Thursday, December 15, 2016

#ThrowbackThursday - Norman Bates and Birth Control

Dreams are weird.

The other day, some girlfriends and I were sitting around, talking about some of our most memorable dreams. In college, I used to write my dreams in short-story form, and then read them aloud at get-togethers. Some of them are still pretty legendary for a few friends.  Like that one time when I had a dream that I was an unwed teen mom, circa 1900, and so, to save my dignity, I married Michigan-born actor, Jeff Daniels, and we had six kids, and he had cancer, and then it was in remission, and then it came back, and the dream ended. I can still picture the gaslights that adorned our Victorian-era living room. And our kids were all incredibly blonde. That dream, because of it's dramatics, is still one of my favorites. (Cue: Jeff Daniels, carrying our youngest up to bed, turning to face me, and exclaiming with a dramatic sigh, "Cassaundra! The cancer's back!" End Scene.) My friend, Hope quoted that final line to me as we were reminiscing this past weekend.

When I think about past dreams, especially during this time of year, I always have a small smile for the holiday-themed-love affair my subconscious brewed up in December of 2010. I was kind of obsessed with classic Hollywood actor, Anthony Perkins, during that stressful Final Exam season. Though he is best known for playing literal lady-killer Norman Bates in Hitchcock's 1960 masterpiece, "Psycho", I always found him rather swoon-y in a tall, lanky and shy kind of way. That fall, I had discovered his lesser-known attempts at crooning (that guy had multiple jazz albums!), and romantic comedies, and used his films as distractions from my studies.

In honor of that night (or, early morning...?) I want to share the dream again, on the six-year anniversary. #ThrowbackThursday to that time when I dream-dated Anthony Perkins, referenced the Bates Motel, and refused birth control even though we were moving in together. All while having dinner with my family. Y'know, typical Christmas stuff...


The Man of My Dreams: Anthony Perkins - December 15, 2010

 
My dream about Tony Perkins – December 15, 2010

*AUTHOR'S NOTE: I always have the strangest dreams. I think this one comes from the fact that I have been cramming my mind with Biology (you'll see this represented in the mention of human gestation/pregnancy), thinking about publishing my writing (I feel my subconciois gave poet Mary Karr a shout out when, in my dream, Tony talks about babies being no bigger than a bite of burger. I think Mary wote a poem about that.), and the fact that last night as a study break, I watched Anthony Perkins playing a cute college kid in the romantic comedy, "Tall Story". Also, this dream was written right after it happened, so it's not my best work, but it makes me laugh. Also, the dream ends where it does because at that moment, I was woken up at 7:44am. by a woman who had a wrong number. She thought I was Kim, and she was telling me to tell Jim something about a freezer.  Weird. So, here's my dream....I hope it amuses you! :) *

Snow swirled around the twinkling lights that hung above the frosted windows. Made to look like a cozy, secluded cabin in the woods, this restaurant planted in the middle of a busy stretch of McDonald’s and Wendy’s, seemed out of place, but I was glad that we could get out of the cold, and enjoy a nice dinner before heading back and cramming for the rest of our exams.

Tony parked his little green Bug, sloshing it up against the snow bank. He turned off the car, and settled back against the seat. His short, silky dark hair caught the glow of the winter moonlight, and smiling at me,  he leaned over and pecked my cheek, warming me from head to toe. Oh, how I loved him! But there was something behind that smile; it didn’t quite reach his dark brown eyes, and it told me that he wasn’t altogether happy. The nervousness that lingered below his charming exterior worried me. I knew that he could get so wound up, so anxious, and I was uncertain of how I would handle him if he had one of those episodes again. 

We got out of the car, and together walked, hand in hand to the restaurant. A nice couple walked in ahead of us, and the gentleman held the door open for Tony and me. Tony just stood there. Underneath the glow of the restaurant’s light, I looked up at him. His tall, skinny frame was covered only in a stylish grey sweater and dark, denim slacks. I was always worried about his health – that man never ate anything – and now without a coat, I was worried that he would just catch a death of cold out there in the December snow. Plus, I thought it was rude and awkward that he was just standing there, especially because that other couple was waiting for us.

 “Anthony,” I grabbed his hand again. “let’s go inside.”

He stiffened. “I –I don’t want to. Not yet.”

 Oh, dear. “Well, you can’t just stand here, letting all the cold air in. Plus, these nice people are waiting to come in. Come on. I think my parents are right over there.  I’m sorry!” I smiled at the couple who were waiting, and I let them shuffle past us. Anthony still didn’t move.

“I – I think I’ve changed my mind. I’m n-not very hungry, you know,” he stuttered.

I sighed and grabbed his hand, practically yanking him behind me. I directed our paths to a booth where my parents sat with another couple.

“Tony!” The man who sat across from my father turned around and reached out to shake my boyfriend’s hand. "How are you, my boy? Does your mother still own that old motel?"

Tony stiffly nodded – it seemed more like a jerk of the head. “Yes, -uh, H-hello. Good to see you. Um, darling,” he cleared his throat and directed his attention back to me. “I – I think I’ll go sit over there where your brothers are, if you-you don’t mind.”

Before I could respond, he slipped past me, placing his hands on my shoulders for the briefest moment as he left. I watched him practically fold himself in half to get into that tiny booth, his long legs crowding under the table.

“Hey, what’s the matter with Tony tonight?” my mother inquired.

“Yes,” the man who had originally spoken to Tony agreed. “I haven’t sen him since he graduated high school, and I wanted to see how he was fairing. It’s good to see alumni back in these parts again.”

“Oh, you know,” I smiled. “End of term finals, things like that. He’s fine.”
I really had no idea, so I left my comments there, and joined the trio of boys at the table. My brothers had already ordered their meal, and were close to finishing once the waitress finally came to take our orders. As we waited for our food, Tony and I laughed together with my brothers, chatting about Christmas-y things. It all seemed to e going very well, until --

“Let me see that last bit of burger, there,” Tony began and before anyone could object, he reached across the table, and with his long, delicate pale fingers, he plucked the grizzled and gnawed bit of burger off of my brother’s plate. My eyes widened when Tony took this deformed piece of food, and held it against my abdomen, the grease clinging to the wool of my sweater.

“Um, Anthony? W-what are you doing?”

‘Do you see this piece of burger?” Tony began as he spread his fingers over my belly. “This bite of burger is no bigger than what an embryo will be in your uterus in a matter of weeks. Of course, assuming implantation occurs. ” (*side note: OH MY GOSH!!!! I HATE Biology!)

“What??”

“Did you ask your mother about birth control pills?”

“Tony!!” I gasped as I looked at my brothers wildly. Their expressions were that of shock and discomfort. “No, I didn’t ask her, and I mean – why would – just no!”

“Well, you’ll need to ask her,” he began matter-of-factly.  I really didn't like his insistant tone.  “Because I’m moving in tonight and the sooner you get them, the better; we can’t take any chances of you getting pregnant.”

“Um – No! Tony, this is a really inappropriate conversation to be having in front of my brothers. Plus, just because you’re moving in, doesn’t mean that we’re going to start having sex.  I never said that. And even if we did, how is it that you’re so confident that you would get me pregnant right away, anyway?”

He chuckled as he laid aside the burger. “Well, darling,” he took my hand in both of his, beaming that smile of his. It reached his eyes this time.  “I know that you’re a bookworm  extraordinaire, and that  an educated woman like yourself has little time or interest for any sort of recreation, but I was hoping I could…p-persuade you.”
He only faltered on the last two words.

“Well, I –I don’t know….” My words faded to nothing as the waiter came with our meals. Suddenly, my double cheeseburger with the works and onion rings didn’t seem appealing at all.

Tony Perkins: Man of my dreams...or at least this dream! :)Tony Perkins: Man of my dreams...or at least this dream! :)

Thursday, November 3, 2016

Premature Mom Guilt



No, I'm not pregnant. You can all take a deep breath.

However, last Friday, when I ran home for a very late lunch break, and scrubbed dishes in-between organizing my mail and gulping lukewarm soup from the only clean bowl left in my possession, I thought of all of the moms I know, and wondered how often they hear the negative whispers that I heard that day. That nagging, buzzing refrain of, "Your apartment is a wreck! Your cat is being ignored! Bills need to be paid, and WHEN was the last time you vacuumed?!" screamed in my brain. I thought, "Huh. This must be what that whole 'Mom Guilt' thing is all about."  I realized that this is something I could be very prone to experiencing if, Lord willing, I have a family of my own, someday.

Never doing enough. Never being enough. Never completing all of the things on that never-ending to-do list. Never feeling like I'm properly managing that whole "work-life-balance" thing. Sound familiar?  

Now, of course, I know that “Mom Guilt” isn’t a real diagnostic term. It’s just a clever, gendered title for something that has ailed all of humanity since the beginning of creation. Those co-occurring lies of Worthlessness and Required Perfection. We cannot listen or live up to either parts of that lie. But, oh! How tempting and trapping those thoughts become to me.

I’ve learned a lot about this during the last year, and I have my disability to thank for providing the lessons. Spastic Cerebral Palsy, though technically not degenerative or life-threatening, is a chronic disability, and its effects in my day-to-day have been much more disruptive and apparent in my young adult life than I could have ever imagined. Immobilizing pain and dangerous falls. Every muscle within me will spasm, and burn and throb, and jolt, as though electricity is coursing through every vein. And sometimes, I listen to my body, and I use a support cane to navigate. I take a few hours or a day off from work. I rest and stretch and soak in boiling bubble baths.

These days of pain, though, have become more frequent, and so my willingness to “take a day” for myself has been dwindling. I have to work, because, bills! And professional development! And, I-Worked-Hard-For-This-Masters-Degree-So-I-Had-Better-Work! You know, that whole Required Perfection lie. That whole Worthlessness thing.

I have to choose where my energy goes, because if there’s one thing I have learned, it’s that physical pain is absolutely exhausting. This week is a prime example of that choice. I am proud about the ways in which my professional life is flourishing. I successfully closed one of my most difficult client cases, I began writing a blog for our organization (which means that I’m a paid writer, now!), and I began teaching a 10-week Employment Readiness class. However, these professional successes have come at a personal cost. My dishes are half-done, clean clothes are strewn all over the bedroom floor, and I can’t seem to stand for more than five minutes when I get home at the end of the day.  

And that’s when  the Premature Mom Guilt settles in. I keep thinking, “I’m not doing enough in my personal life.” Currently, I am in bed, with three pillows and a heating pad supporting me, and all I want is a neck massage, a glass of wine, and Barry Manilow’s Christmas album playing all night long. I am frustrated and thankful all at the same time. Frustrated that I can’t do these things for myself as well as I would like. Thankful that no one else is depending on me to accomplish them. Thankful that it’s just me and my cat, living in this apartment. Frustrated that it’s just the two of us.

I hope that in ten years, if I’m fortunate enough to be someone’s Mom, I’ll remember this blog post. I’ll remember my tendency to believe the lies of Worthlessness and Required Perfection, and I’ll be a little more gracious with myself and all that I am trying to accomplish in this beautiful life that God has given me. I’ll remember, amidst the homework, and parent--teacher conferences, and his-and-hers-work obligations, and physical exhaustion, that I am doing the best that I can.  After all, that’s all that any of us can ask of ourselves. And in ten years, there will be wine, and neck massages, and Barry Manilow’s Christmas album – all these, reminders of contentment and rest, rejuvenation and joy.

Be kind to yourself -- tonight, tomorrow, ten years from now.

Saturday, April 2, 2016

Learning to Lament: Thoughts on Vision Loss

Public transportation has been hugely impactful on my ability to live an independent life. And for all it's imperfections and frustrations, I'm thankful for it. And friends, family, and loved ones have always "gone the extra mile" (pun TOTALLY intended) to help me get where I want to be. And they will never know the full depth of my gratitude for that.

Yet, for all of these blessings, there are moments when I feel trapped by my inability to drive. Trapped by this visual impairment. And my heart aches so deeply because of it.  The pain is suffocating. The pain that I can't be where I want to be, when I want to be there. My heart is so willing, but my eyes are unable.

Tonight is one of those nights.

I don't write this to invite you to a pity party.  I write this as a reminder to myself (and to anyone dealing with chronic setbacks) that no matter how independent I feel on my best days, there will always be, I think, a mourning for things that cannot be because of this disability.  And that's OK. It is called "Vision Loss", after all.

Too often, I get caught up in who I think I'm supposed to be, who society expects me to be, as a woman who is legally blind. I think I've been inherently taught that I need to be continually optimistic, because when I walk around Grand Rapids with my white cane, I'm the Face of Disability. And, heaven forbid that this face is marred by mascara-stained tears.

For the most part, I'm totally OK with pursuing that optimism. My very nature is one of sunny altruism, and I never want that to change.  I recognize that I am abundantly blessed, so that I may bless others. I've just started a job in my field, at an agency I love. I have amazing friends and family, and I am in a loving, committed relationship with the kindest man I have ever met. God has sustained me graciously and lovingly for 26 years, and I rejoice in all of that. I rejoice every single day.

Yet there is still vision loss. And, on nights like tonight, when all I want is to get in a car and drive to Ypsilanti to surprise my boyfriend, the profundity of that loss hits me like news of a death, and I am angry and saddened. It is a loss of spontaneity. A loss of complete autonomy. A loss, on some level, of dreams that I envision for my life, both now and in the future.

And so, I grieve.  I am learning that, on some level, I will always have moments of this grief. Seasons of my life will change, and so too, will the limitations. So too, will the lamentations.  I'm finally accepting this truth.

I believe that making peace with the pain, and allowing myself these authentic moments of sadness, can only increase my capacity to seek those authentic moments of joy.  And it is the search for this joy, and the hope for it, that makes all of this suffering worthwhile.