Brick-laying and Making Eye Contact with Pain

Sometimes I write because I want to, because I know the words that will come, and because it feels the right time. But other times, many times, like this moment, I write not because I am confident I have an idea or whisper worth sharing, but because something beyond my rational mind knows I must write. I’ve come to see that writing for me is what painting is for the artist and composing for the musician. So I write today in trust: that somewhere, someone needs these words. They are not easy ones to write or to hear; I send them to you with love. 

It’s been almost 6 years since I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder, and the climb out of that season has felt both up and down, but mostly up. Until the last two months. The last two months have been days run into weeks muddled into months of an increasingly unbearable undercurrent of fear, strain, and a weariness of the soul. “it’s just because this week…” I kept saying and hear others say to me, as we sought to justify and rationally explain why the floor was falling away brick by brick under my feet.

The last bricks fell out last week, not through any particular individual horrific moment, but just with the continued monotony of reverse brick-laying: each brick insignificant on its own, but together capable of supporting tons of weight. My dwindling brick floor overlooked by my eyes frantically turned up, toward the “good”.

I think it’s in our human nature to look away when we see pain, either our own or someone else’s. Despite my beliefs about the value of human kindness and the integral sacredness of each embodied soul, I instinctually look away from the person sleeping in a doorway as I walk past, dressed up for an evening out. Even in the most obvious of moments I look away. And we do it to our own pain, perhaps even more quickly. “I’m fine, doing good,” we say when asked. #blessed.

Positive psychology, or in Biblical terms a joyful heart, has undeniable benefits to our well-being and the well-being of those around us. But I wonder if our application of this perspective is wrongfully attributed primarily to the good, to the easy, to the moments we feel most awake and alive. “If I just focus on the positive…” we tell ourselves and others.  Attitude of gratitude. And another brick falls. We tip our head back a bit more, catching one more glimmer of sunlight we pretend comes from the sunrise but fully knowing the sun has just set. Night is ahead, as it always is, and we crane our necks for one last glimmer of light rather than turning toward the dark. And another brick falls.

Recently, someone told me they so badly wished and prayed I could be released from fear and anxiety. “Yes!”, I wanted to shout, “me too!” But I opened my mouth and out popped the following, “I know, but can you imagine me if I hadn’t wrestled with and lain next to this fear for the past 6 years? Can you imagine the woman I would be? I can, and she is not as lovely as this brokenness has somehow miraculously made me to be. This is my gift." And still, I hate it and I fight it.

What are you hating and fighting today that may actually be your gift? Anger, fear, loneliness, disbelief, grief, sadness, pain, fear...we rage against them, writhing in their grasp, unaware of what they have to offer us and teach us. What an uncomfortable gift. 

One of my greatest points of consternation and wonder as a therapist and a human is hourly witnessing this confounding paradox: we seek to escape from our individual and collective pain and bruising on an almost constant basis; yet, all the while we know on some level that growth only comes through pain, new life through death, and peace through breathing in the midst of a storm. We spend billions of dollars and moments trying to escape pain, but pain is one of the surest ways to growth and healing. We want the growth, but we somehow respond as though pain isn’t a necessary part of the equation.

Most of us, myself included, respond to pain by frantically grabbing at the walls, and usually somehow finding a hold. We immediately re-lay the brick floor: Safety-checking – am I ok? Are my people ok? Brick laid. Future guarding – is there enough money in the bank account? What decision can I make to feel more secure? Brick laid. Positivity-seeking – am I loved? Do I matter to someone else? Brick laid. Purpose-pursuing – will I be remembered? What is my legacy? This work matters, right? Brick laid. Pleasure-seeking – will this numb the pain? Will this make me laugh? Brick laid. Faith-clinging – God is with me always, right? If I just will myself to believe the right thing, I’ll find peace, yes? Brick laid.

And this works. The bricks hold, because the bricks are good and solid and even sacred and necessary. For a season. But they are not Sacred and will eventually crumble once again, which we will miss with our eyes turned up and back to the light of the sunset. As the bricks all fall out, we begin to fall, too. The abyss large, dark, unfamiliar not because it is new, but because we always turned away from it before.

But what if the abyss that we fall into is actually what is Sacred? I fear falling not because I fear the act of falling, but because I fear the smack at the bottom. What if I believed there was no bottom? Without a destructive crash, falling is transformed to floating.  Floating free of the frantic scrambling for a handhold, floating free of the weight of all the bricks we carry with us to build the next floor.

It is a mystery that life comes out of death, but as I look at the flowers blossoming everyone in spring, I cannot deny it. What do we lose when we deny this exact process in ourselves?

6 years in, I still instinctually do everything I can to avoid feeling fear and anxiety, but a part of my soul now whispers, “this is your gift, Sarah.” Yes, it is. And it is not my master. My task is to tune my heart, spirit, and soul to the gift. A gift my mind instinctively makes my master when I try to brick-build my way out of the discomfort.

If you spend your moments and days brick-building a wall against the discomfort of the heavy gifts you’ve been given, I promise you will miss the peaceful floating available only through a trust-filled fall. You cannot think your way into this fall, but you can turn toward it, ready for when it comes next. How? Stop craning for the sunset light and instead turn toward the darkness. Yours, theirs, ours.  Not to beat it back, or even illuminate it – the darkness has a purpose and it must be allowed to fulfill it. The sunrise always comes, regardless of if you had your flashlight on all night or not.

How do I know? Because I have lived it, and it is one of the few constants I can find in life. The pain we run away from will always chase us and fill us with greater fear. Pain invited in as a gift (not a master) will always teach us and then, at the right time (which we do not determine) leave us more gentle, strong, and free-floating.

Know that I do not write this glibly. I much prefer the writings where I tell you to go live your big dreams, show your big love, and transform the world around you (which I still know you can do). But today I sense we need this (maybe simply because today, I need this): sit still, stop striving, let the last brick fall and fall along with it. By grace you will float, and in the floating, you will stand.

So rest, darlings, rest in the dis-ease. Level your head, look at your pain in the eyes, gently, and ask her what she has to teach you today. Thank her, invite her to share her wisdom, and trust she will move on when she has served her purpose.

You are Love(d).

Tow Straps and Cultivating

"Honey, are you driving?" my mom asked gently, obviously concerned. "yes," I sniffed, "but I cry in my throat, not my eyes, I can see fine." (it's true. I almost never have tears, but by the sound of it you'd think I'd be wise to invest in tissues stock)

After four therapy sessions back to back, listening to people talk about the immense struggles facing them on a daily basis, I had rushed to a group project meeting, and then to class where I heard my colleagues processing much of the same. The moment my professor walked out of the room at the end of class, I put my head down on my desk and started to cry - did I choose the right profession?

I was still crying an hour later on the phone with my mom when abruptly, I stopped, "mom, I have to go. some lady is stalled on the bridge and I'm going to see if she needs a tow."

It was a quick shift, and even as a I pulled over, a part of me said, "Sarah, it's not your problem. Someone else will help that person. You are exhausted, you're literally crying on the phone right now about how overwhelmed you are. You do not have to stop to help a stranger. It's 2018, she's probably already called for help. There are professionals who fix things like this, Sarah. Keep driving."

And yet the instinct kicked in, my window rolled down, "Do you need help?" She looked out her window surprised, "Oh my gosh. Yes, please."

I pulled my truck in front of hers, pushed up the sleeves on my blazer, and hopped out. "You're an angel," she said. I smiled, my eyes undoubtedly still red from dry-crying. "No, I'm not." I replied, "The world is a good place, and it's full of good people. I'm just one of them."

I don't know why that's what popped out of my mouth, but it did. Word for word.

She cocked her head, "you're right. I've had a shit week, and this feels like you're saving my life, but you're right. The world is a good place and it's full of good people. Ok, how do we do this?"

I hooked the tow strap to her truck, talked her though how to drive a towed vehicle, and got her to the nearest gas station. It was all she needed - just a little bit of fuel. She gave me a hug, and I headed home, my heart somehow much lighter.

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I shared earlier this month on instagram that my goal this year is to focus on this simple phrase, "Life is not meant to be coped with but cultivated."

Regardless of the challenges of the schedule, or the myriad of unexpected struggles that will inevitably come my way, I want to live with clear values pulling me toward something, not a knee jerk reaction of self-preservation.

There is no formula to life - no one right way to parent, to fall in love, to fail, to recover, to spend your time, your money, or your energy. But there is one sure way to do it wrong: to just follow along in the current of a river you didn't choose.

Every day, every moment, a choice is right in front of us. Cope or cultivate. I'm learning that if you can't identify what you're cultivating at any given moment, it's likely you're either coping endlessly or cultivating recklessly. Maybe both.

In the moment I decided to pull over on the bridge, what I needed more than my continued verbal processing (which had actually turned to coping) was to cultivate my firm belief that we live in a world where people will help one another and be kind. If no one else was stopped to help that stalled truck, I would stop - not because I had to, but because in that moment, I chose to cultivate a neighborhood and world of spontaneous kindness.

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Coping seems easier than cultivating when we're deciding between the two. But fast forward just a bit through time, and we see what havoc coping leaves in it's wake. Instead of trust, there is fear. Instead of strength, there is exhaustion. Instead of friends, there are enemies. Instead of kids who are rooted in belonging, there are kids rooted in competition and performance. Instead of thriving families, there are broken homes. Instead of recovery, there is heart-shattering addiction. Instead of dreams, there are walls. Instead of peace, there is simmering or full-blown war.

Coping is simply a postponement of peace for the sake of quiet; cultivating is embrace of the mess for the sake of peace and restoration. 

Choosing between coping and cultivating is not painless, but pretending we don't have a choice brings it's own crueler pain. On one hand, we accept the pain that comes with an intentional choice, and on the other we believe we are victims of pain that came from our refusal to choose.

The thing about coping & cultivating is that they become habits and cycles. The longer you cope, the harder it is to cultivate. Thankfully, the opposite is also true: the longer you cultivate, the more impossible you'll find it to cope. 

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So what are you cultivating? Do you have that dream, that value, that truth of solid bedrock under your feet? Where are you coping? Does that just need to be re-framed or does it need to be ditched completely?  

Some of these things will stay the same your whole life through, while others will change in different seasons of life. The key isn't just in how you answer the question "cope or cultivate", it's your willingness to even ask it at all. 

Ask it. Even if it's terrifying. Maybe something needs a "no" even though everything around you is telling you "yes". Maybe you know it's time for that "yes" even though the gremlins have given you a list of "no's" longer than your arm. Ask it. 

Because in two years from now, in ten years from now, in fifty years from now, you'll wake up and look around: what will you see? A life built from coping or from cultivating?

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I don't know much about what life will look like in the next two years, or what curve balls will be thrown my way. But I trust when I get there, it will be familiar, peaceful, and purposeful - a place I have cultivated, grown out of choice, watered on purpose.

And in the meantime, I will keep looking hopelessness in the eye so I can show it the door, I'll keep trekking into the muck to stand next to a bogged down soul, and I'll keep hooking up tow straps, pushing up my sleeves, and looking into the eyes of strangers to say, "The world is a good place, and it's full of good people. Let's get you fueled up. Chances are, someone is waiting on a tow from you just down the road. We'll make sure you get there."

And if you're stranded right now, feeling lonely and overwhelmed, just turn on your emergency lights. Someone's about to pull over with a tow strap. I just know it. 

Thoughts on Raising Boys in a Women's Power Era

"Read it again!" she said, as we closed Bedtime Stories for Rebel Girls. Even though I consider myself an intelligent person, I had only heard of roughly 25% of the women in this book, and would have happily re-read it. "Do you want to?" I asked my son. "No." he said flatly, and walked out of the room.

It's an incredible time to be a woman. With decreasing pay-gaps, #MeToo movements, more women in higher education than ever before, and increasing acceptance of and equality for women in the work-force at every level, it is a great time to be a woman. And, it is a great time to raise a daughter.

But, it is a hard time to raise a son. With lowering male education rates, white males being almost the sole perpetrators of mass gun violence, and the (justified) exposé of all the fallout caused by male privilege, it is a hard time to raise a man. Especially a white one.

I am raising both.

And over this past year, I have become increasingly aware of a massive gap in the feminist movement. A gap that, I think, is significantly contributing to the crisis our boys and men increasingly face.

Simply put, in the push for women to have it all (of which I am a firm supporter), we have not pushed for men to have the same.

Women are encouraged to pursue careers, have families if they wish, be bold, speak up, adventure, wear whatever they please. Women are allowed to be emotional, love cooking, have a good cry, and be driven. Speak up. Shatter glass ceilings. Increasingly, women are praised for leaving their traditional roles of care-givers, home-makers, and child-raisers in order to pursue a career, run for office, or disrupt a male-dominated status quo.

And so it should be.

But, and this is a huge BUT, men are not afforded the same limitless, blow-the-walls-off-your-gendered-expectations environment.

Men are still praised for being career-driven, strong, stoic, leaders, innovators, and confident but they are not praised for taking on traditional feminine roles of care-giving, home-making, self-care, and child-raising. More significantly, they are not praised for demonstrating traditionally feminine emotions like excitement, fear, enjoyment of their own beauty, sadness, tenderness, compassion, or grace.

Until we start valuing all components of what it is to be human, both the traditionally feminine and the traditionally masculine, we will continue to undercut huge swathes of our population.

The era of the 1950s wife and husband roles is gone, and I doubt it will return. But our perpetuation of those gendered stereotypes, and especially our elevation of masculine traits, continues today, even in twisted feminist movements.

If all we're doing is encouraging women to take on traditionally male roles, characteristics, and traits, but not encouraging men to take on traditionally feminine roles, characteristics, and traits, we're simply perpetuating the elevation of masculinity, but with a fashionable purse over it's shoulder. To truly accomplish equity of genders, we have to honor both the traditionally masculine and traditionally feminine - regardless of the gender of the person who manifests it.

What does the current elevation of the masculine look like from a modern parenting perspective? It's pervasive.

I can find legos in blue and pink. I can find soccer balls in blue and pink. I can find Spiderman and Wonderwoman costumes. I can find Luke Skywalker and Rey costumes.

But I cannot find dolls marketed for my son (they come in pink boxes, and are in the girls aisle), even though he loves to play imagination games.  I cannot find art kits for my son (though he makes a mean lanyard). I cannot find a cooking set for my son (though he adores sweets in a way I didn't even know was possible, and I'm sure would love to make them).

And yes, of course, I can get around all of those things, and I am. But no matter how hard I work to show them a counter-narrative, the message to both my children is loud and clear: certain traits are allowed for women and not for men.

And those are the traits we need most of all to maintain the heart of our humanity. Traits of tenderheartedness, perseverance, compassion, gentleness, empathy, resilience, and yes, even fear and especially sadness.

I can find book after book after book for my daughter modeling all of those things. I cannot find those books for my son.

It is easy to find books for my daughter about girls modeling innovation, leadership, strength, warriorhood, fierceness, bravery, courage, and other more traditionally masculine traits.

But in fact, and even more shockingly, I cannot find an equivalent of even those traits for my son.

While I can find countless magazines, books, and shows that elevate the wholeness of humanity embodied in female characters, I cannot find it for my son. I cannot even find masculine characters modeling only positive, traditional masculine traits of strength, leadership, and courage - unless those resources are also laden with dominance, oppression, and violence.

Her books are Bedtime Stories for Rebel Girls, I Dissent: a story about Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and Fancy Nancy Detective. His are Captain Underpants, Big Nate, the Bad Guys, and Farticus.

I cannot find age appropriate books for him that model the traditionally feminine or positive masculine. I cannot find role models in age-appropriate music, television, or sports who embrace men taking on the traditionally feminine.

And so my husband and I are piecing it together, and valiantly trying to show him that just as much as his sister is allowed to do it all, so is he.

Friends, our children, especially our boys, desperately need this counter-narrative. And they need it modeled through more men. We all do. We need it modeled through men who cry, who are tender-hearted, who love care-giving, diaper-changing, and who sometimes feel so afraid or so excited.

And ladies? We have to honor them for it and make space for them to fill.

I hated it the first time my husband told me he was afraid. I wanted him to be my  protector. But he did not hate it when I said I wanted to go back to grad school and needed more help with the kids. He stepped right in.

When he cries, I still sometimes find myself instinctively chuckling, uncomfortable at a man's tears. When I rant about politics, religion, or economics, he engages and tells me he loves my mind.

When he said he loved babies, at first I teased him, "how cuuute." Then we had babies, and he ran laps around me in patience, ability to soothe them, and enjoyment of their gross noises. When I said I needed to go back to work, he said, "do it."

When he didn't stand up for me when another man made a suggestive comment about my body, I turned to him, "why didn't you defend me?" I asked, upset. "You wanted me to fight for you?" he asked. "You don't need me to do that. Besides, I'm not a fighter. You are."

Ladies, we have so much work to do in allowing our men to also fill all the space we're rightly asking to fill ourselves.

And men - this is on you, too. Please stop denying your "feminine traits." Please stop mocking your brothers who show those traits unabashedly. Take a note from women who are confidently stepping into careers, while still raising families, being politically involved, and finishing every week with a bar of chocolate and a good cry. Fill the space - all the space. There is actually enough space for us all.

That's feminism.

It's not my gender above yours, or my gender is allowed (fill in the blank) but yours isn't. Feminism, real feminism is simply this: we are all valuable, we all hold equal weight, and all positive traits are of equal & essential value, regardless of the genitalia of the human who houses them.

And no, we don't have to individually do it all. But collectively we do, and gender needs to move aside in the conversation. Women can be strong, tenderhearted, and dislike babies. Men can be compassionate, leaders, and have a skin-care routine. What has to stop is the labeling of characteristics in a punitive way based on the gender of the one that embodies whatever trait it is (ie - gentle men being 'softies' and assertive women being 'bossy'. Would you call a gentle woman "soft", or an assertive man "bossy"? Probably not).

Our children are watching, and our girls know, without a doubt, and will increasingly know: they can do anything. But our boys don't. And it's showing - in increasing violence, suicide, depression, and risky behavior. Our boys are lost, because they don't have a space to fill.

But there is so much space to fill. There is so much need for strong, compassionate, wise, gentle, brave, assertive, patient, confident, self-loving, and humble leaders and role models.

And I really believe we can do it. And I really believe, one day, it won't be about being "a man" or being a "a woman", it will be about being "a person."

Our kids are growing up, and in a decade from now, they'll be a part of the voting block, in two decades from now, they'll be a large contingent of consumers and drive the economy, and in three decades from now they'll be our political, economic, and spiritual leaders. Who are we raising them to be? What are we teaching them about the value of others? Of themselves? How are we modeling it now? Their future, and ours, depends on how we intentionally answer that question - in both word, and in action.

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if you have any resources you've found that elevate all of the traits we need as humans, especially resources for boys, please send them my way!

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ps - while exceptions can be found to almost every statement I made in this article, I intentionally chose to speak in broad terms in order to simplify the point. I know plenty of women who make space for men, and plenty of men who fill that space well. I know there are resources for my son, a dear friend recently shared a long list I can't wait to check out (and will likely post here), but they were much, much harder to find than for my daughter.  I also acknowledge the large percentage of people who still hold and value traditional gender roles and traits; even though it is not my own, I respect this perspective when it is agreed upon by all involved in those systems (and I have plenty of people in my life, who I love, who would fall in this camp).

No article that addresses gender norms and touches on issues of racism and systemic oppression can be of any reasonable length and still incorporate all of the different perspectives, influences, and factors at play. I did my best to highlight what felt relevant to the main point, and sincerely acknowledge there are other voices that also need to weigh in on this conversation. My hope is that we begin to learn from those we disagree with, honoring difference, and reducing the threat-response we feel when someone says we are wrong (I'm still working on all of that, too , and I really hope you'll join me if you haven't already :)).

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one reader astutely noted traits like "integrity" and "honesty" weren't listed in this blog and wondered why (thanks for the question!). Many life-giving characteristics were left out because they, in my opinion, have not traditionally been ascribed to one gender and were subsequently not as suited for the primary point of this post. Both men and women have, and continue to be, praised for things like integrity, honesty, generosity, self-control, wisdom, and more.

We absolutely need these traits continually embodied by all people.