Mixed Messages

 One thing that seems universal, and especially for those of us on a mental health journey, is the mixed message.  Some of them are comical - a man with a cigarette punishing his kids for smoking, for example.  But the ones I want to talk about today are the ones we get when trying to apply things we've learned in therapy to daily life. 

I do a lot of people-pleasing, also known as going along to get along.  I don't even form strong opinions about mundane things (believe it or not) in order to avoid conflict.  I do enjoy a good, civilized debate about important issues, but that's not what I'm referring to.  I'm talking about "Where do we want to have lunch?"  

The home I grew up in was not conducive to disagreement.  If we were wrong about something factual, we were either stupid or lying.  I'm sure that played a large part in my love of research.   As for opinions,  I learned early on that Jeanie's opinion was trash.  None of my interests mattered, unless it happened to coincide with theirs. 

You may wonder what all this has to do with the Mixed Message.  You may think I've digressed.  I haven't, I promise.  Since I've learned to express those things that do matter to me, those old patterns create the mixed message.  Because others haven't broken with them.   

This is common with anyone on the road to Mental Health.  That's why family therapy is often recommended.  That's why addicts are encouraged to get a whole new group of friends.  Because if those around us oppose our new attitude, it's very easy to slip back into those old patterns.  They are comforting because we know them.  

But they are not harmless.  The behaviors that harm us, no matter what they may be, have harmed those around us.  If others aren't on the journey with us, but want us to heal, those messages are inevitable.  Because "I know I told you to stand up to people, but I didn't mean me" is a very real thing.  

Remembering Our Dead

Graveyards have good associations for me: Visiting the graves of her husband and son with my beloved grandmother, sledding at the rear of the Settler's Cemetery.  I found them tangible history, a solid reminder that those things happened to real people.  They're an excellent place to go if you just want to be alone and think - most people who see you will assume you are mourning and respect that.  

The family plot has gotten crowded in the years since I visited with Mamma.  In the intervening years, she was interred there.  Others were.  I used to think there was something wrong with me because, when I go there, the only memories that return to me are of Mamma.  Looking at Mother's headstone, for example, might bring back memories of the funeral.  No rich, full memories.  The family plot is a Mamma place and it doesn't matter who is buried there.

I find the memories come to me more in daily life.  A patch of daisies or a song on the radio evokes them more than a slab of marble with a name engraved.  I once wept in the grocery store over a display of Kit-Kat bars, for a man whose grave I've never even seen.  But in the graveyard? Not so much. 

Years ago, I made the decision to donate my body to science.  Explaining to one of my minions that this decision meant I'd likely have no grave, at least not one chosen by the family, she asked where she was supposed to go to remember me.  I gave her examples, but I know that when the time comes, she won't have to make any effort to remember me.  

She'll be weeping in the Barbie aisle over a woman whose grave she's never seen.  Because graves are for formal occasions and remembering our dead, really remembering them, is informal.  

Make Up Your Minds

I'm not privy to details, and the stories contradict each other, but what it boils down to is this:  A civilian was given a weapon and sent (or allowed to go) into what was essentially a battle.  The weapon was not anything a civilian would have ever used outside of a gun range.  Add the youth of said civilian to the mix.  Frankly, it's a miracle more people were not killed.

Society tells us that anyone even a day under the age of 18 is not capable of informed consent.  Any adult who gives a minor a beer, a cigarette, or an orgasm is breaking the law.  The news media and the general public will opine at length about how the adult victimized the child.  

Kyle Rittenhouse was 17 years old.  He is neither hero nor villain.  Kyle is a victim, a pawn played by polarized talking heads.  Legally speaking, as a child, he was not capable of making the choices he made.  His adults let him, perhaps even encouraged him to, go into danger.  

Those adults should be put to trial.  I believe the legal terms are "contributing to the delinquency of a minor" and "child endangerment".  Likely, there are others in the book we should be throwing at them.   If Kyle was not capable of  consent where beer or tobacco or sex is concerned, he absolutely was not capable of knowing what the was getting into that night. 

If Kyle was capable, we need to take a long hard look at how we, as a society, view teenagers. 

Costumes

 Lots of fuss this time of year, every year, about insensitive costumes and stereotypes.  I don't really take offense at stereotyped costuming because I understand that it's all in fun and no one with more than 5 brain cells believes them.  However,  I thought I'd toss out a few work-arounds just in case.  

The witch, for example, goes back to earth religions (most obviously Wicca) and therefore could be seen as insensitive to modern adherents of those faiths.  If you want to be a witch for Halloween, yet still be thoughtful of your witchy friends and neighbors, consider choosing a specific witch from pop culture.  Wicked Witch of the West and Witchypoo even have the whole pointy-hat thing going on.  Variations could be a more colorful or modern take like one of the Halliwell sisters or a Hogwarts professor.   Mix up the tropes - maybe the Neutral Witch of the South? 

The cultures native to North America seem to take a beating every fall.  Often costumes include things that, in the real world, are sacred.  Those beautiful feathered headdresses are earned, usually through combat or wise leadership.  Would it be acceptable for me to wear a Medal of Honor as part of a costume?  If you go the buckskin-and-braids route, you're playing with the stereotype.  You can mix it up there - be a "mountain man" or even a "caveman".   Or go specific again.  Little Suzie wants to be an "Indian Princess" for Halloween, go Disney.  Pocahontas in reality had very little in common with the cartoon, and you can make that a teaching moment if you want.  For a real teaching moment, get historical.  Buckskin-and-braids-and baby = Sacagawea. 

The classic hobo, a staple of poor kids and dummies who wait til the last minute, is said to mock the homeless. You can easily turn the hobo into a scarecrow if that concerns you.  

I see stereotyped ethnicities trick-or-treating every year.  I have family and friends who I could claim these people are mocking.  I see it as playful teasing among friends.  I'm a hillbilly/redneck, a mental patient, a single woman over 40, and probably other "costumes" that I can't think of at the moment.  

Some costumes are more problematic than others, obviously.  Usually based on a negative stereotype.  Usually worn by the politically polarized or satirists.  Sometimes just heart breaking (Anne Frank).  Those I advise against across the board.  But let's be honest - almost every costume out there might be offensive to someone.  I suggest we all, on both sides of the issue, be more sensitive to others.  

Sex, Gender, and Shut Up

 Had two different conversations recently that bear on the sex/gender issue.  Now, to review - when I say sex I mean biology or the reproductive act.  When I say gender, I refer to society's notions of how we should look or behave because of our biology.  I'm also going to touch on sexuality, but just a bit. 

The first conversation was with a male teenager.  He's slender and has shoulder-length hair.  Someone tried to shame him by telling him he looks "like a girl from the back".  I say tried to, because the young man really doesn't care!  The incident actually bothers me more than it did him.  Why does it matter to anyone if he looks "like a girl from the back"?  Why would anyone be ashamed of this, as he was expected to be?   The only explanation I can come up with is Toxic Masculinity - one of the media's current hobbyhorses. Long hair on a boy threatened this person's personal image of himself.  Something the media likes to ignore, though, is that Toxic Femininity is also a thing.  So is Toxic Maturity, but I digress.  

Humans of both sexes are from birth (and even before that with ultrasounds) to conform to Gender Roles.  If we don't, we are generally mocked if not outright shunned.  Especially males.  A female child can be a tomboy, after all.  But for purposes of this particular rant, I'm going to be discussing adults or those approaching adulthood.  

My mother used to tell stories beginning with "When I was a little boy..."  not because she was actually male, but because she was commiserating with a male child.  She wanted to get that pesky division out of the way, because the story related to children of both sexes.  She was a female - but never a GIRL.  I have childhood photos of her, and she's wearing a dress (it was the 1940s) but that's where it ended. I probably have peers who thought she was a lesbian.  Yo momma wears combat boots wasn't playing the dozens for me, it was just the truth.  I have no memory of her ever wearing a dress.  A child walked up to her in a store and said "Excuse me, sir..."  She thought that was funny. 

Imagine catcalling a hot chick in an amusement park and my brother, with a full beard and mustache, answers you.  Again, it was funny.  If he reads this, he will laugh heartily at the memory.  The only gender roles we were expected to follow applied to chores, and I strongly suspect that was a holdover from when my parents were married.  

I tell these two stories to show that I've always had a very clear division in my head between Sex and Gender.  And you thought I was digressing again, didn't you?  

The second conversation was with a gay male couple.  These men have two children.  The children have lots of female role models despite the fact that they don't have a mommy.  Even if they didn't, I think they'll grow up just fine.  What is a woman going to teach them that a man or a book can't?

Anyone out there who thinks a parent's genitalia keeps them from parenting, shut up.  My momma wore combat boots and that was not one of the things she got wrong, so shut up.  If you cat-called some hippie dude and are now having an existential crisis, that's your problem, so shut up.  Unless people are hurting somebody, just shut up.  

As always, I invite civil debate of these points.  If you just wanna call names and insult people, shut up. 

Nickel's Worth of Free Advice

 If you are dealing with clinical Depression, or possibly another mental health issue, I want to help if I can.  Following are the things I do to keep Sybrie The Tenth locked up tight in her cage.  Maybe you can do these things, or a form of them, to keep your own demon under control. 

1. Keep the faith.  Whatever it is that you have faith in, remind yourself often.  Commune with whatever higher power you believe in.  For me, that's best done in nature.  I live in a rural town, right on the Ohio River, so there's lots of nature around.  Even just on the property of my little apartment complex, there are several trees I can go sit under.  I run away to the Smokies every chance I get.  

2.  Surround yourself with good people.  This is your support system.  Select people who are good to and for you, not people society tells you to associate with.  If a person makes you doubt your own worth, they are toxic and should be avoided.  

3. Remind yourself to try.  I do this via wall art and even kitchen towels.  "Gather with a grateful heart."  "Enjoy the little things."  My favorites are Ralph Waldo Emerson's Success and the prayer of Saint Francis.  

4. Forgive yourself for failure.  One of the things hanging in my little office corner is a degree from UC.  I failed to learn ahead of time how few jobs in the field there were in my area, so I never actually "used" it, but I earned the dang thing!  I grew my brain in the process, something I recommend everyone do.  (I also failed to become a mother, so I focus on Aunting.)   

5. Accept constructive criticism.  Constructive being the key word.  When one of those good people you've surrounded yourself with suggests you might have a problem (or be a problem), listen to them.  They probably have a point.  My own support system has standing orders to bully me into taking walks with them because I need the exercise!  

6. Develop coping skills.  It doesn't matter what they are, as long as they harm no one (including yourself).  I play with dolls and color in coloring books.  I write fiction I'll never have the courage to submit for publication.  I love to learn so much that one of my nicknames is Research Whore. 

7. Focus on the positive.  This can sometimes be easier to say than do, I admit.  Sometimes you really gotta search, but I promise it's there.  

I'm sure I'm forgetting something.  I'll apply #4 when I remember what it is.  

Aggravations In Illness

 It's quite difficult to have a chronic medical issue, whatever form that issue might take.  In my case, it's   Diabetes and Depression and often I find what helps with one does not help with the other.  Eating carbs, for example.  As a diabetic, starches and sugars are to be limited.  As a Depressive, however, I'm encouraged to eat things that provide my body fuel (starches and sugars).  

Exercise is another bone of contention.  It's good for both conditions and for obesity.  However... the very nature of Depression makes motivation difficult.  The obesity leads to other issues, too.  Carrying around extra weight puts undue stress on the joints.  The hot humid summers of Ohio are hotter and more humid when you're toting the equivalent of a child.  I do have friends and family that "bully" me into walking (and hiking when we go to the mountains).  Weather permitting, I prefer to walk when running errands here in town.  I might take a hour to do what should take minutes, but I get 'er done. 

It's late July in Ohio.  It's not unusual for the "real feel" to creep into triple digits.  My apartment is air conditioned, so this isn't a problem except for one thing.  My allergies don't like AC.  When the dog days of summer hit, I find myself having to chose between heat exhaustion or feeling like my head's an overinflated balloon.  I keep my thermostat at a higher temperature than most find comfortable.  

Managing my medical issues is a balancing act, but most of the time I succeed.  I worry when something is off, like if my sugar's running high or if my demon is growling in her cage for no apparent reason, but that's part of the deal.  I just wish one illness didn't need things that makes another worse!