Releasing a Lifetime of Anger

God continues to unpack the burdens which keep me from floating free like a milkwood seed. Quite by accident (at least nothing I saw coming), a lifetime of anger bubbled up to the surface yesterday and exploded in a geyser of tears and raw emotion followed by the best sleep I have gotten in a very long time - so good that my poor baby girl, Bailey, ended up pottying inside because momma did not wake to her pleas to go out.

Anger is one emotion which rarely comes to my surface. When it does, words which I cannot bring myself to mutter on a typical day come flying out of my mouth effortlessly. I can be bold and brutal. My anger is usually triggered by some kind of injustice. Saturday, it came when someone who should know my reputation and conduct better doubted me and basically questioned my integrity and trustworthiness. My past record seemed to mean nothing in this situation. Before I could focus on anything else, I had to prove my innocence. I refused to let someone's faulty conclusions undue all the hard work I have done and undermine my effectiveness.

It was this situation which triggered the rest. After all was said and done, and my reputation restored, I began to do what I normally do - tell myself why I should not be angry with this person - explain away and justify why this person would jump to such conclusions. I excused this person.

Then, the switch flipped. I realized I was protecting this person and undermining the effect it had on me. I realized I can be quick to be angry at an injustice done to me or someone else, but when it comes to people hurting me, I do not get angry.

I realized I have always protected those who have hurt me - I have explained away their actions, minimalized the impact it had on me. I gave them a free pass and ate all those negative emotions. This was my way of protecting those I love and hurting myself. All the tension I carry - the consistent and persistent pain in my neck and shoulders - even the over indulging in sweets - it is all a manifestation of the anger I buried trying to protect them and protect myself.

By admitting they hurt me, I would have to admit they had any power over me - a vulnerability I refused to show. I would admit a weakness within myself - or so I thought. What I am realizing is that emotion is simply a natural human trait. Feeling does not make me weak. It does not make me less-than. It simply makes me real. Yes, it makes me feel vulnerable, but true intimacy cannot be shared without it. I lack true intimate relationships because I refuse to feel.

As I realized all this, a lifetime of suppressed anger bubbled close to the surface. I could feel it ready to explode, but I needed to keep it in check until I found a good time and healthy way to let it go.

God had other plans.

I lead a prayer group before service on Sunday mornings. I began as I usually do, with a few deep breaths to center myself. On this morning, I began my prayer by admitting what I was feeling and asking God to help me set it aside for just a while longer. But then, no more words would come. My breathing became labored and I broke down crying. The flood gates burst open. The lifetime of anger I had been carrying would no longer be contained.

My wonderful prayer warrior friend took up the prayer - for me, for others like me, for all of our church and service.

It was an ugly cry so I quietly excused myself to go to the restroom. I hoped to make it there without running into anyone, but a few people saw me and pretended not to. One dear friend saw me and stopped in her tracks. She looked right at me and gave me a hug. That was the best hug I felt in a long time. I did not want it, but I needed it.

I managed to collect myself and returned to prayer group. I thought I would be okay. Then, during small group, my breathing became labored again. I wanted to do something physical to get this emotion out - go run as fast and as hard as I could, go punch and kick my heavy bag, scream and punch a wall - something, anything, but this was not the time nor the place. So, I bit my knuckles and concentrated on my breathing.

Then, I was asked to share - what in my life could God use to minister to others? This - eventually - once I get it out and figure it out. As I tried to share, the tears began again. As I described what I was feeling, that's when a friend said it best - a lifetime of suppressed anger finally bubbling to the surface.

Afterwards, the outpouring of love and support I got from friends in that group was great, but a bit overwhelming for me. I had felt and expressed too much emotion for one day - so I bolted as quickly as I could after the service - speaking as little to as few people as possible.

Before work, I prayed that God would help get me through - for me to be fully present for the patients. I still felt raw and weak, but something about my appearance must have spoken to the patients. More people requested prayer from me than usual.

One visit was especially touching. While walking down a hall, I heard loud wails from a patient's room. She sounded in pain. A staff member was in there with her, trying to get her to calm down. I went in to see if I could be of assistance. The patient was a very old, very frail woman. Her eyes were closed. I sat down beside her, held her hand, and tried to understand her. I could not tell if she was crying, singing, or speaking incoherently. I tried to pull my hand away, but she held on. So, I just sat there holding her hand, saying nothing. Soon, she quieted down and fell asleep. I watched her sleeping. In that moment, I felt how much God loved her, how precious she is to Him. I realized how precious I am to Him, and how this release of anger is a gift - a tough gift, but a precious gift.

When I knew she was sound asleep, I pulled my hand away and slowly left the room.

When I got home from work, I let the girls out and lightly tapped away at my speed ball, naming everyone I was angry with and why.

This morning, I planned to take my anger out on the rest of the downed tree with a chain saw. Fun and physically exhausting. Instead, I wanted to - needed to - write. So, I am writing.

I am writing about the anger the pain caused me over the years. As I write, I realize a common theme - I am angry with everyone for abandoning me - for leaving me alone. And as I realize this, I hear the words of my counselor - "no wonder you shut down emotionally. No wonder you hate men (romantically speaking). No wonder you isolate yourself. It feels safer for you that way." But, as I know, this is no way to truly live. I cannot be close to God or others or serve my mission in life if I continue to live this way. My purpose, like everyone's, is to love. I cannot love if I refuse to feel. I cannot love if I refuse to let anyone in. I cannot love until I first allow myself to be angry with those who have hurt me.

Warning - this next section may be hard for some people to read. I am about to get real and raw:

I am angry with my dad for telling my mom he didn't love her. I am angry with him for not fighting for his marriage - for his family. He was my best friend. I am angry with him for galivanting with all those women, leaving me alone. I am angry with him for abandoning me. I am angry with him for letting me date a senior when I was a freshman, for not taking an interest in my life at such a vulnerable time. I am angry with him for not telling me my husband was bad for me - even if I would not have listened, he should have tried to protect me.

I am angry with my mom for being so prideful - for walking away from her marriage and from us because she was too prideful to fight for her marriage after what dad said to her. She and I grew closer after the divorce, though. We started to hang out more. Then Tony came along and she became all about him. She spent so much time with him and didn't have time for me anymore. It was never just the two of us anymore. She abandoned me. She left me alone. You said you knew about Brad, too. Why were you content to say nothing? Wouldn't it have been better to chance making me angry, at least planting the seed, instead of just letting it happen? You and dad are my parents - you're supposed to protect me. Why did you both give up on me when I was only fourteen years old?

I am angry with my sister. The day my parents told us they were getting a divorce, she convinced me that all we had was each other, that we had to take care of one another. But did she take care of me? No. She left me alone. She ran away to her boyfriend's family. She abandoned me. If all I had was her, then now I had nothing - no one.

Brad - oh Brad. I know you have a lot of demons and I let that excuse your behavior to me. You never laid a hand on me. You were right about that. I was the one who slapped you that one time. But that does not excuse all the emotional and sexual abuse you doled out. You were manipulative. For so many years I excused your behavior because of what you had gone through. I took all the blame because, well, that's what I do. But the truth is, you had a choice. You could have chosen differently. Instead, you made yourself feel better, stronger, by making me feel small, weak. Almost a decade later and I am still trying to recover from the damage you caused. You used to say what you did was your business alone, but look at the mess you have left in your wake. I'm a mess. I loved you and you supposedly loved me. You had a choice - just like we all do. You chose wrong and you are still slowly killing yourself because of it. But I refuse to let you off the hook any longer. You chose wrong and I will not let you continue to take me down with you.

I am angry with my best friend, Mike. I loved him more than I have ever loved anyone (in a non-romantic sense). We were the wonder twins. You gave me protection, friendship, and a family. I bared my heart and soul to you. I loved your girls as if they were my own. If I could have made myself romantically love you, I would have. You made me laugh like no one else could. We worked together, lived together, played together. We were inseparable. People assumed we would eventually end up together, and I thought the same. I just needed to work through the divorce and cancer. I prayed I would come to love you romantically as well.

But then you invited her into your life and our happy home. She hated me with as much passion as there could possibly be. She made life for me and you unbearable. I was the one who said it, but she was the one who forced it - her or me.

I was told I should not be shocked that you chose her. How could I ask for you to choose me? To wait for me? I cannot be mad about that. But, yes I can. I can because you did not love her. You barely even liked her. You were with her because she loved you romantically. You were so afraid that you would end up alone so you settled. You were so lonely and settled for something so beneath your worth. That became more valuable to you than me and our friendship.

Your choice hurt me. I lost my best friend. She won't even let you text me. She won't let me have any part of you. Not only did I lose my best friend, but I lost the girls I love as my own daughters. Yes, I keep up with them on social media, but I can't afford to go see them and they cannot afford to come see me. I missed Morgan's graduation, wedding, and birth of my "grandson." It's all your fault. I may have been the one to move away, but you are the one who left me. You abandoned me.

John - we may have only begun to date. We never even went on one official date. Lunches during our working hours - one incredible make out session. Granted, your biggest appeal for me was the fact that you were Brad's polar opposite. You were a workaholic and a cop. Brad hated cops. Still, the last time you called me, I had just been admitted to the hospital. I told you the doctors suspected cancer. You gave your condolences and then I never heard from you again. You never called or texted to see how the tests went. You never even asked about me through our mutual friends. I get not wanting to start a romantic relationship with someone just diagnosed with a very serious illness, but I thought we were friends. You never even checked on me as a friend -  not even as a work acquaintance.  Somehow, you must have heard when I was done with treatment and alive and in remission because then I heard from you again. You suck, John! I am so glad God stopped us before things went too far and I ended up with a loser like you, but that really hurt.



Years later - I was comfortable and content with my single life. I was very happy and set to go about continuing the single life. Then, out of no where, I began to develop feelings for another friend. I denied it for a long time. Did my best to explain it away, but the feelings continued to grow. I could not understand them, but then something happened and I could no longer deny them. I suspected he knew, so I told him. He let me down easy and told me he did know, but did not have feelings for me. I felt so vulnerable, like a little girl. I hated every minute of that experience. Every time I drive by the place where I told him, I get a sick feeling. I'm angry with him for not loving me back. I'm angry with him for being such a likable, loveable, good guy. I'm angry with him for being so nice about it all. Yuck!

More than that, though, I am angry with God for allowing me to have these feelings. I don't want to feel the way I feel about him. I don't want to feel that way about anyone! Why would God allow me to have feelings for anyone knowing that, even if he did share my feelings, I am in no position to actually be in a relationship? Why would God allow me to have feelings for someone who does not share my feelings? That seems just plain mean! I know He must have His reasons, but I don't understand and I am angry about it. It sucks!

I'm angry with one person I confided in who told me it would never happen - and more than that - told me he could not see me with anyone, that he thought I would remain single. As much as I have been hurt, I still secretly long to fall in love again with someone who will love me, too. To find my Sam (Good Witch) - to find that perfect combination of the friendship I had with Mike and the romantic feelings I have for this unnamed man. I don't want to be alone.

And, I am angry that I am not content to be alone. I am angry that I am starting to feel - just like a real human being - even though that was the promise I made myself just over nine years ago. It is hard. It hurts. This sucks!

Then again, the release feels soothing. The pain in my chest has dissipated. I am tired and feel like I could go back to sleep, but the day awaits.

The Milkwood Seed

This past Sunday, during our small group time before service, we were asked about our passions. This class is designed to help participants discover their fit - what they are good at, what they enjoy, etc. There is an online test which can help a person discover more about themselves.

I have taken this test in the past, but have not retaken it yet for this class. However, I do not need a class to tell me my passions. My two greatest passions are my babies and my words.

My cat, Ray Ray (Rahima) and my dog, Bailey are the loves of my life. My heart overflows in love for them. It is remarkably easy for me to shower them with kisses and snuggles and "I love yous". They teach me about love. God uses them to teach me.

Words. They are my gift, my greatest form of expression. When I had cancer, my sister set up a blog for me. She intended it as a way to update everyone on my progress, saving me the stress of endless texts and phone calls.

The blog turned into something so much greater. It was the best and most effective form of therapy for me. It was my way of getting out all the stuff in my head and helped me to make sense of everything going on in my life. It healed me. It saved me. Not only that, but others told me how much they learned from what I shared. It helped them know how to help me - and others. In my fiction, my goal was always to show the darker side of Christianity - how we, too, suffer, but how our relationship with God helps us to overcome. My blog turned out to be a real-life adventure in the darker side of the Christian walk - my walk.

That is what this blog is for me now - post cancer. It is still my healing, my therapy - my purpose - my gift - my passion. I know very few people read it. I have never attempted to promote it. This blog is not about that. Like my cancer blog (and even like my fictional stories), I never set out to write for "them". However, when just one person comments on how my vulnerability and honesty in my words helped them, it is worth it.

I struggle with vulnerability in life. With words, it is easy. These words build up inside of me and I cannot contain them. I have no choice but to write them down. Words are my greatest passion.

So, what are the words telling me today? I need to verbally set them free.

This past year, my counselor and I have been unpacking the words which do not want to be spoken, but words which need to find voice if I am to continue healing and growing. There is one word I have as of yet been able to type or verbalize. My counselor can say it, I can acknowledge it, but I cannot own it by letting it pass through my fingers or mouth. I have tried, but it refuses to come.

Every time I even think it, my face contorts, my shoulders tense, my nostrils flare, my jaw clenches, my chest tightens, and my breathing becomes labored. I hate this word. It makes me angry.

This past Sunday, our pastor ended the service by asking us to spend a few minutes in silence, listening to God. I do this quite regularly, but I participated in the exercise anyway. Oh, it was so nice. I got such a peaceful feeling. I imagined a milkweed seed floating in the wind. It seemed to be aimlessly floating, but I recognized the invisible hand of God holding the seed as it flew. "Let it go. Be free," I sensed Him telling me.

The weight of anxiety pushing down on my shoulders makes me feel so heavy. I wanted to be free like the milkweed seed. What a glorious feeling. "What am I supposed to let go?" I asked.

The next morning, during my prayer/journaling, I contemplated what I was supposed to let go to be free. At first, the only thing I could think about was humorous. That was obviously not what God meant. That would get me into a lot of trouble and make some very angry. It would not be a welcomed gesture!

Then He told me - the word. Speak it, own it, release it. Do not give it power. A name - a person to speak it to - a friend who has heard my other secrets and treated me with respect, never shaming me. I sent her a text before I could change my mind, asking to talk with her. Then, I replayed in my head what I would say. How would I even start? Each time, I never got to the word. I can't even do it in my head.

He stopped me, told me to just say it - without minimalizing it - without explaining it away - without any sort of justification - own it and let it go.

As the day went on, I thought about what else we could talk about, what I could possibly tell her without telling her what I really needed to say. Could I come up with something else before we meet?

Then, I had a dream. In my dream, I was doing research for my class project. I was already done, but someone gave me a book they thought I would enjoy. I flipped through it, but initially saw nothing of interest. I didn't want to keep working, so I set the book aside. But something kept gnawing at me, pulling me back to the book. I picked it up again and found an intriguing chapter.

It was about Gorgonia's secret.  (Gorgonia was the person I did my class projects on). This secret would be scandalous now, but back then, it would have outright destroyed her. All we know about her is what her brother, the great theologian, wrote about her. Had this secret been out, he would have never written about her and she would have been lost to history. I would never have been impacted by her witness.

My heart broke for her. The secret she carried was no sin, but misguided and judgmental "Christians" would have ruined her because of it. What torment she must have carried.

The dream (and only a dream - I know of no secret "sin" in her life) could have encouraged me to keep my secret for fear of being destroyed as Gorgonia would have been. However, it did the opposite. It made me realize that I have to let it go. I cannot be free like the milkwood seed as long as I keep it and protect it. After all, isn't that what I am doing by refusing to speak it? I am coddling it, giving it extreme power and influence in my life.

Last night, I watched a video by Louie Giglio based on his book, Goliath Must Fall. In it, he said we are not David in the story. He compared us to those cowering, focused on the problem. David was successful because he looked higher than nine feet. He refused to give the giant the power. David is Jesus, coming to rescue us, helping us to see above, helping us to defeat our giants, pointing us higher. We will never be free as long as we keep our gaze trained on the giant, giving him all the power.

That is exactly what I am doing - giving the word all the power.

For the purpose of this blog, what my word is does not matter. We all have our words. My goal today is to take away its power by speaking it to a trusted friend - then letting it go so that I can float free like the milkwood seed.

Moving Beyond My Upward Trajectory

I only see my therapist once a month now. Sometimes, like yesterday, I don't think I really need to see her, but I keep the appointment because I know it is vital for my self-care. On my way, I thought about what we may discuss. Naturally, since I am still consumed with the wonderful week I had last week - including the visit with my family, learning something new about myself while listening to the book about family systems theory and triangulation, as well as everything I learned and gained from the entire class experience. I feel like a brand new person. So much has changed within me in such a short time - literally from one week to the next. I haven't experienced such a sharp leap in my personal development since 2012 when I had cancer and had to learn to let others love me.

This graph popped into my head - I had been on such a slow upward progression for such a long time. It has felt wonderful to finally experience such a drastic leap forward.

2010 - My world fell apart with my divorce and I vowed to do whatever it took to fix me.
2012 - I was diagnosed with cancer and learned how to let people love me, how to be humble and vulnerable - found great healing in my biological, work, and church family, my blog, and my pottery.
2016 - Felt the call to ministry and my call was confirmed in a miraculous way.
2018 - Got a call out of the blue about becoming a hospital chaplain intern - something I applied for long ago and forgot about.
2019 - A class I took simply because I thought it would be cool to take a class from one of our General Superintendents - Theology and Witness of the Church Mothers.

So, since I'm on this extreme high, did I really have anything I needed to work on right now? Can't I just ride out this high?

I told her all about the trip, the audio book, my last visit with my sister. I can tell that there's been a drastic change in me the past six months or so. My sister can tell, too. The way we talk and relate to one another has changed. I don't know if anyone else can tell, but I can tell that there's been an even bigger change since just last week. That audio book and trip to Kansas City were phenomenal.

I even told her about my Good Witch revelation - Jake's Cassie vs. Sam's Cassie.

My therapist rejoiced with me in all the growth. She, too, recognized the change in me and congratulated the growth I've experienced since coming to her. However, she latched on to this Good Witch theme.

She understands and appreciates me not wanting to be in a childish relationship - the thing fairy tales are made of - knight in shining armor coming to rescue the princess. She said something pretty profound. In order to be rescued, we must be a victim. Never thought of that. She went on - considering our last discussion, of course I want to stay far away from being made to be or even to feel like a victim.

She then asked what it would take for me to feel like I was strong and independent like Sam's Cassie.  As often happens in these sessions, I just started talking and she latched onto hidden themes.

Money.

I equate success with money - independence.

I do not think I have anything to offer a relationship - make me an equal partner - until I am financially independent.

I know this. I understood this. I thought nothing of this. Isn't that the way it is?

Apparently not - at least, not necessarily - depending on the driving motivation.

She asked a poignant question. What is it about being financially independent that would make me successful? What is it about not being financially independent that makes me think I have nothing to offer? That I am less-than?

Oh!

This threw me off. My first thought was, "what do you mean? Isn't it obvious?"

I mean, isn't financial independence THE sign of success? I mean, I would hate to go into a relationship and not be able to help support us. Being financially dependent on someone else would place me on a lower rung on the relational ladder.

Right?

Maybe not. The more we talked about how having to rely on my parents financially makes me feel like a child, how I know they love me and don't think that way of me, but how it still makes me feel less-than, the more she held on to this issue and wondered why.

She suggested this is something I need to pray about and explore more. Where did I learn to equate worth with money?

I left my appointment still elated from the past week, but assured, once again, that my learning is not complete. As I have learned, and as she reminded me, growth is a life-long process.

Fast forward to this morning. During my prayer time, I lifted this question up to God. I thought about a lot of things.

Is it a learned response from childhood? My parents never said I was unsuccessful if I was poor, but my mom was/is such a strong and independent woman. She worked so hard to better herself from her childhood. I know my dad struggles with the fact that I do so much for the church, but do not get paid for it. Is my reasoning for equating money with success my way of wanting to live up to my mom's amazing example or to assure my dad that I'm okay?

Is it simply the fact that I live in America? The American dream? Success is built on material possessions. I have never been motivated by stuff, but I am in America. Is it simply deeply rooted American ideals subconsciously shaping my own idea of success?

My sister is a stay at home mom. I do not think any less of her because she does not earn a traditional paycheck. She is invaluable in her home. She is no less because she does not earn a traditional paycheck. She is amazing. The way she keeps her home, raises her boys, takes care of others, volunteers. There is no doubt in my mind that she is a more valuable wife to her husband in her current role than she would be if she worked a traditional job and brought home a traditional paycheck.

So, why do I equate success differently for me than I do for her?

Is it because I'm not married?

Or . . . is it precisely because I was married . . . ah . . . I may be on to something. My ex refused to work unless it was a music gig. This meant that there were times, especially the years leading up to our divorce, when he rarely worked. He could not offer much in the way of financial support so I did all the bill paying, which often required me to work overtime. The money he did have went to booze and cigarettes. There was always money for booze and cigarettes.

He used to complain that I never got upset when he was on the road and making plenty of money. He was right, so I quit complaining about the lack. However, what I realize now is that it was not so much about him not making money, but the fact that when he wasn't working, he did nothing.

When I left for work, he was asleep. When I got home, he was watching television. If he went out, it was to the store to get his supplies.

Not only did I work all day, but I had to clean the house. I had to make dinner. I did the laundry and grocery shopping. It was worse than living alone because he wouldn't even make the bed or put his clothes in the hamper or put his dirty dishes in the sink. Hmmm . . . I wonder . . . is this also why I hate cooking and hardly ever cook now?

I never complained because I found it easier to do it all myself rather than argue. After all, he was right, or so I thought. If he had been contributing financially, I would not be upset.

I think I equate money with success because I refuse to be a burden to anyone the way Brad was to me. I sometimes feel like a burden to my parents because I rely so heavily on them for financial help with unexpected things like my car needing repair or school bills needing to be paid.

The thing is, I'm not a burden like Brad. I may not make enough money to be financially independent, but I do what I can. I show my love in other ways. I keep the house clean. I am going to be cleaning up the yard soon - lots of tree trimming to be done. My dad doesn't expect me to do this and he wouldn't care if I left it for him, but I want to do it. This is my way of showing him I love him and appreciate him.

I wish I knew how to repay my mom back. I do what I can when I can, but with my schedule, it's hard for me to get to her house. And besides, she has people who do most of the work around her house that she needs done. I do try to show my love and appreciation in other ways. Just spending time with her, (even though she pays for the dinner and movies) is my way of showing her I love her and appreciate her.

My therapist and I also talked about love languages. I re-listened to that book by Gary Chapman as well during my trip. I identified my love language (quality time) and said I think I recognized my mom's and dad's too. She reminded me that sometimes it is hard for us to show love for someone when our love language is different from theirs. She encouraged me to work on finding ways to show them I love them using their love languages.

So, I am currently riding that upward trajectory, but I still have work to do. I still need to figure out why financial independence is so important to me and if it is possible for me to love and be loved without it. And - to experiment with the love languages of others.

Challenge accepted.

Triangulation

The night before leaving for my trip to Kansas City, I watched the first movie in the Good Witch series, which predates the television show. In this movie, Cassie comes to town and meets Jake. The Cassie from the first movie and the Cassie from the first television show are markedly different.

Jakes’s Cassie comes to town lost, alone, searching for a place to belong. Sam’s Cassie is well established, well loved, and exudes confidence. The differing Cassie’s reflect my differing self – whom I am currently, and whom I am working toward becoming. 

During breakfast with a friend earlier in the day, I was sharing with her some of the topics of my class project. This conversation led to one reason why I still refuse to date. I consider myself undatable because I am not yet self-sufficient. I still rely too heavily on others – namely, my mother and father for financial support. I would not date a man in my situation. 

I have often been told that the rules are different for men than they are for women. Well, as far as this goes, the rules remain the same for me. It goes back to something I was told recently while gathering information for my projects. Thinking of a man and a woman on a ladder, there is no equality if one is on one rung and the other is either higher or lower. In my current position, I would be lower. I refuse to be lower. 

I see the Jake-Cassie as what I would be now if I were to get into a relationship now. There’s was a beautiful relationship, and there is a lot to be said for them working and growing together, but at this stage of my life, I would rather have the Sam-Cassie dynamic. Two wholes coming together to make something even greater – without either one losing their identity in the other. 

On my way to Kansas City, I listened to a book called Extraordinary Relationships: A New Way of Thinking About Human Interactions by Roberta M. Gilbert, M.D. She takes an in-depth look into Murray Bowen’s family systems theory. This audio book captivated my attention for the next twelve hours. 

Disclaimer – this book is not necessarily looking at romantic relationship and love. It investigates all human interactions.

I learned that I have a high self-differentiation. Basically, this means I should be pretty darn good at the relationship thing because I am pretty darn good at separating thought from emotion. Who knew that being a head thinker was a good thing? I always saw it as a flaw. According to Bowen, this makes me better at relationship because I do not act on emotion. I can separate from situations and logically think them through before reacting.  Granted, this is not the case 100% of the time, but it is quite a good description of me. 

So, if you are in a relationship with me, you are welcome! 😉

Another curious theory is the idea of relational triangulation. According to Bowen, the triangle is the fewest points of any relationship. This means that even in a romantic relationship, there are always at minimum, three elements present. 

This led me to think of the Christian notion of the triangle. A successful marriage has the man and woman on one line and God at the top. The closer the two individually move toward God, the closer they automatically come to one another. 

Examples of dysfunctional triangulation in a marriage would be when a couple avoid intentional interaction with one another by focusing too much on the children – or finances – or work – or even church. 

In thinking about triangulation in my life, I realized I use triangulation in order to avoid uncomfortable interactions. For example, if there is someone I do not know well or someone I am attracted to, I do not like being alone with them. Being alone makes me anxious, not knowing what to do or say, not liking that much focus being on me and not liking that awkward silence. Having a third person present in such circumstances takes the pressure of conversation off me. Or, in the case of when I am attracted to someone, triangulation keeps me from blushing or saying or doing something embarrassing. With a third person present, I can go to my happy place by blending into the background – out of direct line of sight. 

The audio book went on to discuss causes of relational anxiety and offered ways to train ourselves to deescalate anxiety before it happens. In order to do this, we must first recognize anxiety triggers. Then, we must ask ourselves if this is reasonable adult response to the situation which creates the anxiety. If not, we can talk our brains and bodies out of it. There is a whole study on this biofeedback journey. 

I cannot remember all of it, and am eager to re-listen to that chapter, but I do remember that during the entire trip, my shoulders and neck were in pain – my normal anxiety. As I thought about what was causing it, I knew the common triggers – the great unknown – going to a place I’ve never gone before, meeting people I’ve never met before, doing something I’ve never done before – all without my triangulation. 

Was this a reasonable adult response? Of course not. 

Have I been in a similar situation in the past? Often. 

How did it turn out? Just fine. As a matter of fact, it often turned out wonderfully. I am good in school. I knew this project was going to go well. My instructor and classmates would not be strangers for long. We would most likely end the week as friends. 

Is it reasonable to assume this would turn out like the other times? I am sure of it. 

And – it was. Because of this self-realization, I was more intentional in my interactions and it made quite a difference. I realized I have enough to offer without needing the crutch of intentional triangulation. 

I could go on with this idea of triangulation. I saw how it played out in healthy ways in my class – with my classmates, with the women we studied, with our work in class and our church. However, I will digress. 

What does Cassie and triangulation have to do with one another and with me? 

This study may not have had anything to do with relationships, but I can’t help but think about it – especially with the topic of my class – Theology and Witness of the Church Mothers – the relationship and role of women in society both then and today – how a woman then, or even now as I have experienced first-hand, is seen as an anomaly of sorts if they choose to walk away from societal norms by not getting married (or in my case, not dating or getting remarried after divorce).

I am not opposed to ever dating or marrying again. As Cassie has shown me, I have no desire for a Jake-Cassie relationship, but the Sam-Cassie relationship does look wonderfully appealing. 

Jake-Cassie’s triangulation, at least in the first movie, was Jake as savior, rescuer. She was on a lower rung from her hero-protector. I do not want a hero-triangulation. 

Sam-Cassie’s triangulation is mutual love and respect. They were on the same rung, equally yoked, partners. I am attracted to the idea of a partner-triangulation. 

I am not self-sufficient yet. I cannot be anyone’s equal partner yet. I do not care what is normal and acceptable by society’s standards. By my standards, it is not enough – not yet. 

What is interesting is that my reasoning for not wanting to be in relationship has drastically changed. It has gone from hating men to simply wanting to be able to give the best of myself to someone else – to be able to give them what I would expect them to give me. 

Bowen says the healthiest relationships are when two people are both high self-differentiations, when their triangle(s) is intentionally healthy. 

So, until I am ready for a Sam-Cassie connection, here’s to continuing to strive for healthy triangulations for all my other relationships. 

Good - Things

Last night, I had yet another bizarre dream with meaning. After a very exhausting day of work and working on a class project, I unwound with an episode of the Good Witch followed by an episode of Stranger Things before going to bed. It was obvious, to me anyway, that elements of both shows made it into my dream – vodka, strawberry slushies, overwhelming, life-threatening fear, and Sam – well, a Sam-like character. It also had a Three Bears element to it.

To make a long and confusing story short, a gang was after me, and threatened to hurt me if I did not do what they demanded of me. I was terrified. I wanted so desperately to talk with someone.

The first person I sought readily agreed to come talk with me. He even left a meeting to be with me. However, as soon as we walked into his office, there were numerous people waiting to talk with him. It was obvious that he was distracted. He kept telling me to hold on while he dealt with one issue after another. He kept looking toward me to let me know that he had not forgotten about me, but the demands of so many others kept him from being able to give me his undivided attention.

Another friend walked by. She has been one of my dearest confidants. I told the man not to worry about it. I would talk with my other friend. She not only agreed to talk with me, but she was willing to go somewhere else so we could talk in private.

However, she only followed me a short distance. She was willing to be somewhat disengaged for my sake, but she did not want to go too far – just in case. I was able to share part of my story, but then someone else came along needing to talk with her. I could see she was torn. I could see the other person was trying to be patient and not disturb us, but the other person’s presence was enough to disturb the both of us. I told her it was okay. She could see to the needs of the other person. I would be okay.

As I continued walking down this long hall, I became further and further isolated from everything and everyone else. I soon realized I was in this empty, unused kitchen area. There were no signs that anyone ever came here. I looked around. There was empty space all around me. Even the walls and cabinets were bare. Nothing. I was all alone.

I felt so very alone. I sat, defeated, on one of the long benches and bent my head, sobbing. I needed someone to talk with, but I was so very alone. I felt empty, lost, scared, had no idea what to do.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw another man walking toward me with briefcase in hand. It was obvious he had no idea I was there and he was simply walking by. However, when he saw me, he stopped and asked if I was okay.

I looked up and said no. I never even tried to still or silence my sobs.

He looked genuinely concerned. He asked me when I last cried like that. I told him I could not remember.

He set his briefcase down, walked up right behind me, grabbed the back of my head and kissed the back of my head. He told me that was a shame. Tears are good. They cleanse and heal the heart.

Then, he walked around the bench and sat down right beside me. Looking directly at me, he asked me what was wrong. I shared with him the whole, sad story. As I talked, his focus remained solely on me. He never took his eyes or his attention off me. This person, who is usually easily distracted, was fully present.

After I shared my story, he asked a simple question – what if I refused to do what they demanded I do? What then?

I said they might kill me.

He said, maybe they won’t. Then, he repeated Will Smith’s words about fear from the movie, After Earth.

After Earth - Fear is not Real: https://youtu.be/wSKzLtRzY78

I haven’t been able to get this dream out of my head. As I talked it over with God this morning, two lessons came out of it:

1. Remember how the me in the dream felt when those I needed were not fully present for me. If someone comes to me and is in need, BE FULLY PRESENT.

2. I may love the Good Witch because I want a Sam in my life. Part of the dream was wishful thinking that someone would look at me “the way Sam looks at Cassie.” The other part was a reminder that I already have that in Jesus. No matter how others may fail me, He will never leave nor forsake me. He will always give me His full and undivided attention. 

I often end my talks with God with “thank You for loving me.” Then, quite naturally, the Bon Jovi song of the same name pops into my head. As I contemplate some of the lyrics, I wonder if he wrote it as a love song or, if like the Song of Songs, it is a love prayer in disguise.

Bon Jovi, Thank You for Loving Me https://youtu.be/h6-Y1WIkaYY