I’m not good with hospitals. Plus, my legs were semi-bound with these cuff things that were constantly inflating and deflating (something to do with blood circulation and clot-prevention) – and I’ve got a thing about my legs being bound. Plus, I had a breathing tube stuck up my nose and laying on my throat, without which I couldn’t breathe well. Plus, I had an IV that was making my hand ache. Plus, I was incredibly, awe-inspiringly, ridiculously nauseous from the anesthetic. Plus, I had had major surgery about 6 hours prior and was in gobs of emotional and physical pain.

So, I wasn’t in the best shape, all told.

I’d been asleep, and I jerked awake in panic. I couldn’t move without intense pain everywhere and I was having trouble breathing, and the effort of doing either was making the nausea wash over me hardcore. I tried for a few seconds to calm down, then started begging Pace to help me – but she was at a total loss as to what to do, so she called the nurse.

The nurse came in an eternity later and asked, “Are you having a panic attack?”

I managed to answer in the affirmative, but I was really confused as to why she had to ask. It seemed pretty fucking clear to me that I was having a panic attack.

She proceeded to be really mean to me. Seriously. She threatened to withhold my pain medication if I didn’t calm down. She told me, “You just need to relax. Right now.” She said a bunch of other cruel, unhelpful things that the eventual application of morphine has happily erased from my memory – but I sure remember her attitude.

Seriously? She came into my room while I was in the middle of the worst, most terrifying moment of my life – and was mean? Anything less than utterly gentle and compassionate would have been wrong, but her outright uncompassionate cruelty was insane.

I had to stand up for myself, even then in that moment – in that worst, most terrifying moment of my life, when I couldn’t breathe or move and was sure that, at any second, I was going to die. But I would die before I would let this woman stand there and be cruel to me when I needed her love and compassion.

So I did.

I looked right at her (and managed not to hurl or punch her lights out!). I said, “You are not helping me. Either help me or go away.” I’m not sure how much of that was understandable, given that I was hyperventilating and sobbing, but she responded by dosing me with medication and going away, so I apparently got my point across regardless.

Even with Pace right there, it was up to me to stand up for myself. Pace was so worried about me and was utterly flummoxed by the nurse’s attitude, not to mention that she couldn’t even hear half of what the nurse was saying, that she couldn’t say anything fast enough to make my situation better fast enough – so it fell to me.

At all times, it’s really our responsibility to make our lives the way we want them to be. It’s up to us to protect ourselves if we need protecting. It’s up to us to defend ourselves if we need defending. Society tells us (especially women) that our parents or our spouses or our Knights in Shining Armor will ride in and save the day for us – but that makes us disempowered.

Yes, Pace would have jumped in and stood up for me. And yes, I knew I could depend on her to do so if I couldn’t – but even in that terrifying moment, I found that I could.

And I felt even more powerful and satisfied when I did it myself.

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Bob The Angry Flower has so many lessons to teach us all, which one shall I focus on today?

The importance of clear communication?

The danger of overpromising in your marketing copy?

That a victim mentality doesn’t solve anything?

The critical difference between $19.95 and $20 (it may save you from getting stabbed in the neck!)

That it’s not all about you?

That one excellent experience can make you forget the bad?

The importance of acquiring ninja insurance for your business?

Nay, I say. Despite the grand insight Bob expresses in those poignant anecdotes, I feel that his greatest wisdom is expressed by Bob smashing his own hand with a hammer, over and over and over again.

Do you mock the plight of our floral friend? Does his tenacious stubbornness amuse you?

Have you yourself never persisted in a course of errant foolishness, simply out of habit or inertia? Have you yourself never engaged in self-destructive behavior, even when you knew the most excellent course of action would be to stop? Were your own rationalizations any more compelling, in truth, than those of a certain angry flower of our mutual acquaintance?

Is there some area of your life where you are smashing yourself in the hand with a hammer over and over and over again?

Stop!

Want more cartoony wisdom? Here’s some from Doofenschmirtz, Bloo, Bugs Bunny, Pinky and the Brain, Jem, and my personal favorite, The Far Side.

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How excited would you feel to save $30 on dinner for your family? That’s a pretty ridiculous discount, and a pretty ridiculously good deal.

How excited would you feel to save $30 on a new car? Or on a house?

People are geared to think about saving money in terms of percentage, not in terms of the actual amount. But the $30 you save on the car or the house is just as thirty as the $30 you save on dinner. It’s worth just as much: exactly thirty dollars. You can spend it on exactly the same amount of things, or save it for exactly the same raininess of day.

Earning is different than saving… or is it?

How much effort would you put into earning $500 by the sweat of your brow, or by the tapping of your fingertips?

How much effort would you put into saving $500 on a large purchase, like a new car or a house?

Most people wouldn’t even put in a tiny bit of effort. Either they’re intimidated by the large-thing-buying process, or it just doesn’t seem worth it, because it’s less than 1% of the total cost. But remember: that $500 you could save is just as five hundred as the $500 you worked those many hours to earn.

Wouldn’t it be worth putting in at least one hour to try to save that much?

Isn’t your time worth $500/hr?

The next time you make a big purchase, remember that every dollar you can save is just as dollar as a dollar you save on pretzels, and just as dollar as a dollar you earned from your own hard work.

The next time you buy something big, think about what you would charge for an hour of your time. If you think you could save that much or more by negotiating, shopping around, or looking for opportunities to save, do it. Money saved is just as money as money earned.

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I’m bad at common household tasks that most people take for granted.

I’m bad at logistics.

I’m bad at “common sense.”

I’m bad at caretaking.

I’m bad at vacuum cleaners.

I once bought a new vacuum cleaner because the old one stopped working. I didn’t know that the vacuum bag needed to be changed.

Internal critic: You are such a putz. That’s just common sense, you idiot. How could you have not known that?

That’s not fair, critic. Common sense is just knowledge that people are bad at explaining.

No one ever teaches you common sense, they just expect you to somehow pick it up as you go. That’s not my learning style. I’m great at learning things when people explain them to me, but I often don’t notice patterns that are obvious to most people. And that’s okay.

Now I know that vacuum cleaner bags need to be changed. Each time I slip on a bit of “common sense”, I learn it and remember it. It’s okay for me to not know things that no one ever taught me.

I hear that it’s easy and obvious to you, critic. But “common sense” is hard for me. And it’s okay for it to be hard for me.

I’m bad at batteries.

Many years ago, I stopped using my Palm Pilot because it was too hard for me to constantly change the batteries.

Internal critic: You are so lame. Changing the batteries? That’s such a simple task it’s ridiculous for you to avoid it. You’re lazy and you suck.

I hear that changing batteries is easy for you, critic. It’s hard for me. And it’s okay for it to be hard for me.

I’m bad at scheduling.

I often avoid spending time with friends because scheduling a time to hang out fills me with dread.

Internal critic: What is your problem? You just pick a time that’s free and suggest it. What’s so hard about that? Just get over it.

I hear that scheduling is easy for you, critic. It’s hard for me. And it’s okay for it to be hard for me.

I’m bad at caretaking.

Taking care of Kyeli these past few weeks has been very difficult and stressful for me.

Internal critic: Oh, get over yourself. She hardly needs any help. All you have to do is a few errands, a couple of chores, and occasionally bring her food. Since you love Kyeli, you need to love taking care of Kyeli, too. You want to help her and be there for her, right?

Of course I do. And I will. But it’s hard for me. I hear that it’s easy for you, critic, but it’s hard for me. And it’s okay for it to be hard for me.

I’m bad at playing the violin.

There are a million things I’m bad at. Some of them, like the ones I’ve mentioned so far, I’m bad at because they don’t come naturally to me. All of them I’m bad at because I haven’t yet put in the effort required to get good at them.

I’m bad at playing the violin, but I don’t care. My internal critic doesn’t care, either. I’m bad at playing the violin because I haven’t practiced it enough to get good — in fact I’ve never practiced it. And that’s okay.

If I can accept that I’m bad at playing the violin, I can accept that I’m bad at anything! It’s all the same — it’s all a matter of choosing not to put in the hours/days/months/years it would take to become good at it.

How to be awesome while still being bad at lots of things

I could choose to put in the effort to become good at the things I’m bad at. For some, it would take emotional effort — self-work to unravel my resistance. For others, it would take a lot of effortful practice.

Or I could work smarter, not harder.

I could create clever systems and infrastructure to let me avoid the hard things altogether, and focus on my strengths instead. I could ask others (e.g. Kyeli) for help with the things I’m bad at.

It’s okay to be you, just the way you are.

Regardless of whether I choose to struggle with the things I’m bad at, get better at them, or avoid them entirely, it’s okay to be me. It’s okay to be me, just the way I am, good at all the things I’m good at and bad at all the things I’m bad at.

What are you bad at?

Repeat after me: It’s hard for me. And it’s okay for it to be hard for me.

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You feel happy when the world meets your expectations. You feel unhappy when the world doesn’t meet your expectations.

You feel happy when you feel like you know what you’re doing and you feel like you’re doing a good job and making progress. You feel unhappy when you feel like you don’t know what you’re doing, or when you worry that what you’re doing isn’t what you truly want to be doing.

You are unhappy when you feel dissonance.

You are happiest when you’re trying hard, doing your best, and succeeding. Too easy and you get bored, too hard and you get frustrated.

You feel a little bit happy when you’re doing simple, pleasurable things like watching TV, but you’d be happier if you did more challenging things.

When you put all your concentration into mastering something, when you can see measurable progress, when you enjoy doing it so much that you lose track of time — that’s flow.

Do more of what makes you feel flow.

Spend less time worrying about whether you’re doing the right thing and spend more time doing it.

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I can’t help myself. That is a phrase that begs to be illustrated.

And it’s at exactly this moment, after I’ve drawn the silly thing, that I recall the phase “like a hot knife through butter”, which would have obviated the whole thing.

Pace begins to slowly meander toward the point

I blaze through fiction like butter. I sometimes stay up late to read a good book. I read fiction before bed. I squeeze in a few chapters here and there during my down time.

But I don’t do the same for nonfiction. I wait until I’m in the exact right mood, in the exact right environment. If it’s a book I want to post about on the blog, I want to take notes, so I want to have note-taking paraphernalia handy. If my circumstances or my mood don’t make it easy for me to take notes, I won’t read nonfiction.

Up until today, my plan for making this better (because I do want to read more nonfiction) was to make more time for it in the middle of the day, when my environment and my mood are conducive to it. That hasn’t been happening, and to be honest, it’s not likely to start happening anytime soon. I have too many other things I want to be doing, and I want to be doing those things even more than I want to be reading.

An epiphany lurks in wait… at… THE LIBRARY!

It hit me yesterday at the library. I was looking for some good fiction to read, because my fiction to-read list is woefully short. My nonfiction to-read list, on the other hand, is a mile long.

I enjoy reading nonfiction, so I’ll start acting like it.

I’m going to start reading nonfiction like I read fiction.

I’m not going to take notes.

I’m not going to concentrate and study it like a school textbook.

I’m going to read nonfiction for pleasure. Because really, that’s why I’m reading it. I’m reading it because I enjoy it.

As for writing reviews and blog posts, if it’s important enough to write about, it’ll be important enough for me to remember afterwards.

Why can’t something be both productive and fun?

Society teaches us that work must be separate from fun. This is very important to keep the control paradigm in place (the job culture, in particular) because it gives us a rationalization for why it’s okay to hate your job. Of course work can’t be fun. That’s just the way it is.

Bull. Shit.

I had fallen into the trap of “This is useful and productive, therefore it can’t be fun.” And I’m an entrepreneur! It’s kind of my job to do things that are both productive and fun. How embarrassing.

Now for the part where you make your life a little more awesome.

What do you do that’s both productive and fun?

What if you started treating it like it was simply fun, and let the productive part take care of itself?

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I am having a complete hysterectomy, in addition to having my bladder put in a sling, in addition to having my pelvic floor filled with wire mesh, in addition to having my cervix anchored to my sacrum. The procedure has a name longer than a truck, but my doctor referred to it as “the da Vinci Blue Plate Special”. (I must admit, I love that code phrase. Made me laugh the first time and still gives me the giggles, every time.) The da Vinci is a surgical robot that is frighteningly similar to what people who’ve been abducted by aliens describe seeing looming over them when they wake up on the UFOs.

Yeah.

This has been the hardest year of my life.

Last weekend, I holed myself up in our sanctuary and started making peace with this whole thing. With finding out about having prolapse. With the death of my dream. With my spiritual crisis. With walling off my heart (or wanting to, even if I don’t). With never again having children for myself or for anyone else.

I spent 6 months avoiding healing with every cell in my being. I wasn’t ready. I was too angry, too hurt, too upset, too betrayed.

But finally, in my own time and in my own way, I was ready. Ready, at least, to begin the journey of healing.

There are four external things that helped me the most.

First, Havi’s post about dealing with loss. She talks about naming things – the things she can see – and how that helps bring her back to here when she’s out there lost in the pain. I was transformed by this little golden nugget. I’ve spent the past 2.5 months naming everything constantly, touching things, breathing deeply and reminding myself of where I am, right now, in this moment. This is most helpful when I’m feeling nervous, anxious, or worried – I can’t feel those things in this moment right here right now, and Havi’s technique brings me from that place of fear and worry into the right here right now moment. So wonderful.

Second, Jen Louden’s video about the Lost Times. She gave me permission to be lost, to not know what to do – and that was again transformational for me. I was trapped in beating myself up whenever I was lost, getting angry and upset when I didn’t know what to do. Jen says, in her loving and gentle way, that being lost is just part of a journey, and it’s okay and normal and natural. This helps me the most when I’m feeling lost – Jen’s loving self reminds me that it’s okay to be lost, that it’s okay to have no idea whatsoever where I’m going… and at a time when I’ve lost so much, I feel lost a lot. So perfect.

Thirdly, Goddess Leonie’s Creative Goddess School. It’s a six-week course, but I did it all in one intense weekend (which I do not recommend unless you’re insane and pressed for time because you’re having major surgery in two weeks). I nearly set my house on fire working with Kali for transformation, and I wept at least a month’s worth of tears finding my own inner Healing Goddess. This course provided me with a framework for my magickal weekend intensive, and was vital to my journey. This is most helpful when I feel spiritually disconnected – there’s a forum full of other Goddesses doing the same work to whom I can connect, and Leonie’s meditations bring me back to my own Spirit, even when I’m feeling extremely disconnected. So magickal.

And lastly – but most importantly – knowing that I have the support of my loved ones and taking them up on it. My best friend and my wife have been there for me every step of the way. I’ve called my best friend from a parking lot when I was hysterical because the nurse told me lots of things could go wrong in this procedure, and she made me laugh and calmed me down. I’ve talked to Pace about my ovaries until I’m sure she was ready to burst her own eardrums just for a reprieve. My mom has been there to comfort me when I was sobbing about having to go through this. I’ve had wishes and love and support from people across the internet, too (new friends and old, near friends and far) – and that has really kept me going, all the time, through this entire process. So amazing.

The internal things are harder to explain.

But they’re there, and they’re every bit as important.

I had to be ready to heal. I’m still not 100% ready, but I had to be willing to at least open the door before I could begin my healing journey. Honoring my desire to avoid healing was important – if I’d pushed myself into healing before I was ready, I wouldn’t have made progress and I would have wound up hating myself.

I had to know myself. I had to figure out what I needed so I could articulate those needs to my doctors, my family, my friends. Every step of the way, I’ve had to make hard decisions. Without knowing myself well, I might not have been able to make solid decisions that are right for me now and in the future. I mean, I’ve had to decide things that will affect me for the rest of my life on a very physical level – all in less than a month. It’s been hardcore, but being rooted in self-knowledge has made me feel confident in my decisions.

And, in the end, I had to learn to open up and trust again.

Opening up and trusting, when I was so angry, so sad, so betrayed? I’ve never done anything so hard in my life.

But you know what? Spirit doesn’t come from outside in. Spirit comes from inside out. If I shut myself away, no one else will break down my walls. If I choose to fill myself with hate and fear, no one else can fill me with love. No one else can. I am the only one who can save me, and I am the only one who can open myself up, and I am the only one who can trust in Spirit for me. Me and me alone.

And if I’m going to get through this whole, if I’m going to come out the other side and still be someone I love and respect, if I’m going to find peace and healing, that’s exactly what I’ve got to do.

So, here I go.

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You take a piece of metal and put it into the fire.

You take it out of the fire and hit it with a huge, heavy hammer – multiple times.

You dunk it in water.

And repeat the process until that dull lump becomes a strong, shiny, sharp sword.

It’s not easy to become a sword. Spending all that time being scalded, dunked, and beaten makes you want to wall off, to disappear, even to break – anything to make it stop. But if you survive, when you make it through, you become something beautiful, useful, balanced.

As a lump of metal, you’re not doing much. But as you become a sword, you manifest.

Hardship makes us who we are. It shapes us. The difficult times give us strength, help us make and deepen connections. It brings us together, gives us something to bond over. It gives an individual the means to become part of a community. Broken hearts mend, and the scars – eventually – enrich our beings.

Without being laid on the forge, we will never become what we are most capable of being.

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But I realized a few days ago – I’m not neurotic about them anymore. I’ve started taking them off in the bathroom when I ablute and not bothering to put them back on. I’ve even spent hours in the mornings without them, while Pace and I sit around and cuddle before we exercise.

It boils down to comfort.

I used to be in a manipulative relationship with a controlling abuser. In that situation, I felt uncomfortable. I felt out of control, helpless, a victim. My glasses gave me security and comfort that I couldn’t find elsewhere – and she couldn’t touch them without me flipping out, so she never tried.

But my neurosis over my glasses was a red flag; a warning sign of things not right in our relationship. Much like my obsession over ansty goth rock (that also went away with that relationship) – I was using my glasses as an anchor, as something I could control in a situation in which I felt helpless.

(The goth rock was considerably more emo: I felt I had a hole in my soul, and goth rock sings about hole-filled souls a lot, so it gave me something to which I could relate. I got better.)

Now that I’m in a healthy relationship, I no longer need to desperately cling to control over little things because I no longer feel helpless – and I can look back and see things as red flags. The things I see when I look back will fill a book, but this is one of them.

Call it an early warning sign. So I give it to you as something to mull over and consider. If you find yourself clinging to the little things, desperate for comfort… what are you really feeling?

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Kelan has two adorable little girls. Recently, they’ve begun potty training Anya (she’s the older sister; she recently “turned into three”). This, as anyone who’s ever potty trained, leads to a lot of talk about poop.

On one such occasion, Kelan was telling Anya where different animals poop. She asked about foxes, and he said, “Well, foxes poop pretty much anywhere.”

She looked up at him and asked, in all seriousness, “In the sky?”

Spoken in honesty and innocence and curiosity.

As young children, we don’t assume we know everything. We take delight in learning. We come into the world as inquisitive, investigative beings with an insatiable curious streak. Children learn, they seek, they ask, they taste and test and poke and prod, take apart, and question. They question the rules, they question the norm, they question everything.

Anya, ready to tackle her day.

Their fashion sense is incredible, too. They mix stripes and polka dots, layer colors in combinations that make their parents cringe, wear their pajamas in public, don swimsuits in December with a casuality that boggles the adult mind. As they get a little older, they often style their own hair (and occasionally give themselves haircuts) with wild abandon. And then, with crooked ponytails, bright pink tu-tu, red cape from a Halloween costume six months ago, and mismatched socks, they emerge fully prepared to face the world. It’s not til after years of being scolded, ignored, snapped at, reprimanded, and conditioned that we gradually stop being so inquisitive, so bold, so freespirited. It takes conditioning to put us in the box so many of us spend the rest of our lives trying to get out of, because we’re inherently rule-breakers at heart.

We can learn a lot from children.

If we stop boxing them in, we can learn how to stop being boxed.

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