-- Guest Post by Kim --
In my purse I try to always carry: - knit gloves - lotion (multiple varieties) - finger fidget (a toy for ADHD kids) - cuticle trimmers And on a good day I manage to remember my wallet, cellphone and keys. At the very least, schlepping all this stuff around is embarrassing (um...why do you have knit gloves in your bag in the middle of summer?) and at the very worst, it outs me as a hoarder, which, as reality television has taught us, belies my slow but steady march towards a life as a crazy old bag lady. But I don’t have a choice, really. They are tools to fight my secret and embarrassing addiction: I compulsively pick my fingers. I didn’t know finger-picking was a thing, but it is, apparently. I’d always thought it was just a ‘bad habit’. But after my 100th or so yearly attempt to kick the habit I found myself googling like a madwoman in the middle of the night to see if anyone else really struggled with this the same way I do. Meaning: not only do I rip and tear at the skin around my fingers till they bleed and get infected, but, I also really, really enjoy it. That enjoyment is what sets me apart from a lot of people in the world who casually pick or bite at their nails. I feel an incredible calm satisfaction from what looks like an idle and destructive habit. I’ve always wanted to stop so I figured I’d try for the 101th time with the tools I’d learned about from my googling. I loaded up my bag and my car and my desk at work and I got serious. For a while the tools helped. Trim my cuticles instead of tear at them. Occupy my hands with ADHD toys so I wasn’t ever idle. Wear gloves in the car or at the movies when temptation is at it’s worst. I even wear moisturizer gloves while I sleep at night. (Throw my night guard in the mix and I’ve got one lucky husband). Once I got over the fear of someone catching me looking like a weirdo, and started embracing my tools, I saw a small improvement. But the real breakthrough came when I started thinking about what was happening in my brain whenever I picked. All the support websites recommend focusing on what is going on emotionally before or during picking. Are you sad, anxious, or bored? When I started thinking about it, I realized that it wasn’t just one thing. Picking accompanied every emotion; when I was happy or bored or scared or really anything at all. So that methodology wasn’t very helpful in determining a cause and effect for my behavior. But turning on my brain and really listening to what I was feeling did lead me to recognize a far more disturbing pattern. Whenever I caught myself picking, I’d think, “There you go again. You’re lazy. You’re not even trying. You don’t want to get better. You’re terrible and this is just a symptom of your shittiness. This is how you’ll be forever because you suck. And, btw, you’re fat.” And there was my Holy Shit Moment. (I know Oprah goes with ‘Aha Moment’, but whenever I have these breakthroughs I actually say “HO-lee SHIT”, so try that on for size, Oprah) An a cruel inner voice isn’t motivational. It isn’t helping me ‘pull up my bootstraps’. In what rational universe do you motivate someone by berating them? By criticizing their efforts or belittling the success they’ve worked for, even if it’s meager. If a friend came to me and said, I’m having trouble kicking this bad habit and therefore I am shit forever, I’d give her a hug and tell her that I was proud of her for trying at all. And encourage her to keep going! I would never in a million years speak to a friend in the same way I talk to myself. The way I was “motivating” myself was mean and inefficient, and no one deserves that. When I realized I was treating myself so poorly when picking, I began to notice this behavior in virtually every aspect of my life. Every time things got rough, I kicked myself before anyone else even had the chance. I never treated myself with any sort of love. Every slip up, in life, love and work, was an excuse to tell myself how shitty I was. What an exhausting way to live. Now, whenever I notice my own nasty, mean criticism, I take a minute and ask myself if that’s how I’d talk to a friend. I'm not 100% cured - I still pick occasionally - but I'm a lot better. And I'm giving myself the time and space to continue to get better. Now, the most valuable tool in my kit is forgiveness, love and patience towards myself. And the best part is, it’s in my heart and head so I can’t leave it at home, like I frequently forget my cuticle trimmer.
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Hi, I’m Janice. I’m a pretty nice person. I love crafts and Pinterest and fashion at least as much than the next girl. I’m not aggressive; or even passive-aggressive. In fact, I avoid most confrontations at all costs, in favor of working together to find a shared solution. You might think of me as Sweden. And despite this temperament, I’ve been going to a boxing gym for a few years now. Not kick-boxing. Real boxing. There is an art and a ritual to the fight that I’ve come to love: tying my hands in coils of long fabric wraps, crouching low into position, peering out at my opponent over the smooth horizon of my gloves. Recently, after many months of training by hitting bags and feigning attacks, I was called into the ring by my coach to spar. Initially, I was only on the offense against testosterone-filled guys who weren’t out to hurt me (see picture). Eventually, though, it was a matched fight. As I pulled on my headgear and foul protector, I sized up my first real opponent. She looked small and unassuming, but her slight frame could navigate the ring quickly, with sharp movements and skilled punches. Her expression was cold, toughened and wrung clear of emotion by experience. A well of doom overtook me as I broke from the huddle of onlookers, climbed under the ropes, and took my corner. The buzzer sounded. With a brief exchange of respect, the pummeling began. She attacked me instantly, diving into my range with expert jabs and no tempering of force. At this point, the sport becomes a dance. A very painful dance. Anticipating another person’s movements, not taking your eyes off theirs, then striking with controlled and practiced strokes, each weighs their own vulnerability. You protect yourself at all costs -- an especially poignant metaphor for life, I think. And facing that boxer’s relentless blows, it was all I could do to pull my head down, shoulders in, and take it. Fighting is necessary sometimes, to work out all that sticky stuff inside. I started boxing precisely when I was most sleep-deprived and over-evaluated in design school. My usual escape was running, but mile after mile trekked alone left me missing some human connection. In boxing, the inner aches could find a way out as I trained my body to move in line with the chaos around me. Still, there is something comforting about having remnants of a bit of pain. An expression of what hurts us makes our struggle that much more real. After a bout, however short, my head rings for days and my nose feels like it’s broken. Those physical pains, be they accidental or the byproduct of working hard at something a little riskier than the usual, can give some solace. Brought to light, lathered in ointment and nursed with Advil, they heal. And remind us that the bigger wounds in our emotions, minds and hearts will heal too. As long as we keep fighting for resolution. Hi Grateful Lifers!
Cousin Jessi here. I thought long and hard about something deep and gratitude-oriented to post, and then I ran out of time. Here's what I came up with instead. My boyfriend, who I am SO grateful for, likes to send me these cat videos to cheer me up when I'm having a bad day. Watch them all now or save them for a rainy day. If you are one of those people who doesn't like cats (I have a few friends who I love in this category and I just don't get it), I'm sorry. http://www.wimp.com/marucompilation/ http://gizmodo.com/5909829/loving-kittens-playing-in-super+slow-motion-is-a-cute-overload http://gizmodo.com/5849643/watch-a-cute-cat-fight-a-hair-dryers-invisible-hot-air This one has nothing to do with cats, but I thought I'd share it anyway. It's pretty cool. http://boingboing.net/2012/01/10/stop-motion-video-shows-books.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+boingboing%2FiBag+%28Boing+Boing%29 Recently, a 6th grade student of mine with some disabilities who I bonded with a lot toward the end of the year asked me, "Do you ever watch those videos on line with the cats doing funny things?" Yes, Lukas, I do. In gratitude, Jess |
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