teaching mentors

the professor i learned most from about effective undergraduate teaching was my doctoral supervisor, Pat Koch. she was famous for teaching the undergrad sexuality classes. and now i know that she was modeling literally all of the pedagogies in practice that i value and care so much about today. things she employed include:

• co-created community guidelines
• promoting students' use of their own terminology 
• providing small group sessions for peer-to-peer interactions 
• allowing time and space for reflection and personal experiences 
• having a way to submit anonymous questions at the end of every class
• incorporating value clarifications exercises 
• bringing in new points of view and creating safe ways to discuss them
• using humor in the classroom to disrupt anxiety 
• offering extra credit options that allowed for more personal development  

in learning to teach the undergraduate sexuality classes from her, i learned about classrooms as communities, about valuing lived experiences, about antiracist and trauma-informed practices, all without realizing it. as i have continued through my teaching career, it is all of these skills learned from assisting and then teaching the undergraduate sexuality classes that have provided the basis of a strong teaching philosophy.  

these skills are all transferable to a graduate classroom, but the additional skills i needed for the graduate classroom, mainly leading deep interrogative discussions, were harder to come by. many of my doctoral classes were seminars that were not-so-skillfully led. they could be interesting, and i learned many things, but the people leading these were star researchers, not star teachers. 

the first time i led a doctoral seminar, i realized how hard it was to lead skillfully. there's an urge to let that one person who raises their hand first just have the mic and the floor continuously as relief that "hey, at least someone is answering my question!. there's the difficulty of questioning statements made in front of the class without embarrassing students, or reframing and redirecting answers that are not quite in line with the question or topic. 

i don't think that i ever really got to be in a class that did this beautifully as a student. but i learned these skills through practice, and through co-teaching with colleagues. i've definitely learned a lot from Emma Tsui as we co-create our lessons, discussions, and philosophies we want to incorporate into the classes we have taught together. she is a master at supporting students in a kind and caring way--identifying their needs, strengths, and creating plans forward for her students. 

what i now carry into my teaching is a set of practices rooted in care and community. classrooms can be brave spaces that support the whole: co-created, reflective, grounded in lied experience, and alive with humor. from trial, error, and collaboration, i learned that rigorous graduate classes require a special kind of presence, balancing accountability with purposeful curiosity. and i think that the absences i experienced in my own graduate training pushed me to be more intentional about the choices i made in my own graduate teaching. and co-teaching has sharpened those skills and commitments. co-teaching reminds me of the deeper relational experience of teaching,

my teaching is a practice that i have inherited, adapted, and refined through community.

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how a learning community gave me the job i wanted

i want to talk about the antiracist teaching collaborative. the antiracist teaching collab (ATC hereafter) was a life-changing experience for me. yes, it helped decolonize me. yes, i learned a lot about antiracist pedagogy. but the most life-altering part of the ATC was the community and the relationships nurtured through it.

the ATC was started because i was mad that there weren't active initiatives at the school to address the crisis of racism in our classrooms. and the community that came together around this topic was there for a purpose: to learn together. it was totally optional, and totally self-run, which meant there was no incentive to join other than wanting to be part of the group. we organized the group so that we took turns leading discussions and we voted on what materials we wanted to learn from together. it was democratic, friendly, and supportive. and the community became fierce: we presented what we were doing at the school and at the larger university. 

it was this connection with my peers that made me finally feel like a valued faculty member at the school. my connection with other faculty had been light before that. i wasn't collaborating on research projects with anyone at the school, and there weren't a lot of opportunities for deep/true engagement with my peers before the ATC. my first five years at the school were spent with many nights searching for other academic positions. however, after the ATC, i can not imagine leaving the school. now i have a community of peers i know, trust, and work well with. 

as a result of the ATC learning community, i also took some new risks in my teaching classrooms. it was because of everything we learned that i trailed many antiracist initiatives, including self-grading. i was so nervous to do it: would someone tell me i couldn't do it? would i get in trouble? would it fail spectacularly? all of these things were possible, but because of the learning community, i felt emboldened to take this risk over something i believed in.

now, i have been using self-grading for several years and believe strongly in all the ways i am creating a more equitable classroom. and i continue to look for ways to nurture my own growth through new/other learning communities after seeing such value from that one (hello pedagogy club!).

when i think about places where opportunities for connection have been missed, i think mostly about certain "meeting communities" i have been in around the school: meetings that are run as "top-down with report backs," without looking for opportunities for connection among the members. in these spaces, i always feel like an outsider. i don't feel like a valued member, but like someone who has come in for an uncomfortable visit. 

i know that i want my classrooms to feel more like the ATC: not a "leader knows best" vibe, but a space we are sharing together for mutual growth. a space where we can take risks because of the support of the community.  

teaching/learning/teaching/learning

the life of a dedicated teacher is cyclical—constantly learning and growing, incorporating that into your teaching, and then doing it again. i remember reading an academic blog about teaching once where they talked about the frustration/joy of finding the perfect way to teach something to a class only to discover that it didn’t work at all with the next cohort of students. but, if you love teaching, this challenge is also part of the fun. 

when i think back to my favorite learning experiences, i think about two big semester long projects evaluating different HIV prevention programs in the local community that i put a lot of work into in undergrad and then felt really proud of (which still sit in binders on my parents' attic bookcase--pls don't remind them or they'll make me go clear them out!). and i also think about creative projects where i got to choose how to apply the project parameters (sometimes to the dismay of my teachers: sorry mrs.byron for the tsunami demo--but it did really show the devastation of a big wave!).

and when i think back to my favorite teaching moments, i first think about co-teaching w my colleague emma in the advanced qual class: it was a class where students really cared and were really interested. and having a partner teacher who was really invested made it feel like i wasn't alone in the process. and the paper we wrote together through that process actually encapsulates some of that in the title: "when it feels like we're in this together." other fav teaching moments include when i am teaching a new thing that i'm really excited about, like different fitness and yoga variations i haven’t taught before (hello deep house yoga!). 

across these favorites, i notice a few themes: 1) opportunities for deep engagement (including the amazing feeling of being challenged and working hard on something, 2) the joy of creativity (options!), and 3) community.  

and so purposefully creating opportunities for all of these in the classroom feels important to me--and the last two of these especially pull ideas from pedagogical theories i really value. for example: trauma-informed teaching teaches the importance of options across the classroom experience. and bell hooks' "teaching community" is one of my favorite pedagogical books (which, perhaps obviously, focuses on creating communities of learning). 

and lastly, i'll add the value of reflections! every time i pause to reflect (especially through writing), there is the opportunity to crystalize my own values and lessons learned. so, here i am, reflecting, feeling gratitude for all the opportunities i have had for learning and teaching and teaching and learning over my life, and reminding myself to continue the process. 

choosing again

this blogpost was written for someone close to me--as a way to inspire them in their own recovery. sending prayers that it ignites something for you.

I had an eating disorder before I knew that I had an eating disorder. And then, at some point, I had to admit that I had an eating disorder–to myself and to people around me. That first admission, in 2005, was the beginning of my recovery, but not nearly the most important step. I started going to therapy as soon as I made that admission –which was the day after the first time I made myself throw up. But even though I could admit that I had an eating disorder, I didn't yet want to get better. So the therapy didn’t do much except act as a front (“see? I’m doing something about it!”). 

Something about the eating disorder was familiar, which I could interpret as comforting, safe, and helpful. And so it seemed to be serving a purpose in my life. And it wasn’t TOTALLY ruling my life: my eating disorder and I were living in what appeared to be harmony. It was years before I would decide that I didn't want to live life according to my eating disorder’s rules (and there were a lot of them!). And when I decided that I wanted to change; that I wanted to be in charge instead of my eating disorder; that I wanted to get better–that’s when my eating disorder started fading into the background. 

The first person that presented my eating disorder to me as something that I was actively “choosing” was Elena Brower–a yoga teacher that I was doing some life coaching with. She told me that I needed to realize it was a “choice” to continue with my eating disorder, rather than the passive way I was thinking  its control over me. I had a lot of resistance to seeing my eating disorder in this way: I had some training in psychology, and I knew that eating disorders were considered diagnosable mental health illnesses. But it was also true that by referring to my eating disorder in this way, I was giving up any perceived control in the healing process. So, I decided to try something different. I began to think of my eating disorder as something I was actively choosing in my life. 

I was choosing to do an extra workout instead of seeing my friend for dinner.
I was choosing to binge and purge over taking a bath and relaxing.
I was choosing to re-count my calories over and over instead of meditating. 

Each little choice added up. Each little decision became another decision that amounted to something that was actively destroying my life. But it was hard to see–sure I had finished my PhD and was accomplishing a lot at work. Sure, I was in a relationship and had close friends. So the costs seemed small, but they added up too: the hours I spent binging and purging could have been more productivity, or more sleep, or more intimate connections with people in my life. The countless hours I spent over-exercising took tolls on my body and my relationships. And the mental gymnastics I did around calorie intake/output meant that I had no brain-space to create, to manifest, to dream, or to just be at peace in my life. 

I could deny the destruction because it was in small doses.
I could deny it because I didn't know what my life looked like without it. 

But there was one thing I couldn't deny–if my eating disorder was allowed to be unchecked, I would die from it–and that was one choice I wasn't willing to make. But, as long as it seemed to be relatively in check, I allowed it to coexist with me. Then, in late 2012, when my husband announced he was moving out, I heard a loud alarm reverberate through my body. His presence in my home had acted as a boundary for my eating disorder: it couldn’t take over as long as I had to pretend to be normal in front of him. But, without him there, there would be no containment–I knew that my eating disorder would be able to take over. And that I could potentially die in effect. 

And that’s the first time I decided to choose again. I thought, “Actually, I'm not ready to die. I don’t want to binge and purge myself to death.” and so that week I showed up to therapy with a new attitude: one that said, “I want to get better, for real… because I want to LIVE.” 

It was almost alarmingly easy to recover from my eating disorder once I decided to. One at a time, I peeled away layers of my eating disorder: I quit binging and purging; I quit over-exercising; I quit keeping track of calorie intake/expenditure; I quit forcing myself to run everyday; I quit the rules I had around food… eventually, the eating disorder became more of a ghost that would occasionally drop by to haunt me. 

And sure, those things took effort–they took determination. But I had determination in spades–the amount of energy it took to engage with my eating disorder every day was actually more than it took to pull myself away from it. And the effects of choosing recovery have been far more worth it than the alternative. 

Deciding to recover–actively making the choice that I wanted to live–was the hardest thing I have ever done. It took me seven years from the admission that I had an eating disorder to make that choice. But once I realized that it WAS a choice, it was also the easiest thing I have ever done.

Lavender Graduation Speech

in the spring i was invited to give the lavender graduation speech for CUNY School of Public Health. i had no idea what to say, and i had not idea how to start to say it. i am bi (or pan) sexual, i'm poly, and i didn't feel LGBTQ+ enough to deliver the speech.  but i did it, and i'm pretty proud of the outcome.  i wanted to share it here to motivate/inspire, but also to help others find ideas when writing their speeches. (yes i googled and couldn't find anything helpful LOL)

 

*********** 

 

Good evening CUNY School of Public Health graduates, faculty, staff, and loved ones.  I’m going to start off tonight with my main premise: this graduation speech is all about the importance of your bravery.  And, before I say anything else, I want to say that I am SO honored to be here giving this speech today.  When forced to put myself in a box, I identify as  pansexual and polyamorous, but I have a history of feeling like I’m just not queer enough. As if I haven’t experienced ENOUGH discrimination or lack of support to really wear the rainbow badge. Even though I know that this is not logical, the experiences of many of my friends–either out in the world or from their own families–let me know how lucky I have been in this area of my life. But, despite my fears about giving this speech, I am going to take my own advice and be brave.

I want to start by backing up a little and looking at the history and importance of the “lavender” in our “lavender graduation.” Lavender is a color that symbolically stands up to the oppressor, in the bravest of fashions. The Nazis used pink triangles to designate gay men and black triangles to designate lesbian women; the LGBTQ civil rights movement has combined these; thus, lavender was born as a symbol of brave pride.

And the importance of the lavender graduation is to recognize all of the courageousness it has taken for each of you to make it here, to this moment, today. 

Historically, we know that LGBTQ people have had to work harder than their straight/cis counterparts to achieve the same successes in life.  Last week my dad, who was in the US Air Force for over 20 years, shared a story with me about a friend of his who was dismissed from the Air Froce in the 90s with 18 years of exemplary service –for being gay, which means he was not eligible for any benefits or retirement. It is systemic prejudice that creates policies such as “Don’t Ask/Don’t Tell” and “Don’t Say Gay” that have caused thousands of stories like this, creating the backdrop of our lavender graduation today.

I considered including a portion of the speech about how hate driven violence is a public health problem, and bringing in some shocking and depressing statistics, but I know that each of you have lived these statistics in your own ways.  So, instead, I will forge ahead with the bravery I am entrusting you with.


My first big ask to you is to be visible: to be visible even when it feels scary. To be visible even when it feels hard.  I went to Penn State in the late 90s and early 2000s.  I didn’t know one “out” professor or staff member.  Actually, I only knew one friend who was out publicly–all the others were only out to their closest friends. And the lack of visibility of LGBTQ faculty and staff contributed to the students’ invisibility.

To illustrate the importance of visibility, I’ll share the story of one of my dear friends.  This friend had always dated men, and into his mid 30s, he always thought he would still settle down with a woman to have a family.  I supported him in his life, without questioning the thought processes behind this. Just a few months ago, he came to me with a revelation. He had been on vacation and had met a gay couple who had a child. And it wasn’t until THAT moment that he realized that his gayness and his desire for a child could co-exist in his life. It was the visibility of this couple that gave him the understanding that the combination of his desires was not just possible, but that he could live a life he hadn’t even dared to dream he could live.

Looking forward: the future is queer.
And so next, I want to say thank you.  Thank you to every LGBTQ person and every brave and outspoken ally who has come before us. Thank you for the road you have laid for us.

And our job now is to pave the way for those to come. I know you might be thinking, “Spring, I can’t  always be as brave as you might want me to be” and to that I say, Yeah, sometimes bravery is saving your own life.  But keep looking for  opportunities to be brave. 

In my academic career I have had people tell me to sit down and shut up (though not always in those words) about my eating disorder, my sexuality, my relationships, and the importance of antiracism. I have been threatened with not being re-hired and have been told I would not get tenure if I continued to sound alarms and fight for change.  But I think you know what my response has been to this advice.

I charge you with designing safer spaces–look for every opportunity to implement policy changes and educational programming for the existence and FLOURISHING of LGBTQ people in the places you live and work.  And be visible while you do it.  Be your full self, even when it feels scary.  Remember the bravery of those that have come before us, and think of those that will come after us to help fire up your own bravery.  And then… just keep showing up and being your FUCKING FABULOUS SELVES. 

toxic breakups over two decades

i'm going through a bad breakup. and it feels SOOOOO HORRIBLE. so horrible that i feel like there's no way i could survive it. then i was like, also, i've been through this before.  

i don't just mean i've been through a breakup before; i don't just mean i've been through a bad breakup before.  actually, i've been through SO MANY bad breakups and almost every breakup with a man i had a significant relationship with has been absolutely horrible.  and by horrible i mean toxic and abusive.

 <<here i would like to insert both a trigger warning and a disclaimer. i feel terrified to write this--anxious about further retribution and simultaneously worried that i will be judged or labeled based on these experiences. and i feel nervous to put it all down in one place, to see the reality of the breakup abuse i've suffered... but that probably just means i need to write about it.>>

i know most of you know about the revenge porn ex--who, as we broke up, posted intimate images and videos of me along with my contact details so that i was harassed by strangers regularly for a year. but he was only one in a long line of men who did not handle the break up process with grace. here is a list of things different men (all that i dated for over a year) have done as we were breaking up: ghosted me as a way of breaking up a several year relationship (no response to text, calls, or emails); moved out of our home and the country without telling me; told me to take plan B days after we were intentionally trying to get pregnant; and THREE different men have stalked me--showing up at my home, showing up while i was on dates, waiting for me to arrive places they knew i would go.

i would say that for the most part these men were well-adjusted and mentally healthy men... until we broke up. but during the breakups, each of these men felt that they could treat me however they wanted--without regard for me as an equal human being.  they showed sexual aggression, entitlement, low empathy, and they attempted to exert control over me.

i'm not writing this for pity or advice or support. i'm writing this so we fucking stop pretending like toxic masculinity is not a real problem that is causing real trauma in people's lives.  a problem that we need to be having big, constant, conversations about. a problem that we need to stand up to.

i feel sad, overwhelmed, and depressed right now.  but, to facilitate change, i hope more of us can share our toxic experiences in safe ways--sharing these experiences takes them out of the shadows and brings light to the problem. and i'd love for us all to emphasize and continue to work to normalize healthy masculinity in our lives.  because i believe that all of our ripples can work together to start to change the tide. and i have to put energy into this, because i can't go through this again.

“Mia” —performed for “You are not alone” on 7/17/22

You know what the worst part is of telling someone that you have an eating disorder? It’s not the assumptions, it’s not the pity, it’s not even the “oh, of course you do, you’re a bisexual millennial” tropes. It’s the way that your confidant will look you– up and down– and respond with “but you have a great body!”

I’ve taste-tested a little of every eating disorder. As if eating disorders were fancy chocolates and I just had to take a little nibble off of each one to know which I really wanted to sink my teeth into. But the bulimia chocolate was the siren calling to me. And yes, I ate boxes and boxes of those chocolates, just to throw them all up.

People with eating disorders have a myriad of metaphors for their eating disorders–personalizing them seems to give us some type of comfort. Or maybe it isn’t so much comfort we’re after, but a way of convincing ourselves that the eating disorders aren’t vile death traps that we are willingly exploring. A common nickname for bulimia is “Mia,” which makes this addictive, self-destructive, lonely, avoidant set of behaviors sound like the cute and super hip young woman with blue hair that lives in the brownstone next door. Naturally, Mia and I became fast friends.

As I began to craft this essay for y’all, I felt some fears creep up: what if I make eating disorders sound glamorous to others and they want to take Mia out for a spin (because I certainly was obsessively in love with her for a dozen or so years)?... or what if I remind myself of Mia’s sexy side and I want to ask her over?… just for a one night stand, of course.

And so, to counteract my fears, I offer you the reality of what bulimia was, for me: I wake up at 6am to go for a 6 mile run on an empty stomach. I grab a coffee, as breakfast, on the way into my PhD-student desk. I work until lunch, by which time I will be starved, but I only allow myself to eat a salad. I work until 4, and then eat a 90 calorie granola bar on the way to the gym where I teach 1 –or 2– fitness classes, and probably hit the gym afterward. I ignore my friends’ invites for a drink, citing the work I need to get done on my dissertation, and head home, stopping at a grocery store on the way.

A grocery store that I have on rotation–since I don’t want to be seen at a grocery store more than once or twice a week… and I need more food every night. I limit myself to $20 dollars worth of food to binge, because I cannot afford how much food I want to eat and throw up each day.

I shamefully pack the groceries and head back to my house, already drinking part of the 2L of diet soda and scarfing down the carrots I bought. Diet soda because the more liquid I consume, the easier the food will be to come up; carrots because they are bright orange and will signify to me, as I'm throwing up, that I've hit the end of the food in my stomach.

As soon as I’m home, I sit in front of the tv and eat all of the food I have purchased, as fast as I can, which usually means a couple bags of groceries in an hour, which is too much food to eat at once, and it makes my stomach stick out so far that it looks like I’m actually pregnant with this food baby and the baby kicks and causes intensely sharp jabs of pain.

Then, it’s time to throw up all the food. As I walk toward the bathroom I am afraid–what if I can’t get it all up? What if I purge so hard I pop a blood vessel? What if my teeth hit my knuckles with too much velocity and deepen the cuts that are already there?

But these fears are never enough to stop the process, and I begin sticking fingers down my throat. There are days when my fingers are not enough and I resort to a plastic bag. These days tears are streaming down my face as I purge. There is a constant process of examining everything that comes up, to try to remember how much more food is still to come, and then washing my hands to get the half chewed food off of them before sticking them back down my throat. I rinse my mouth obsessively between each purge in an effort to slow down the accelerated tooth decay I’m creating. The purging usually takes as long as the binging did–about an hour, and I’m left feeling exhausted, depleted, and ashamed at the end.

I brush my teeth thoroughly and stumble into my bed, promising myself that I will not do this again tomorrow, but knowing that I probably will. And then I wake, at 6am, dehydrated and depressed, and begin it all over again.

So, you may be thinking, Mia sounds like a real bitch–why were you so obsessed with her? The best way I can explain it is that she’s like that toxic ex you have that you just can’t seem to get out from under. An ex that texts you every fucking day. An ex that you’re reminded of EVERYWHERE you go. An ex that seems like they might leave you alone for a day, which only serves to make them more attractive.

And it is somehow easy to be seduced–over and over again. And the worst part is, you know that bitch Mia is out there fooling around with SO MANY OTHER people–getting them to fall for her same old shitty lines.

Which is fucking bullshit.

And we need to talk about her–out loud. Because it’s in the silence that toxic relationships take over your life.

When I started going to art therapy, the first of many tools that eventually helped me claw my way out of Mia’s arms, I met an older woman who had anorexia and a young mother who had bulimia. I remembered thinking to myself, “oh, yeah, one day I’ll be a mother with bulimia; one day I’ll be an older woman with anorexia.” Not because that’s what I wanted necessarily, but because I could see no way out: I didn’t know anyone who had recovered from an eating disorder.

But, once I decided I WANTED to let go of Mia, my tool box expanded and suddenly I began to chip away at the fake news living in my head. Through art therapy, practicing embodied movement like yoga and dance, and by processing through blogging and other forms of writing, I did find my way out of this decade long love affair. And, so, today, at least 5 years since any fingers, or, well, any of my fingers, have been in my mouth, I am so proud to stand here, smile, and say, "Mia who?"

deep love/grief ocean

i'm swimming.  barely.  but finally i've been able to take a breath.

i still can't really admit to myself that tobias is dead. when i talk about him, i use confusing verbs so that it is not clear that his physical form is no longer walking around on this earth.  i say things like "he was living in london," "we've been dating for 3 years." my mouth just can't form the words that actively refer to him in the past tense. (and so, dear reader, please accept some occasional present tense verbs.) 

my metaphor for my grief is one of an ocean--the waves beating me down and holding me under for days at a time.  and then there's a moment where the waves subside and i swim up.  i breathe.  i feel the sun.  i even float for a moment, wondering how i could have forgotten that this was even possible for me.  and then, in a second, without warning, i'm slipping back under. or i'm pulled by an undertow, and, even though it's scary, by now it's familiar.  and something about that feels comforting as i am pulled back under.  i think "i knew it was too good to be true, that i could be coming out from under this overwhelm."  and, simultaneously i know that i don't actually want to come out from under it--some days i choose to dive into the depths of my grief.  because i don't want to forget tobias or his love in my life.  i don't want to be "all better" because that might mean that i can't feel his presence here with me any longer.  

in the days when i hadn't heard from him and hadn't heard confirmation of what had happened to him yet (i know, i know, vague language here), i felt him with me so strongly. and in the days following, i continued to feel him around me, especially when i was moving energy through dance. and my fear of losing that became so intense. i felt like if i acknowledged the reality of the situation, the feeling of him dancing and twirling around with me would dissolve. my therapist suggested that i could ask him if he was planning to leave. and when i asked him, he laughed, "babes! i know how strong your fear of abandonment is! i would never!" 

summer, 2019

and it's true. he wouldn't. we have a beautiful story. our first date at disney world; the cross-atlantic love that stayed alive over distance and pandemics; the concerts, museums, theme parks, and shows that we went to; our hours-long internet dates; our shared love for tragic american chain restaurants; how he listened to every episode of my podcast and then wanted to talk about them; and his amazing ability to support me objectively and compassionately at every turn. 

when i went to tobias in tears, i would ask "do you have capacity to listen to what's upsetting me right now?" which he had taught me, through modelling: his operationalization of consent was beautiful to learn from. and, somehow, he always was able to make room for me. whether he was with other partners or friends, or whether it was in the middle of the night for him, he would give me non-judgemental, inclusive, and gentle advice about a colleague or a partner or a friend. and i never wanted to defy his advice, because it was so honest, from the heart, and always in my best interest. i feel like i don't know how to live in the world without this; his love is the most un-selfish i've ever experienced.  

and so how do i move on without his support? how do i focus enough to accomplish anything efficiently --ever again? a colleague recently suggested that i focus on doing the work that he could help me with--that i could ask his energy/spirit to collaborate with me. and so, today, i asked him to help me write something.  to help support my processing, as he always would.

so i'm trusting tobias. i'm trusting my network. (i'm so grateful for all the people in my life who have supported and continue to support my grief.) and i keep searching for the help i know he is still offering me. i search, i ask, i cry, i wait. and occasionally the universe serves me little nuggets of magic.  a recent radiolab episode played tape of a man that lost his fiance at a young age; he was lamenting his lost future with his partner.  some words that he received that resonated with me were:

"...grief is a form of praise. you are praising the wonder of the person you lost. the great pain you are feeling means great love." 

and wow is my love/pain great. 

i have this text convo with him from when one of his close friends committed suicide in late 2018. he said to me: "I just realised that like any of us could die and people would be sad for a few days and then forget we even existed. And our friends would talk and phone for a few days and it would bring them together and then they would go back to normal life." i responded "your actions and words have ripples throughout the world. the world is forever changed because you're in it." and god. i just want tobias to know how untrue his words were.  

i am changed because of you, tobias. i am better because of your support and love. and that lives on in me: in my relationships, in my work, in my podcast, and obviously in my wardrobe of disney paraphernalia.  i promise to never forget you. 

and i promise to try to keep swimming, even on the days where diving under the water feels easier or safer.

the necessity of trauma (and support)

we went camping to get me out of my head: to re-wire the tapes that had been on loop in my head for the past week. 

after setting up camp, sarah and i started into the woods with a good attitude, excited to hike up a mountain and feel the sun on our skin and the fresh air feeding our lungs and souls. 

half a mile up, the official trail disappeared and we started fighting our way through the forest, trying to stay as close as possible to the red line alltrails had on our gps and each putting one foot in front of the other, though we couldn’t see our feet most of the time. 

approximately 12 times we had to make the same decision: continue forward on a very difficult and uncomfortable path, or turn around (knowing we had already come so far through terrible landscape). each time we chose to continue forward, hopeful that what was around the next bend would be improved from the current condition. 

but each time it got worse: more brush, more mud, more stinging plants swishing at our legs, terribly steep descents with no holds, a river without a crossing (built or natural)… and each time we thought, “but, still, it can’t get worse than THIS!”

simultaneously we were in a competition with daylight, moving so slowly through the difficult terrain: each of us sure we could make it out, and each of us knowing we had to keep going if we wanted to beat the sun. so many times we would look at each other, nod, smile, make a joke, and keep going.  because we had to. 

each of us had a moment where we were just one shortened breath away from a panic attack: i felt mine coming on about 3/5 of the way through the hike as i realized how slowly we were making progress and felt the sunlight quickly fading.  i felt the panic so close to my heart and looked at sarah and just said “i’m taking some deep breaths.” i knew that i had to stay calm for both of us, so i focused on breathing deeply.  there was a point on a steep descent, (one of those decisions where we looked at each other, committed, and then kept going) where sarah paused and i could tell she was at the door of panic.  i paused where i was and calmly told her i was there, we were making progress, and that i had faith in us. 

we made it—it was a crazy hike, but we made it.  together. 

several times throughout the hike we joked (though seriously) that we were glad we were on this hike together and not with other people—we were both able to keep hope, positive spirits, and confidence in ourselves.

every experience is a mirror.  and these woods literally slapped us in the face with the metaphors of our lives. i felt the gravity of the situation and how important it was that every time we made a decision, we fully committed to it.  we didn’t re-think our options over and over, or question what path we took. because we couldn’t afford to.

and yet with hindsight, and more information, we would have made different choices. we would have turned around at several points, if we had known what it was that actually lied ahead. 

so is the lesson to turn back when things are very very hard? or just to make the best decision you can with the current information? maybe neither. maybe it’s just that we can do fucking hard things when we are well supported. 

as this frightening and yet still enjoyable (thank you, sarah!!) experience is settling in my body this afternoon, i listened to an episode of radio lab where the hosts reflected on the necessity of trauma, in relation to being born: “the deeply traumatic act of coming into existence… the severity and harshness of it force you to adapt in order to survive.” 

that seemed to help it all click for me. because no matter what choices we make, there will be things in life that are H-A-R-D —and we never really know what will happen in the other multiverse once we make a decision and splinter off into this one. so it is really our amazing ability as humans to continue to adapt that serves us. and i 100% believe that it is the support we build in our lives that helps us thrive through adapting after a trauma—whether the trauma is itty bitty or HUGE. 

so thank you sarah for taking me camping. we found our way through the woods together and we keep proving that we can def find our ways through this life.  

and thank you universe for both the trauma and the support so i can keep evolving. 

*OUCH!!*

i'm not sure where i learned to hide all of my hurt from the person who hurt me, but i'm going to go on record as saying that it is a highly maladaptive response. i'm pretty sure i've always done this; i can't remember a time where i fully expressed to someone how much their actions hurt me.  don't get me wrong; i don't totally avoid the topic: i tell people when i'm hurt.  but i don't share to what extent i am hurt nor later communicate to them that i'm still hurting. i was doing what i thought was healthy: i thought i was processing my part of it.

but i wasn't. and it wasn't ok.

which is generally how i operate: do things that i think are working until they are SO NOT WORKING that i cannot continue existing if i do not address them.

so my world crumbled. which was partially my fault, because someone didn't know that they were continuing to hurt me so much. and then, after i was sitting in the rubble, i realized that not communicating the hurt i had been trying to process alone hadn't been working out for me.

with nothing to lose, i decided to tell this person about all of the hurt i had been harboring for so long. and, to be honest, i still don't really know how that landed.  but that isn't the important part of this story, because the future is not something i can control.

what is important is what happened to me after i fully expressed myself (even the things that i thought i would be judged for saying, even the things i thought were so utterly ridiculous to say out loud).  i don't want to exaggerate or anything, but EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE SHIFTED FOR THE BETTER.  it's been four days and the rewards are not yet diminishing.

i feel fully centered; i feel fully in my power.  i have since communicated other difficult things i had been avoiding; i sent emails and checked messages i hadn't wanted to deal with; i haven't gotten annoyed by people on the train; i have been able to be fully present without that hurt constantly running the background story of my mind; i have had several truly genuine and authentic connections with others.

and i had to think to myself: why on earth did i think i couldn't share this hurt with this person? what the hell did i think i was controlling? because, looking back over my adult life, i know that trying to control and protect myself from life's unwanted outcomes has never worked. and, post every earthquake, there is new space for something beautiful and unexpected to grow.

my divorce created room for me to heal from years of eating disorders, a rape created the space for me to abandon alcohol and the depression it fostered, and the continuing trauma of revenge porn has built resilience and given me the ability to stand up for others who are not able to do so for themselves.

so thank god i can't control the outcomes. and thank god i can learn and evolve and grow.  i'm here, watching new greenery sprouting through the cracked foundation, vowing to stay true to my full expression of myself.  the endless worries i had about what cascade of consequences would come after communicating my hurts seem silly now.

earlier tonight the following line was said on the new season of sex education: "you have to let the people you love know that you love them, even if it causes you a great deal of pain." and i heard, "you have to let the people who have caused you pain know that they have caused you pain, because that will allow you to really feel love." otherwise you're just pretending: at life and love.

moving toward clarity

there is an overused quote that i find completely ridiculous: "the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."  because guess what--this isn't even possible.  the context is ALWAYS different.  as if we could repeat something exactly as it was done before, in any sense.

however, one of my favorite quotes is: "repetition is the key to clarity."  it was something another yoga teacher heard in a workshop and passed on in a yoga class i was attending.  now, that's a quote to learn something from.

in yoga, we do the same poses, the same vinyasa, the same mantras, and the same breathwork over and over.  and, if we're paying attention, each time we learn something new; we grow. 

we move toward clarity.

we begin to understand our physical selves better, our metaphorical edges, and how we inhabit our bodies.

repetition as a tool for learning in our lives is an interesting concept.  responding the same way to every argument with a friend or partner, for example, teaches us something, whether our response is effective or not.  if we observe, maybe we learn that our response is something we utilize in order to protect ourselves; maybe we learn that in differing times of stress, the response is accepted differently.  to really move forward, though, we have to be able to absorb as much information as possible at each time point.

it's that observation and awareness that we consistently try to develop through our yoga and meditation practices.  the more we burn through, the closer we get to that internal point of stillness that allows us to see our lives and relationships with clarity.

and that's the real reason i practice yoga and meditation.  because woah. that clarity, in the bits and pieces i keep finding it, is the balm to life's insanity.

beats, heart

being alone is better with you.  I fit next to you. you fit into me.

we lay.  we dream.  when the sun comes up, you’re looking at me.

your eyes; my eyes.  your smile; my smile.  like spring.

beats.

what the fuck do you think love is?  you don’t know.

suppose I never met you.  freedom.

freedom?  freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.

wake up.  WAKE UP.

beats.

would you have listened to you? you were crazy. 

I cry because I know.

the worst part is, there’s no one else to blame.

but still, I don’t want you to leave.

will you hold my hand?

beats.beats.

glasses of champagne on the dance floor.

beats.beats.

it fills my head up and gets louder.

beats.

nothing ever stays wrong that long.                              I look up.

I look

  forward.

your shadow            recedes.

I glow.

I reflect. 

I wish you love. 

you have to believe we are magic.

beats.

beats.

exposed//rebuild

i will never again hear the word "exposed"
without cringing
without feeling a sense of dread
without sensing my defense mechanism kick in


i run to relieve stress
i listen to loud music on my iphone
i run far past the rock sculptures
i keep going


i will never again approve message requests from strangers
without fear of being called a stupid cunt
without expecting to see my own nudes
accompanied by strangers telling me how i helped them cum


i run to escape
i leave my phone behind
it has become a device of torture
i stop when i see two rock sculptures that look like a couple


i will never again wonder whether i can cry for 8 hours straight
my privacy no longer exists
i've been repeatedly assaulted
by someone who loved me; by strangers


i run to move through my emotions
i look forward to the rock couple
they give me hope                            but
all of the rock sculptures have been dismantled by a vandal


i will never again doubt my resilience
my strength
my power
my ability to move forward


i run to prove my strength and determination
to myself
i run by the rock sculpture creator
he is rebuilding--the morning after destruction


he has not missed a beat
as i press play on a new playlist

otg (off the grid)

I’ve been off the grid for 5 days.  (I like to chant “OTG! OTG!”) I was a little afraid my life would fall apart while I was “gone,” and maybe it did a little bit: my gmail is apparently full and refusing emails, and who knows what else. I admit that makes me anxious; I’m not sure who might not try to re-contact me once I purge my email inbox.  But, I suppose I can look at the bright side: that also means I have a few less emails to wade through upon re-entry.

Before this experiment, I tried smaller ones: in the past couple of months I have regularly been doing two hours without my phone while going for a run and then stopping by the grocery store on the way home.  Not relying on my phone for entertainment while running and to remind me of my shopping list give me a sense of independence I didn’t know I missed.  And, when I get back from these little excursions, I often am not overly excited to look at my phone.

So, when I turned my phone off for the past several days, I expected to enjoy the freedom.  But I also thought I would miss the ease my phone offers: both emotionally and logistically. And I think I did at first.

In the first day or so, there were moments when I was waiting in line, or for a menu, where I instinctively wanted to grab my phone and scroll Instagram.  There were times when I got back to my room and automatically thought “oh I need to check and see who has texted since I was last with my phone.” There were instances when I wanted to know the answer to something quickly and wanted to immediately turn to Google.  And then sometimes I’d almost reach to carry my phone with me “just in case.”

After a day, though, these urges began to fade.  It was a relief to not have to carry my phone, or to have to check on its charge. The autonomy I had felt on my two-hour trial periods increased exponentially: I didn’t need my phone.  And, more notably, I didn’t want it.

I connected more deeply both with my best friend I was spending time with and the strangers I encountered each day; I listened to them more because I was never phone-distracted or even pre-phone-distracted (when I’m wondering what might be happening on my phone).  I noticed more things around me in the world because I was never ever looking down at a screen. And, when I wasn’t engaged with other people, I found myself meditating, which, over a few days, gave me a deeper sense of peace then I’ve been able to maintain for the past couple of months.  

I never felt bored.  I never felt lonely. 

As the end of the five days approached, I started to dread re-connecting. I tried not to waste any energy thinking about my worries, but I did brainstorm ways to stay as disconnected as possible once I returned. When I first started dating the man I married, in 2007, he used to leave his mobile phone at home during the day: he said it "lived" there.  I remember being angry at him; wanting to be able to text him to arrange things mid-day.  But now, in a totally different world, I see the appeal and plan to leave my phone at home as often as possible.  And so, now, as I am moments away from turning my phone back on, I find myself only slightly terrified of the other side. 

**24 hours later**

Turns out there was a disaster waiting for me.  But, like one of my best friends said, wasn't it better to have the space away for a few days, since the disaster would've been their either way?  (Yes.)  I'm pretty sure I was much better equipped to deal with it after my time away anyway.  

Oh, and you can email me again.  JIC you're one of those emails I missed! 😂

betrayal --> bloom

yesterday i got on the train at 148th and got out a few minutes later at 125th.  in the few moments that i was underground traveling about a mile, the weather changed.  i had walked on to the train amidst sun and i walked out into heavy rain.  and i felt betrayed.

that betrayal is an exact replica of another area of my life right now, where i experienced a lot of warmth and then, shortly afterward, an insane storm that left me slightly ravaged.

betrayal can leave you feeling detached from others, which is protective (from the person who betrayed your trust), but it is also harmful.  i.e. how can i move past this and continue fostering my relationships with others while feeling so detached?

i've had some version of this conversation with many many people over the past week.  i've also meditated and yoga-ed myself to exhaustion, journal-ed it, art-ed it, and had it invade my subconscious and dream spaces.  in other words, i've thought about it a little bit.

i've practiced several techniques of severing energetic ties, practicing forgiveness and compassion, and letting myself sit with my emotions, even the detached ones.  overall i feel calm; i feel like i've processed.  and i can see that it is working: as walking and conducting one of the meditations, a woman who was screaming and cursing into her phone as rushing down a busy NYC street stopped dead in her tracks and looked at me.  she smiled, saying "you look nice." i felt her energy shift just as i keep re-directing my own.

but then there are tiny, seemingly innocuous little things throughout my day that trigger me, letting me know that i need to continue the process.  to continue to trust; to continue to build; to continue to bloom.  because really, isn't that what i naturally have to do? my parents gave me a name, a birthright, that seemingly demands it.

yesterday in yoga felipe read us a portion of this quote by marianne williamson that further sparked my desire to stay on this path of blossoming:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

who am i not to be in full bloom?

despite the weather, despite the betrayals, who are you not to be?

imprinting myself

in 2018, i'm being wholeheartedly myself.  imprinting myself inwardly and outwardly. being fully truthful with myself and those around me. 

and, as part of my "fuck the patriarchy" or maybe "fuck that old eating disordered self" or more likely "fuck YES i'm living my life FULLY!," i turned off my fitness tracking on my iphone. i even took a #nomakeupselfie of myself doing it as proof.

i turned it off the afternoon of jan 2.  i had told myself to turn it off 100 times, and then finally set the date of jan 1 as a goal, saying to myself "it's ok to review your full year of exercise one more time."

of course i didn't need to do that.  i've kept track of my exercise in one form or another since i was 10.  did i really need to look at some evidence that i've beaten myself up and treated myself poorly ONE MORE TIME?  no.

and actually i didn't look at it.  i danced all day on jan 1.  it wasn't until i did a customary mileage check tuesday afternoon that i realized i hadn't turned it off yet.  and so, CLICK. 

it felt HELLA scary to turn off the fitness tracking.  "how will i know if i have run enough? how will i know if i have burned enough calories? isn't it just nice to know that i'm being healthy?" my eating disordered voice screamed excuses in the back of my mind as i calmly replied, "you don't need this to be happy. in fact, this is blocking your full expression of happiness."

(yes, i legit said those things to myself.)  and, after i told myself that, i struggled to believe it.  i kept thinking i would turn it back on.  i didn't know how it would feel to be totally rid of any form of tracking.  this action my phone had been taking on its own seemed safe; it wasn't something i was actively doing, so i had convinced myself it was an "ok" behavior.

but, realistically, i should have known how it would feel.  because EVERY SINGLE TIME i shed an eating disordered behavior, i feel like i'm walking on air. i feel lighter.  i feel happier.  i feel my true inner self imprinting itself into the world around me; i become more unafraid.

since i turned off my fitness tracking yesterday: i left my phone at my desk while walking to the printer; i left my phone in my apartment while walking to the garbage room (yes these microscopic portions of my mileage were not to be left uncounted); i left my phone charging while doing a workout; i didn't feel the urge to check and re-check my mileage instead of focusing on other things;

and i felt like i could more fully disconnect from my phone.  it lost its specialness, its attachment i had embedded somewhere between the battery and the phone shell.

AND, OH. MY. GOD. do you know how good that feels?  how good i feel?  i taught a yoga class this morning and i felt the freedom pouring out in my teaching.  afterward, a regular student told me "i love your classes; they're so different than any other class i go to" and i felt my happiness bubble. i felt that confirmation of my truths in her words.

IMPRINT: my body can regulate itself; i can trust this amazing body my soul calls home.

what eating disorder?

a week ago i was talking to someone about the history of my eating disorder. even though my eating disorder is not as impactful as it once was, there are remnants of it that still contribute to how i respond to things.

the person i was talking to wanted to know when the last time i had thrown up was, and i said that throwing up was only a small piece of my eating disorder; my eating disorder has multiple layers to it. the most recent layer i've pulled back was calorie-counting, and that was no small feat. i also mentioned that relaxing my strictness around exercise was (probably) the last layer i needed to work on... and that i didn't know that i wanted/needed to work on it.

is it so bad that i work out every day? that i prioritize it?  that i have to run before i leave for work for the day?  that i feel like i need to workout to deserve the food i eat?

later that night, i thought more about what i had said, and reflected on earlier layers of my eating disorder that i've since discarded.  things i used to think were "fine" include: calorie counting; recording all my food and exercise; constant excessive exercise; minimal binge/purge sessions; binging but just exercising off the calories (instead of throwing up); and extreme calorie restriction. because all of those things weren't as bad as binging and purging every day (or several times a day).

each time i shed a layer of the eating disorder, i am more accepting of the layer under it, thinking that i can live with this lesser version of my eating disorder.

that night, as i thought about what i had said, i remembered a few days before when i accepted an invitation to help a friend with her kids on a road trip this weekend. my only bartering chip had been to ask for time to run/yoga each morning. and i thought, "why did i have to say that? was that what was really most important to me?" 

because i'm scared that sometimes exercise is the most important thing to me, here i am, saying that i don't want it to dictate my life.

i don't want to stop exercising regularly; i want to live a healthy life that involves regular exercise but that doesn't revolve around it, so i brainstormed with my art therapist about what a good action step would be.  she said that i should "listen to my body, and workout when i needed to."

i couldn't help it; i laughed out loud when she said that. i was laughing hysterically, thinking, "that would never work!"  but, as i was laughing, i realized that when people used to say that i should listen to my body, and eat when i was hungry, i had also laughed, thinking that was impossible.

but now that's what i do. 

i used to ignore my body's cues around food, hit the "control" button and override what it was telling me. and now, i eat when i'm hungry.  i eat what i think my body needs.

therefore, i know that this new hurdle is also surmountable.  so i committed: i would listen to my body about when it needed activity instead of setting rules around what must happen.

this weekend, that's what i did.  not only did i chill the fuck out, but i didn't force myself to restrict sleep and get up super early for workout time; i didn't demand time to exercise; i didn't freak out about getting "enough" working out in; i wasn't thinking about my workout while spending time with the girls. 

oh.  and i felt great.       
***everything is possible***

evolve with me

everyone knows that dating someone who is on a completely different life trajectory won't work: there has to be a basic underpinning in common to really build a life together.

as i move through my life, the basis of what that is has changed. earlier on it was most important to me to have someone who had the same educational aspirations. previously it has also been important to me to build a life with a runner or person who was into fitness. while both of those things still feature on a "that'd be nice to have a in a partner" list, there's something else that has replaced my non-negotiable when referring to the person i want to build my life with.

i want a partner who is a truth-seeker, who wants to evolve.

there are little ways that's kept playing as important to me: i notice i'm more drawn to people who practice yoga and meditation; i am turned on by someone who has chosen to stop using excessive drugs and alcohol in their life because they don't want or need the escapism; i follow my intuition toward events that are geared toward people that share these interests.

i kind of thought this was one of those "that'd be nice" items, but it has begun to scream its importance when i try to ignore it.

someone i've been dating had chosen to stop drinking with me, and while they hadn't started following a spiritual path, i was impressed and inspired by their commitment. until the dedication vanished overnight: they said their motivation was only driven by me and in time we had spent apart, the desire to prioritize non-use had waned and seemingly entirely disappeared.

their sharp change in attitude left me feeling deflated, and much more than i expected. i felt the disappointment magnify the more i thought about why it was important to me. it's not support in my decisions i want, it's a full and present life co-producer i yearn for.

i don't expect someone who doesn't make mistakes; it's impossible not to trip along the way. but it's the design behind the life path that matters to me. and, so that i can attract that in my life, i'm stating my intention clearly and with purpose.

i want someone who is present, who isn't afraid to be present, and who craves a full connection with both me and the world around them. i want someone who fully embodies the highest version of themselves because that's what they want for their life.

( ) /invisible

me: i can't go out with you that night, i already have a date.
some male i'm dating, let's call him jim: WHAT?? YOU HAVE A DATE WITH SOMEONE ELSE?
me: yeah, her name is sarah.
jim: oh, hot.  can you guys stop by my place after?
me: i don't even know her; it's a first date.
jim: send me photos if you kiss her.
me: er, do you want to make plans with me later this weekend?
jim: saturday morning?
me: oh, i have yoga with george.
jim: GEORGE? WHO IS GEORGE? IS IT A DATE?

the above scenario is an invented one, but it represents about 193 interactions i've had.  i call it "invisibility."

invisibility: (noun) inability to be seen

or: 
the state of being ignored or not taken into consideration;

not reflected in statistics; 
concealed from public knowledge.

there are so many things that are invisible in our society, that we don't give enough time, space, or attention to. when we allow things to be invisible, we reiterate that they don't matter; that the people who experience that context don't matter.  however, placing a clear and specific focus on something highlights it and begins to build awareness and importance for it.  and can be the beginning of a very different life for someone living that truth.

september was bi visibility month, as in bisexual visibility.  and, somewhat unsurprisingly, i didn't know that it was bi visibility month until it was almost over. where were my social medias on this one? where were the hashtags and inundation of articles and cute pics of couples? i work in sexuality and follow several sexuality and sexual health experts and nonprofits.  how is it possible that bi visibility month was so invisible?

in health (mental and physical) research involving bisexuals, there is strikingly little information available: most research lumps bisexual-identifying individuals with homosexual-identifying individuals.  this is the same as assuming that the whole world's population is similar to white men (which, by the way, is what medical research did for years).  we do know that bisexual individuals have a much higher prevalence of mental illness, and i would argue that it is directly related to the problem presented here.

(           )   when bisexual identifying individuals are with a partner of the same gender, bisexual people go through a lot of the things that homosexual people do: i've had family members not want to acknowledge romantic relationships as something "more than friends," co-workers that have made rude comments, and uncertainty about how to introduce a female partner in some contexts.  and in these situations, most of these people are assuming i identify as homosexual.  ...except by people who do identify as homosexual: they tend to tell me things like "you're not a real gay."

(           )   when we are with a partner of a differing gender, there's an assumption that we're straight, that we identify with the heteronormative world, that we don't understand the "struggle."

(           )   but i would argue what is most frustrating, for me, is how the men i date treat the actual or potential women partners in my life: most men i have ever been out with think it's "cute" that i date women; they don't consider my female partners "real" partners or threatening to them in any way.  oh, and they fetishize the girl/girl kissing and assume they'll be invited to be a part of it.

so, yes, no matter who i date, my sexuality is normally dismissed by most people around me.

so, in honor of bi visibility, and of national coming out day (oct 11), i am writing this.  maybe you didn't know that i was bi, despite the photos i post and terms i use.  maybe you didn't want to admit that i was bi, despite things i've told you.  and part of it could be that i don't normally use the words bi or bisexual to describe myself; i'm more likely to say something like "i'm open to relationships with people regardless of gender."

but now you definitely know.  so no more excuses.  help make bi people feel safe, included, validated.

visible.

gifts

last week was my birthday.  that, in my world, is an event.  my parents made a big deal about birthdays (and holidays) when i was growing up, giving my transient family a sense of tradition that would provide us with a feeling of home as we moved from base to base. as a result, i play up the birthdays of all my friends and loved ones... and i celebrate my own in the same manner.

this birthday was not one of the best. i got in a huge fight with a loved one that ended up disrupting a majority of the day's plans.  and a yearly call i was expecting from another loved one didn't light up my phone, despite my constant monitoring. these let downs seemed magnified on my birthday, and i cried and felt depressed all afternoon and evening as a couple of friends visited and others facetimed and called to try to talk it through with me.

all i wanted was to have a glass of wine.  or six.  i wanted to just go out with my best friend and shrug it all off; to pretend like i wasn't hurt and fucking celebrate my birthday.

but there was one additional complication: i gave up drinking for my birthday.

last fall i toyed, for this first time, with being sober.  i blogged about the journey as i started with 40 days, extended it as i was "assigned" an additional 40 days by elena brower (ex-life coach, present and eternal teacher), and then the lessons i learned about myself along the way.

but there were a few things i left out, even in my honesty: 1) the real reason i started the first 40 days, and 2) the depth of the concern i had that i couldn't do it; that i enjoyed alcohol maybe a little too much for me to give it up for even 40 days.

the real reason i started the 40 days?  the rape i didn't really want to talk about yet.  yes, i wrote a vague blog about it.  yes, i named it as rape and several days later even reported it.  yes, i was doing a lot of things to process.  but the initial motivator for the 40 days was when my research assistant asked me "do you think you're drinking more?" as part of a post-rape self-care inventory.

"no," i immediately replied, insistent, even to myself, that i was handling this.  but when i got home and got in the bath that night, i noticed there was a large glass of wine in my hand.  and i thought, "i don't normally automatically pour wine when i walk into the house." and my next thought: FUCK.

and so, the 40 days.  i wanted to demonstrate that my life would not be negatively affected.  i wanted to show myself i had the strength to do something i didn't think i could (thematic in my life).

and that's where that second omission surfaces:  i had concerns about my ability to stop drinking. in my first post about it, i even seem to minimize the sobriety aspect of the 40 days with the calorie counting moratorium i threw in to the challenge. (side note: the calorie counting was actually harder for the first several days... and that behavior had plagued me much longer!) but i had deeper, more secretive worries about giving up drinking: some related to social situations, but others were around the relationship (or obsession) i've cultivated with avoidance mechanisms.

i've blogged more openly about bulimia and dating as avoidance, but not about drinking.  drinking, with most of my friends, is not something we need to talk about.  because it's assumed that everyone is always drinking.  a lot.  you could blame it on the penn state influence, australian norms, or the single-in-the-city lifestyle.  but a majority of my friends are drinkers. so why would i concern myself with analyzing an avoidance mechanism that is an acceptable part of my life and relationships?

each drinking event i attended sober became easier and easier.  sober dates and sober holidays and sober vacations followed.  it was more recently that i came across some life planning notes, from life coaching work with elena, that hit home the non-named concern i had with drinking at the start of the 40 days.

excerpt from work written 5/5/14:

Things friends have said recently, but I tucked away due to denial:
Hal: Does your drinking every worry you?
Owen: It’s basically like rape when we have sex and you’re that drunk.
Matt: Yeah, I didn’t realize we always do that [drink so much when together].
Kitty: But we don’t have a problem, right? We’re young and single; we wouldn’t do this if we had families.

dare i say i'm thankful for the impetus to start the 40 day journey?  reading about my previous denial scared me. i wondered if the "sober thing" would have ever appealed to me.  emergency room visits and blackouts hadn't influenced me to change my behavior; who's to say that anything would have?

in the 7 months after the "40" days, i haven't had much to drink on any one occasion.  i've learned i don't like alcohol or its after effects on my body or mind. and i LOVE being totally clear in my life and intentions.

this is how i 37.

and yet i've been afraid to totally give up alcohol.  isn't it nice to have that one glass of wine occasionally?  isn't it therapeutic to have a martini with a friend when they really need it?  isn't it socially acceptable to have a glass of champagne while attending a wedding? i had a million reasons not to give it up.

and then, about a week before my birthday, i realized the problem.  i was looking at this from a perspective of lack, and the only solution to that was to re-frame it.  and so i did: this birthday i gave myself the gift of not drinking (ever again).  the disappointing july 6th had no wine; the party with all my friends the next day had no whiskey (well, none in my glass!); the birthday dinner the following night had no cocktails. 

but i have so much more. 

and this, my loves, is the how, the why, and the what of my 37th birthday.