I’ve been pondering the preciousness of life a lot recently. The gift of each day–even when it hurts, and it’s hard to face the day. I hold how easily I take for granted the rise and fall of my chest with breath. The thump of my heart. Even the sound of Joe’s snore.
I’ve started the practice of being with myself in this…asking myself Megan, are you living in this moment?
SO fascinating to recognize how often I turn to something to take me away from living. So irritating to recognize how many of the mazes of automation in our systems can take me away from living. So humbling to recognize how often I take living for granted.
In a breath, I’m back in eighth grade reading Our Town and preparing to write an essay. I excavated that eighth-grade essay from Mom and Dad’s possessions in the last year. Young pastor/therapist me waxed philosophical about “the little things in life.” Fourteen-year-old me reflected on the bittersweet reality of long car trips and singing along with the tape deck playing John Denver, Peter, Paul, and Mary, or Simon and Garfunkel. By fourteen, a part of me loathed this, chaffing at the family ritual, while most of me savored the sweet security of it. At fourteen, I grasped the paradox deceased Emily questions in Act III
Does anyone ever realize life while they live it…every, every minute?
The stage manager replies No. Saints and poets maybe…they do some.
There was a time when I would have had my social media blaring with advocacy for all of the social injustice as I perceived it. Then there has been a season of saying less and listening more. Finally, a season where I had little capacity to take in much more than what was closest to me. So much reckoning within me.
This weekend we scattered Mom and Dad’s ashes—freeing them into the waters down the shore–a place that has long been an anchor for our family.
Does anyone ever realize life while they live it…every, every minute?
I poke my head back above the water, and there is more violence. More lives ended.
Somewhere, someone else is just beginning this agonizing journey of losing their person to death with the complexity of gun violence added to it. There’s something about living through this year of grief…grief where both Mom and Dad were snatched away so fast–without word or warning really–that leaves me incredulous at the world. At what seems to grieving me to be the casual almost flippant way of living life.
I realize I’m no longer interested in debates about right or wrong. Or do this or do that. I want to talk about life…what it means to live it. To savor each moment. To look in the eyes of the person to my left and the person to my right and marvel at the mystery of it all. That we are here. That our hearts beat. That this gift is so very precious.
This is how our pastor began my father’s memorial service
What do you say when there are no words?
She knew and had the courage to name what was most true. Most real. Most visceral to me, to my sisters, and to our beloved community. The traumatic and unexpected death of my mother followed by the quick descent of my father’s health culminating in his death defies logic or words. She even went so far as to encourage the community to withhold theologizing…but to be WITH us. That although there was a deep yearning to help, to fix, to fill the gaps that now was the time to be and honor there is NO thing to fill this gap.
Indeed.
America, I dare say we are at the same place as a society that I sat several weeks ago at Dad’s memorial. There are NO words.
There is heartbreak after heartbreak.
Tragedy after tragedy.
Trauma after trauma.
Early in my training as a therapist, my supervisor regularly revisited the theme of assessment.
How many sessions have you had? She’d ask.
Two or three, One of us would reply.
Oh, you’re still in assessment. Meaning it is not the time yet to intervene as we were still surveying the scene and putting together a picture of the complexity of the pieces of the puzzle in front of us…honestly in sessions two or three, most clients keep hidden the most vital pieces of the puzzle testing the trust and the relationship between us. Is it safe enough to share the most vulnerable pieces of their hearts?
She’d go on to assert assessment IS intervention. Simply asking the questions and exploring the puzzle pieces together in itself starts a shift. The allowance of the process and the relationship. The curiosity of the therapist lent to the client to awaken that another way just might be possible…a new way of seeing and of being.
I go on Facebook today and I read lots of interventive comments. Lots of prescriptions. The ubiquitous shoulds.
My heart weary from the year. From the last two years. The last five six years. The last 21 years.
I can tell you we are sick and troubled.
I have hypotheses as to why…to some of the puzzle pieces hidden in our collective hands.
Bessel van der Kolk is right. The body does indeed keep the score.
Shortly after Mom died, my shoulder mysteriously stiffened. Two weeks after Dad died, my knees both tightened.
Walking and lifting nearly impossible. Frustrated I attempted to do what I do…push through. There were boxes to pack, a home to be cleared, a timeline to be kept. The harder I tried to move, the more my body reacted until I stopped.
I turned into the quiet…and my body whispered be here now. Be HERE now.
In the pit of deep bereavement, those words felt less like comfort and more like a prison sentence.
The last thing I wanted to do was be here now.
And yet for the last week, that is just what I’ve done.
Slowed. WAY. down.
My caseload lighter. The apartment almost empty. The to-do list shortening…
I’ve let empty spaces remain open.
Barren.
And I’ve been with me.
My cries are sometimes silent and sometimes primal wailing like an animal in agonizing pain. My body yearns to mourn as they do in the Hebrew Bible. Suddenly, it makes sense-tearing my clothes, marking my body with ash…something, anything to visibly answer the ubiquitous question how are you?
A week into slowing down, my knees now bend. My shoulder, though tight, has some ease. My body continues to be my compass in this wilderness of loss.
Beyond the ongoing chaos and crisis with my Father–who waxes and wanes himself– I sit with the younger, parentified-daughter part of me.
She believes that if she takes her eyes off of the situation, Dad will die. Magical thinking that somehow she is the one who holds the family together like glue at the expense of herself. I see this in my sisters, too. All three of us bracing ourselves–there’s a rush and a whirring. A desperate anxiousness as if each of the three of us needs to sacrifice our lives for this one life.
As I sit with her, this younger me, we weep together. We weep at the injustice of the situation we’re in. At the injustice of a tender-hearted man who developed such thick skin that he fears the very tenderness inside that would save him. We weep for our father who thinks the answers lie without rather than within. We weep for the lies the church told us that our job was to follow Jesus to the point of death. We weep at the ubiquitousness of the story–that our story is commonplace for white, middle-class neo-liberal mainline protestant america.
And something in this whole process of holding, weeping, releasing makes space. My parentified daughter readying to turn her gaze–and to release the burden that was never hers to carry in the first place. She’s not ready yet. Yet, she senses angels keep vigil while she prepares. They wait–and she trusts that as she turns her gaze they will keep her from falling.
She and I are one and together we are held by grace upon grace.
On March 19, 2020, I packed my car with a box of files, two boxes of books, and my stack of sticky-notes. Driving away from The Candy Factory, my throat tightened as one of my trusty protectors held back tears. It is a freeze-frame moment in my life–visceral memory. I knew that COVID 19 would be a chapter end and beginning in the story of my life. I knew that I didn’t know what would be in the next chapter. I knew we all were entering a wilderness of liminal space.
I breathed deeply and my inner resources became more available. My mind wandered to something my chaplaincy supervisor would often say: Change=Loss; Loss=Grief. The parts of me settled with these words. Yes. This was a change. An unexpected and unwelcome change. It was initiating loss and therefore grief. These resources reminded me to return to the sacred ground that has steadied me through other liminal spaces. The container of grounding, grieving, gratitude, and grace–do not take the pain or the disorientation away, but they can help us re-orient ourselves, identify our inner resources, and cultivate the curiosity and creativity needed to thrive in the wilderness.
For the last nine months, I witnessed individuals, couples, and community find and identify resources within and around them. I’ve seen and heard how community formed in new and different ways, how individuals risked seeking support or help for the first time, or how people joined movements to advocate for justice. One of my takeaways from this year is that we cannot do this journey of life alone or in an isolated community. We need the collective wisdom shared from people with different backgrounds, experiences, and perspectives.
As I sit with this takeaway, I knew that my vision for The Well shifted and expanded. The Well needed to be a place to begin creating a safe space for these deep conversations that matter. The first small step in this shift is a 4-week virtual book group for 8 women and those who identify as women. We will read Emily Nagoski and Amelia Nagoski’s new book Burnout: Secrets to Unlocking the Stress Cycle, which provides practical and creative tips and tools to name the burnout and move through it. As this shift occurs, The Well looks forward to offering book groups, workshops, and events to help build community and assist you in recognizing your own resilience and resourcefulness. If you are interested joining us for this book group or learning more, register here.
Oh my goodness, my heart is with you all today. You’ve already been through Holy Week and celebrated the resurrection in Pandemic. But Christmas, too?!? Doesn’t seem fair. Isn’t fair.
I don’t know about you all–but being a fellow person in the helping profession the last nine months has challenged me, stretched me, grown me, strained me. So many of the “rules” no longer fit or work. The veil between us and those we serve grows ever thinner. The pain those we serve live in is the exact same pain we live in. The coping strategies and fix-it solutions we’re good at offering aren’t as helpful, useful, or available in these times. Not to mention the reality that most of us are dangling onto the bottom of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs Triangle. So depth work is not only out of reach for most–it could be down right dangerous if other basic needs and needs for stability or safety aren’t met. You carry all of this going into the Christmas Eve service tonight.
I imagine you, too, are having all the feels as you prepare to be livestreamed and/or masked before a community that also has all the feels–and very well may be projecting their God-images upon you. That my dear pastor friends is A LOT!
So my Christmas Wish and present for you is to give yourselves permission to be Good Enough.
What’s Good Enough?
The concept of good enough actually comes from pediatrician and psychotherapist, D.W, Winnicott, who encouraged the idea of the good enough mother. He observed that A mother is neither good nor bad nor the product of illusion, but is a separate and independent entity…Her failure to adapt to every need of the child helps them adapt to external realities. That’s right…what a relief for all of us parents (and pastors)! Better yet, attachment research today observes that good enough parenting occurs more in how we are in our important relationships–our ability to catch ourselves being out of sync and then repairing rather than in saying or doing the perfect thing. It’s kinda like meditation…it isn’t having the perfect breath and mind focus–it’s noticing when it’s off and coming back. So it is with good enough parenting. Just coming back and being present. Being with.
I think the same holds true for pastors and congregants. Applying this theory to pastoring–and counseling for that matter–good enough pastoring is about being present. I know you’ve read this stuff before. Heard it talked about in seminary, etc. But I know that if you’re like me in 2020 sometimes that might not feel like enough. Or with a night like Christmas Eve where the expectations and traditions are many, rather than listening to the critics without and within, I’d like to give you permission to be good enough. To show up and be present and simply be with us. To honor that there’s no way around the grief of how different this night will be and to welcome it to worship. And to give us your presence as you proclaim the Good News of Christmas–that God is with us. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
May you sense and see Emmanuel today and each day forward.
“It’s time to turn the page,” invited President-Elect Biden. He affirms, “I will work to be a president who seeks not to divide but unify. I won’t see red states and blue states, I will always see the United States.” His mission is to heal the ruptures in the United States. But how do we live this mission? What practices in daily life will help us turn the page?
Perhaps the first step is recognizing that this election is more like a second marriage than a first marriage. Second marriages are born of loss from previous marriages. They will be uniting two or more completely different cultures. They will be the stepparents to children who not only didn’t choose them but children of a parent who truly desires the children to completely disavow the stepparents. Any successful step-family will tell this is tender ground. Leadership in these circumstances is counterintuitive. The way forward may be slow and paradoxical but healing–indeed resurrection–is possible. Here is some wisdom gleaned from successful stepfamilies
Let Go of Blending–Many stepfamily experts disavow the term blended family because it suggests a melting into one unified whole and discounts the reality that these relationships are just that. A step removed from one another. There is no quick or easy way to take two (or more) family cultures and develop a unified new culture
2. Acknowledge lack of “Middle Ground” and Be Intentional in Relating–In stepfamilies, there is little “middle ground” or established norms that make it easier to connect and collaborate. Middle ground creates the container for optimal arousal rather than being hyper- or hypo- aroused (Ogden, P., Minton, M., & Pain, C. 2006). Regulation is possible in stepfamilies. It just has to be done consciously, conscientiously, and consistently. This process is much more about slowing down and soothing and regulating yourself. On the outside, it appears as if little occurs, but inside there’s tremendous growth.
3. Be aware of Insider/Outsider Dynamics and Seek Understanding Rather Than Agreement–The structure of stepfamilies divides the family by the very structure. There are stuck insiders and stuck outsiders (Papernow, P 2013). No person is at fault or to blame for this structure. It just is. What does this mean for us? On a daily, people will feel disconnected and left out or stuck. Living on autopilot isn’t an option at this stage because there isn’t yet agreement on what it means to be ‘we.’ Inner emotional intensity will be high. The way forward is not agreement but understanding. First, with yourself when you realize some lovely piece of implicit belief or bias surfaces. Second when leaning in and listening to another. FYI—when you’re hyper or hypo aroused is not the time to engage the conversation…slow down, ground, support you.
4. Loyalty Binds Abound All Around, So Shift from Either/Or to Both/And–Even in the most amicable and cooperative stepfamilies, loyalty binds emerge. Liking a stepparent often feels very disloyal to a stepchild. Some believe it is not possible to love both sets of parents. Most of these beliefs are implicit or underground and are evident only through behaviors like being unreasonably negative, frivolous reasons for rejection, absence of guilt for how thoughts/feelings affect others, and extension of animosity to anything perceived as connected with the stepparent (Baker, A, 2014). Although in many cases these behaviors are fleeting and a sign that the loyalty bond tightens, in some cases, the loyalty bond is encouraged and supported by the ex-spouse. This creates a situation known as parental alienation. The way through loyalty binds and parental alienation is to bring the bind into the light and allow the child a both/and scenario rather than having to choose. Being mindful of how parents talk about their ex is around others is also very important. The child likely feels like they are betraying close others, so hearing painful rhetoric is salt in a wound.
5. Let Go of The Fairy Tale of Unity and Begin Building a New Culture–The fairytale ends with the moment of joining or the end of the struggle. Real-life generally begins in these moments. In the United States, the dominant narrative has often been that of the melting pot. Although there has been a critique of this narrative, currently releasing it appears imperative for forward-movement. In many sense 2020 has shoved us all into the wilderness, and we are tasked with building a new culture. Papernow (2016) suggests it is less like blending a cake and more like a step-by-step process of building, where eliminating differences isn’t the goal but getting to know one another is. It’s also helpful to know that this process takes time…years. It also means honoring that we are in a liminal space, which means that none of us knows what our resurrection will look like or be like. What we do know is that process matters, so going slow and being intentional with communication is vital.
6. Ex-Spouses are Part of the Family, and Clarity of Boundaries and Business Like Relating Can Assist In Managing and De-Escalating Conflict— Research suggests it is not divorce or difference that hurts children but the way conflict occurs (El-Sheikh, Buckhalt, Cummings, & Keller, 2007). In situations where conflict is high intensity and regulation is low, “negative intimacy” fuels the conflict cycle and both sides can become addicted to this way of relating. The way forward is to reframe the relating and consider the relationship as you would a business relationship (Ricci, I., 2012). This process often means getting clear with yourself about your emotional bruises and triggers, clarifying your boundaries, and knowing what and how you will respond when they are crossed. In our case today, this is where the election policy and procedure anchor us. As individuals, clarifying what is and is not ours and resisting the temptation to engage in the intoxication of social media shaming can be a good first step.
References
El-Sheikh, M., Buckhalt, J. Cummings, E.M. & Keller, P. (2007). Sleep disruption and
emotional insecurity are pathways of risk for children. Journal of Child Psycholgy
and Psychiatry, 48(1), 88-96.
Ogden, P Minton, M., & Pain, C. (2006). Trauma and the body: A sensorimotor
approach to psychotherapy. New York: Norton.
Papernow, P. (2016). Surviving and thriving in stepfamily relationships: What works
and what doesn’t. New York: Routledge.
Ricci, I, (2012). Mom’s house, dad’s house: A complete guide for parents who are
separated, divorced, or remarried. New York: Simon & Schuster.
In September of 2013, the still, small voice called me out of parish ministry. The call out was clear—the next destination, not so much. Like the Israelites stumbling through the woods toward the Promised Land, I found myself in the wilderness learning to trust the providence of manna.
Why had God led me to seminary if the intention wasn’t ministry? Had my hearing been that off or that distorted by my own will and my desire to please others?
In the wilderness I discovered fellow sojourners. A ministry emerged with couples seeking a spiritual presence at their wedding. Many of the couples represented the beautiful diversity of the United States. In this space, the voice whispered a vision of church buildings being repurposed to be centers of hope and healing. Where healers and non-profit leaders could collaborate to bring healing to individuals, couples, families, and communities. This daring space would move beyond the either/or thinking and live into the both/and. My brain delighted and dreamed of a progressive Christian space that integrated body, mind, and spirit and where embodied experience and contemplative practices would not only be read about but lived out. A place that proclaimed that therapists at our best are midwives of the soul.
In 2019 I opened the doors of The Well where I had the privilege of working with individuals and couples as well as consulting with a local church. This is it! I thought. Finally, I can settle in. But none of us have the privilege of living in the Promised Land in 2020. As the COVID19 Pandemic ignited, the houses we once called home burned. I, along with all of you, found myself lost in the middle of the wilderness. For the last nine months, COVID has been the great clarifier and amplifier for me and for many. Turning to the wisdom of poetry, the words of Mary Oliver became my bible:
Every year / everything / I have ever learned / In my lifetime / Leads back tot this: the fires/ And the black river of loss / Whose other side / Is salvation / Whose meaning / None of us will ever know / To live in this world / You must be able / To do three things / To love what is mortal / To hold it / Against your bones knowing / Your own life depends on it; / And when the time comes to let it/ Go/ To let it go
Parts of me have railed against and resisted these verses. It’s not fair. I don’t want to do this. Anger and self-pity filled my inner world protecting me with the hurricane sized wavs of grief. Yet in this crucible I recognized that learning to listen to and live differently with these parts of me was the beginning of the work. I have been here before. And I’ve rushed ahead of grace before. And I’ve tried to force solutions before thinking my will was the Divine’s. As I allowed the waves of grief to rise and fall, I learned that even in tumult, I could rise and fall. And I recognized that the shoreline I was headed to would look very different than what I anticipated. Indeed, there was a need to let go of what I had once held against my bones.
Something I have held against my bones for years has been a deep desire to bring disciplines and communities together and to work within the system for change. Alas, one of the realities of COVID has been naming and living within my own human limitations of time and energy. No longer could I maintain the professional requirements for both marriage and family therapists and authorized ministers with the United Church of Christ. This reckoning meant writing to the judicatory to request being released from my standing. It also means that after my final contracted weddings, I will no longer be able to officially marry couples. Although offering sacred ceremony and ritual continues to be within my rights, I can no longer preside over Holy Communion or legally marry couples. Similar to the still, small voice calling me out of parish ministry in 2013, the call out is clear….the next destination—not so much.
What I do know is that the wilderness has always felt more like home to me than the Promised Land, and that I have never been without manna or angels to guide my journey.
Malick's Musings 