided that friendship just meant breaking my heart again and again. I let go of my best friend to save myself the pain of watching him, someday, find a girl he thinks he loves.

But all of that's been said, and I'd rather focus on what I'd like to let go of in the New Year.

One of the reasons Pete left me is that I was "too" emotional, and that I cared so much about other people that I forgot to take care of myself.

In a previous post, I talked about the fact that I'd gone directly from pleasing my parents to pleasing my first boyfriend to pleasing Pete--and that I somehow felt as if pleasing them made me worthy of existence. I said that this was the first time in my life that the only person I had to please was myself.

But old habits die hard. I find myself taking on everyone else's pain. A friend loses a husband or boyfriend; another feels depressed; some are in pain over sick children or grandparents. And every time I hear of someone else's sadness, I feel sick inside; a sense of responsibility to make it better. My brain chatters on and on, worrying, wondering what I can do--feeling as if I should be doing something. Otherwise, what am I worth? Without meaning to, I've taken on a piece of the suffering of everyone else around me. This is why depressed people aren't supposed to watch the news--the negative, sensationalized, is just too much for us to handle.

How can I care and empathize with the ones I love without feeling as if it's my duty to make it all better? The truth is, others in the same situation as me--who've lost a partner within the last month or two--are doing infinitely better than me. And Pete announced he was leaving 9 months ago.

What makes me think I can save anyone else, when I can't even save myself?

This is what I want to let go of--this hyper-sensitivity to the hurt and emotions of everyone around me. I thought it would stop once there wasn't only ONE person, but It's still all I know. And it's only split off into a million pieces, a million people, instead of just one.

Pete was right. I do care about other people too much. It's not a constructive caring--not the kind the actually helps those who need it. It's an ache I let grow deep inside me, one I worry and fuss over until it destroys me.

But how do I teach myself to care, yet not to care?

Cats and my inner child

Dec. 4th prompt: Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?

This prompt had me flummoxed at first. I didn't cultivate a sense of wonder, except perhaps in my already-blogged-about trip to Florida in January. Instead of writing yet again about my horrible year, I'll go back to a time in my life when I do remember wonder.

I'm sure I felt it as a child, before "the depressed girl" snuck in and took over. But I experienced wonder as an adult, too, when my cat Tiger and her siblings were born.

It was April 2001, and I'd lived away from home for less than a year. That month I'd turn 23. I'd always planned to get a kitten someday, and Craig, my first boyfriend, and I, had been talking about getting one as a playmate for his cat. When we found out his mom's cat was pregnant, the timing was perfect.

On our first visit to meet the newly born litter, I feel in love with the tiny, squirming kittens and their tiny squeaky sounds. I perched on the couch, far enough away to give their mother a feeling of space, yet close enough to stare at the kittens in their box, eyes closed and mewling.

I can only describe that feeling as wonder.

Several weeks went by, and we spent every weekend at Craig's mother's house, taking the two-hour drive and spending the night.

I spent all my time observing the kittens. Everyone laughed, saying I acted just like Craig's 6-year-old niece. Perhaps wonder always contains a sense of "child-like."

As the kittens slowly emerged from their cozy home, I lay on the floor to be as close to them as possible. I knew I'd chosen the right one to take home when my tiny Tiger crawled up on my back, eyes still closed, and fell fast asleep.

Somewhere I have a picture of me lying on the floor, the three kittens curled together in front of me. I'm smiling a truly happy smile at the wonder of the precious babies beside me--an actual happy smile, un-faked, one of the few I have in a photograph.

To me, the times I've experienced wonder have always involved curiosity, playfulness, exploring worlds unknown. I'd like to feel that way again, but it will take travel, adventure, exploration, an openness to be my child-like self again.

In 2011, my year of becoming, I'll be someone who cultivates wonder. I'll take my worry hat off for awhile, and bring little Jenny out to play once again.

In the moment

Dec. 3rd prompt: Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).

Ironically, the day I felt most alive this year is the one I'm most reluctant to re-live.

That fateful day in October when Pete came down to visit me in my new apartment. I was bursting with hope--that I'd grow and change quickly, and that my husband would realize he loved the new me and wanted me back.

I remember my excitement that morning, as I not only showered and washed my hair, but also styled it, applied makeup and carefully chose an outfit and jewelry.

His smile; our excited conversation; the warm cup of coffee against my hand; the olive green tank top I wore--a new color for me; the cold metal of my necklace as it slipped beneath my shirt; my exaggerated poses as he took my photo for the last time; the beautiful blue of the river, and sounds of people enjoying the day; the softness of his cheek exactly where I liked to kiss it.

I was giddy--our excitement levels perfectly matched; the way they'd been on our first walk together 7 years before. I felt alive with life and hope.

I'll always have the picture he took of me that day. And the memory of hopes dashed--of coming full circle, from him the giddy and excited one, to me.

I wonder when throughout those 7 years I handed him the power to make me feel alive--and the power to take it back.

Sensory deprivation

Dec. 2nd prompt: Writing. What do you do each day that doesn't contribute to your writing -- and can you eliminate it?

Likely the real problem is that I don't do anything to contribute to my writing.

Living alone again, I have no set routine. I sleep strange hours; eat at strange times, and hardly leave the house. I've lost all concept of time. I can stay up until 4 am and then sleep until 3 pm. Or I can face the day at the relatively normal time of 9:30 am, only to find myself exhausted for lack of stimulation by 7 pm, at which point I nap until 10, stay awake between 2 and 7 am; then get up at 3 pm.

It's a strange life I lead. On the rare occasions when I'm outside and aware of darkness falling, I can be fast asleep by 8. Locked inside my basement lair, I have no clues to follow. I wake with the complete inability to guess what time it is. The cats sleep night and day, and I follow, lulled into slumberland with medication, the whir of my CPAP machine, and the darkness of my eye mask.

I experience nothing that would inspire creativity. I've created a kind of sensory deprivation chamber; it's no wonder I've lost all hope and motivation.

I need to read: books, magazines, newsletters, other people's blogs. I need to explore and find adventure somewhere beyond my dark apartment. I need to stimulate my mind and my heart. I'm not dead yet. I'm ready to be revived by writing, hope and creativity.

One Word

Blog challenge day 1. Here I go...wish me luck!

Writing prompt:
December 1 -- One Word.
Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

2010: Shattered

In January, I grew and changed through counseling, my visit to Florida, and my session with Laura Hollick. But before I had time to share these changes with my husband, he decided he wanted a divorce. For a few brief weeks he changed his mind, deciding that our marriage was worth working on. On March 1st, he changed his mind again.

Next came several months of still living together as we tried to sort out what would become of our house. Hopes rose as my best friend, her husband and little boy planned to move in with me; then shattered when they couldn't; rose again when I found a single roommate; then shattered when she changed her mind.

As Pete and I discussed the breakdown of our relationship, I discovered things he'd thought, but never said. And I was shattered. I saw hope for a fresh start together, but he wasn't interested, and again, I was broken.

In July, I moved into my own apartment, hoping to start anew. As I packed up our home and watched my husband walk away forever, I lost things I could never replace: trust, security, companionship, family, hope.

In October I packed again for the move to Sarnia, planning a fresh start that hasn't yet happened.

In 2010 I've been broken again and again. And when there's nothing left to break, something else steps in to shatter me.

2011: Becoming

- closer to my true self--who I'm meant to be
- braver, stronger and wiser
- less depressed
- healed from long ago wounds and more recent ones
- independent
- content
- proactive
- creative
- an adventurer
- positive
- able to handle my emotions
- free
- bruised, but not broken

It's been a rough year to top off a rough lifetime. Next year I'll spend Growing up Jenny, nudging her ever forward into becoming closer to her truer, better self.

A pretty rough year...

I thought of October, the month I moved back to Sarnia, as the beginning of a new life for me, and I was excited and proud of who I was becoming.

Then November came. Forget how difficult this year has been. Every winter my depression kicks in harder when I'm forced inside by the cold. I learned last year that not having a car further exacerbates that depression. Then there's this year, as holidays and family are forced down my throat--reminders of the home and family I no longer have.

It's been a pretty rough year.

In October I learned that blogging is good for my mood, yet I need motivation to actually do it. I found it this morning while reading Patti Digh's blog, 37 days (a new discovery). Patti is following a challenge called Reverb10, created especially for December and meant to encourage us to reflect on this year & manifest what's next.

Every day we'll have a writing prompt; then be encouraged to tweet about our post for others to read. Just the thought of this first prompt terrifies me, but I need something to live for this month, something to keep me going.

Please read, comment, and spread the word. I need all the encouragement I can get to complete this challenge!