Livin' on a Wing and a Prayer

Ricky Gervais tweeted, "I'll pray for you = I want some credit for caring, without actually having to do anything that takes any effort or that actually works."  One thing I like about following him are the reminders to question what I believe and assess whether it still serves me.

I started really praying about 12 years ago when an acquaintance's 25-year-old son died in a car accident.  He had fallen asleep while driving to a new job.  He'd had a longer drive that day because he was taking care of his father, who had recently had a heart attack.  I'm not sure why, but I told his mother, "You and your family are in my prayers."  I hadn't been praying at the time, but to make what I said true, I started praying.

When I pray now, I mostly express gratitude.  I give thanks:

• for the wonderful and challenging things that happened that day
• for healing those who are sick (I picture people I know who are ill and visualize them whole, healthy, and happy)
• for comfort coming to those who are suffering (especially people who have recently lost a loved one)
• for being able to embody certain qualities I admire (being authentic, loving, courageous, etc.)

I finish with a Heart Meditation where I think of something that makes me smile, this is usually something silly my children have done recently.  Then keeping that image in my mind, I breathe deeply into my solar plexus and say, "Heart Focus," (take a breath), "Heart Breathing," (take a breath), "Heart Appreciation."

I don't pray to anyone in particular.  I believe there's an energy that flows through all things.  I believe that since everything is made of atoms that are simply vibrating at different frequencies, at some level, everything and everyone is connected, and we all influence each other.  I understand very little about quantum mechanics or "unified field theory," but clearly, I'm not the only person who thinks this.

In "Eat, Pray, Love" Elizabeth Gilbert quotes her friend Iva, 'Where do you get the idea you aren't allowed to petition the universe with prayer?  You are part of this universe, Liz.  You're a constituent - you have every entitlement to participate in the actions of the universe, and to let your feelings be known.'

Do I really believe that praying for my friend who has cancer will directly shrink her cancer cells?  No, but I think by telling her that I'm praying for her, bringing meals to her family, and checking in with her to keep her mood up, she remembers that she's part of a larger group of people who care a whole lot about her, and her immune system hopefully steps up and helps her respond to the surgery and chemotherapy that do directly kill the cancer cells.

Ricky Gervais got a lot of flak for criticizing celebrities who were tweeting about sending prayers to the victims of the Oklahoma tornadoes.  He tweeted, "I feel like an idiot now … I only sent money."  I think it's possible to both pray and to help directly, (by donating money, food, time, etc.)  They're not mutually exclusive.  Nor is prayer right for every person.  It's just another tool to bring the possibility of good into our lives.

Please write in the comments whether you think prayer is helpful and/or how else you cope with being unable to help others directly.

The Lawson Family Camping Curse

It is like me to be paranoid, but I may actually have brought a curse onto two of my friends.  The Rimbaud family and the Byron family have camped together multiple times without incident.  The only two times my family has joined them, people have developed pneumonia, had a recurrence of a stomach bug, sprained an ankle, and one poor boy who's only two years old has scraped his chin and cut open the side of his head.

Now, I didn't intend any ill-will or directly cause any of these incidents, but I feel like I'm gambling with their health and personal safety if I go camping with them again.  I like these people an awful lot, and they really don't deserve this kind of bad luck.

Why do I think it's my fault?   Probably because I'm self-centered and a perfectionist.  Plus, I like to delude myself into thinking I can control things in my life.  It's easy to chalk it up to coincidence, but it feels pretty spooky.

One friend said she plans to get some four-leaf clovers and a rabbit's foot next time, but I doubt that's going to be enough.  I think we're going to need to sacrifice an animal or one of the children, probably the most badly-behaved one.  Hands down that's going to be my three-year-old daughter.  Too bad, she was pretty cute.

What do you think I can do to appease the angry camping gods?  Am I really being paranoid or could I be inadvertently jinxing my friends?

Show Me How Big Your Brave Is

I wrote "My Miracle Child" because a blogger I follow, DJ Paris of "Thoughts from Paris," asked for stories about mental health.  He was planning to post every hour for 24 hours as a fundraiser for BandBackTogether.com.  When he first asked for submissions, I thought, "Oh, I'm not good enough to submit anything for that."  But a few weeks later, when I saw that he was still looking for a few more submissions, I thought, "Well, hell, my blog is supposed to be about being vulnerable and taking risks, I have to suck it up and submit something."

I watched his BlogAThon all day, hoping he would post my story.  He posted a video log saying that he would post all 29 submissions he received.  Alas, he didn't post my story.  I didn't even receive a reply thanking me for submitting something.  (Maybe that's too much to ask of an individual person, but I'm the kind of girl who appreciates getting auto-reply messages, just to know my email didn't get lost in the "series of tubes" that is the Internet.)

I'll admit it, I started feeling sorry for myself, throwing a little pity party in my head.  I felt like an ass for even sending it, let alone expecting him to post it.  I kept thinking, "Maybe he just couldn't fit it in for some reason," or "Maybe he somehow didn't see the email."  You know, instead of "He thinks you suck!"

Luckily, my friend Miss Bookish Girl sent me a link to the video for "Brave," the new single by Sara Bareilles.  It's all about speaking up for yourself, saying what you really think, and letting your creativity shine.

I suddenly had the impulse to tweet a bunch of people I follow on Twitter.  I sent a link to my blog post to about 10 people, including Anne Wheaton, who's married to Wil Wheaton (an actor famous for "Star Trek: The Next Generation" and "Stand By Me," among many other projects).  She has over 50,000 Twitter followers and is witty, inspiring, and wickedly funny.  She retweeted the link to my blog and replied to my tweet.  I thanked her, and she replied to that too.  It was like the movie "Frequency," I felt like I was communicating with someone from the future or another dimension or something.  I feel silly admitting this, but I'm totally starstruck by her.

Anyway, I watched the page views for "My Miracle Child" literally go from 7 to over 200.  There have now been over 1,200 page views, and since I imagine most people don't look at it over and over, I assume that means close to 1,200 people at least skimmed if not read that blog post.

Not everyone might think it brave to tweet a celebrity, but I felt incredibly vulnerable sending my writing to these people whom I admire, at the very least opening myself up to be ignored, at the worst, possibly being ridiculed by these people or their followers.  Instead, complete strangers thanked me and shared how they've gotten help for their depression or anxiety.

I'm starting to pester everyone I know to write and publish, because I believe that each of us has wisdom and experience to share.  Please put in the comments, how are you going to be brave today? this week? this year?

My Miracle Child

My second child, my daughter, is kind of a miracle child.  While I was pregnant with her, my uterus got trapped in my pelvis, making it almost impossible to pee for a few days, I had chronic constipation (3.5 years later, I still thank God I can poop normally now), and I was exhausted and depressed.

I told my midwife that I was starting to have suicidal thoughts, and she referred me to the department at the hospital that specifically treated mothers with depression.  I had group and individual therapy and sessions with a psychiatrist.

I learned there that 10-20% of women experience postpartum depression, but if a woman has had a depressive episode in her past, she is 40-60% likely to experience it.  I had been severely depressed in my early 20s.

I spent a lot of time crying and explaining that I felt like I wasn’t “good enough” for my son, who was 2.5 years old, my husband, or my daughter.  I remember quite clearly the therapist saying to me, “Consider that you’re not meant to be 'enough'.  It really does take a village to raise a child.”  I had this crazy idea that being a “good mom” meant doing everything (cooking, sewing, cleaning, and educating) with infinite patience.  I started trying to accept that I could be a mom instead of trying to be a “super mom”.

The psychiatrist prescribed Zoloft.  I had known before that I was depressed, but I never wanted to take medication because I thought I should be able to handle my emotions without meds.  I could control my thoughts and feelings.  Couldn’t I?

The therapists explained that taking medication for depression is no different than taking medication if you have diabetes or a heart condition.  I realize many people still disapprove of anti-depressants, as I once did, but I’m a convert now.  I don’t believe that medication alone can treat depression, but my anti-depressant helps me stay clear-minded enough to use the coping skills I’ve learned.  Of course, the trick is to find the right medication.

Zoloft made me even more nauseated than my pregnancy.  So sick that a few days after I’d started taking it, I started making plans to commit suicide, and I told my husband I wanted to terminate my pregnancy.  Thankfully we saw the psychiatrist right away, and she got me admitted to the psych ward at the hospital.  I tried another two doses of Zoloft before accepting that it just wasn’t the right medication for me.

The doctor prescribed Celexa, which ironically, lists nausea as one of its side effects.  Thankfully, it didn’t make me hurl.  I spent a week in the psych ward gradually finding the right dose of Celexa for me and attending group therapy to learn healthy coping skills.

Being hospitalized made it necessary for my husband and me to tell our friends what was happening and ask for help.  I had held people at bay for fear they would discover I was “messed up”, but I couldn’t hide it any more, and it was incredibly liberating.  Quite a few of my friends suddenly told me that they had also experienced depression.  All of my relationships got deeper and stronger after that.

My daughter just turned three years old.  She is an extremely cheerful child.  I even have an ultrasound of her smiling in utero.  Even though her pregnancy felt like it took two years, I’m grateful for all that happened.  I finally got my depression treated, I learned how to ask for and accept help, and I got to experience love for myself and all of the people in my life in a much deeper, more fulfilling way.  Yep, she’s my miracle child, some days it’s a miracle I don’t sell her on eBay.  Hey, she’s a typical 3-year old, we all have those days.

Friending in Real Life

I’ve started joking with my friends that I’m becoming my own social network because I've collected various fabulous friends along the way, and I'm starting to introduce them to each other.

One of my friends jokes that I have a “posse”.  I do belong to a mommy group that has been active for over five years, but I doubt any of them would consider themselves part of “my” posse.  We’ve just really been there for each other while we've learned through trial and many errors how to raise our kids.  We’re still asking each other for advice and suggestions as the kids grow older and become slightly different challenges to our sanity.

We realized we shared a love of books, so we started a book club a few years ago, and recently a few of us started a writers’ group.

I really liked one of the moms I met at my son’s elementary school so I invited her to join our book club, and ended up redefining and renaming our group so we could start inviting people who weren’t part of our original mommy group.

Then I reconnected with a friend I had lost touch with and invited her to join the book club and the writers’ group.  She doesn’t live in the same city as the rest of us, and she doesn’t have any kids yet, but she fits in great, and I’m hoping this is another step in making our groups even more diverse and fun.

This is such a complete reversal of what I was like growing up.  I'd always lived far away from my classmates so I never had anyone to play with on the weekends or after school.  I didn’t really have a social life until I was 16 and got my driver’s license, and even then I was still very socially awkward and inept.

I was so insecure I didn’t even really know how to be friends with anyone.  I alternated between being shy and not saying anything with being a know-it-all and arrogant, trying to prove I wasn't as worthless as I felt.  I was so ashamed that my father had been in jail and was in the U.S. illegally when most of my friends’ fathers were lawyers, doctors, or diplomats.

Thanks to some self-help workshops (The Landmark Forum and North Star Life Coach Training), a few years of Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), and learning from some really awesome, supportive, and inspiring friends, I am still insecure but much more comfortable in my skin.  I’ve made it a habit to thank people often and let them know how much I appreciate them.  I’ve forced myself to admit when I’m wrong and apologize, even though I’m terrified people will reject and condemn me for making a mistake.  Almost every person has graciously accepted the apology and continued the friendship.

I’ve made a commitment to be vulnerable and let people get to know me, warts and all.  And to show that I honestly want to get to know them.  I’m trying to let the people I interact with know how much I value them.

I think we can all be a little more inclusive.  Maybe it’s no accident that we run into the same people at the supermarket, at the coffee shop, at the playground.

Are you already part of a group that meets regularly?  Think about the other people you interact with, is there anyone else you can invite to join that group?

If you’re not in a group that meets regularly, ask the people in your life if they’re part of a group you can join or if you can start a group together.  There are so many interests that people can meet and talk about: books, gardening, movies, restaurants, music, theater.  Make time to revel in something you love and surround yourself with people who accept you and encourage you to be yourself.

Seeing My Aunt and Friending More Relatives

As I wrote in an earlier post, I went to visit my aunt, my dad's sister, recently.  I hadn't seen her for almost 15 years, and I wasn't sure what to expect.  I realize now of course that I needn't have worried because it was like there had never been any hostility or separation between us.  I hugged her as soon as I got out of the car, and she hugged me right back.

My mom came along, as well as my two kids.  My mom and aunt had talked on the phone once already, so they just gabbed along in Cantonese as though there hadn't been any lapse in their friendship all these years.

I thought my aunt would be alone, but her husband and her grandson were already there.  Her husband accidentally called me my mother's Chinese name when he first saw me because I look so much like her, then laughed when he realized his mistake.

I had thought their grandson, my cousin's son, would be in school, but he was apparently on Spring Break, as my kids were.  He was the best surprise of the whole experience.  He's 14 now and an only child, and I think he immediately fell in love with my kids, especially my daughter.  He went out of his way to try to take care of them.  He offered them something to drink, asked my son if he wanted to watch cartoons, and tried to make my daughter laugh as often as possible.  When we went for a walk, he raced my son and made sure my son got safely across the street.  He kept asking how long we were going to stay and seemed very sad when we were leaving.

I'm so grateful to be able to reconnect with this part of my dad's family.  One day I'll be able to just write "my family", but I feel a little like I still have to earn it a bit.  It's unfortunate that we live almost two hours apart so it's unlikely we'll see each other often.  Thankfully, it seems that most of my dad's family is on Facebook.  I added my aunt and was able to see a bunch of my other relatives, including two cousins who live only half an hour away that I forgot I had.

It turns out one of those cousins went to the same college I did.  I sent her an Add Friend request and wrote her a message explaining who I was.  She wrote back immediately, and we ended up chatting online for a little while.  She seemed genuinely interested in meeting me and my kids.  I confessed that I worried that her dad, my dad's only remaining brother, might still be mad at me for not keeping in touch with my dad, and she wrote, "No no, everyone understands."  That made my eyes tear up because I wouldn't blame any of them for blaming me at least a little for my dad's suicide.  He felt he had no one in his life and no reason to live.  If I could have known that he wasn't angry at me anymore and wouldn't make unreasonable demands on me, I would have liked to be able to write him letters and send him photos of the kids.  I hope that whatever energy was the essence of him can still feel that I love him and that I'm doing my best to make some good come from his death.

So, I have plans to meet my other aunt, uncle, and their two daughters in a little less than two weeks.  I hope my mom can come again.  Even though my parents divorced when I was very young, I think she would like to be friends with my dad's family.  All of her relatives are still in Hong Kong.  She made a comment about how Thanksgiving could be really nice this year, with so many more relatives.  The thought honestly hadn't occurred to me, but now that it does, I'm really eager for more time with my (dad's) family.  It's like that line in "When Harry Met Sally": "When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible!"

Terms of Estrangement

On Monday I'm going to see my aunt on my dad's side, who I haven't seen for almost 15 years.  My father and I didn't get along for most of my life, and his siblings had a habit of trying to coerce me into re-establishing contact with him, which I did not appreciate.  I felt like they were imposing this culture of "respect your parents no matter what", which they grew up with, but I did not.

Anyway, my father committed suicide 4 months ago, and I'm very sorry that it happened, but at the same time, I'm glad he isn't suffering anymore.  That's what you say about cancer patients, right?  But people with anxiety and depression suffer too, although I think much more in silence.  I think my father had untreated anxiety and depression his whole life, some of it due to being extremely poor as a child and being abandoned by his father, and probably a lot of it due to biochemistry.  My uncle (my dad's younger brother) committed suicide sometime in the early '90s so this wasn't a huge surprise, even though it was kind of a shock.

So, I'm going to visit my aunt.  When I talked to her on the phone after I found out my dad died and how he died, she was incredibly compassionate.  She didn't tell me that it was my fault because I wouldn't reach out to him.  She was almost kind of apologizing for him, that he didn't have a good role model for how to be a good person.  And I agree with her.  He did the best he could with what he had, he just didn't have a lot.  I think of all the wonderful people in my life that I trust, who accept me for who I am, and he didn't have that.

I'm bringing my kids to meet my aunt.  My kids know almost nothing about my dad or his family.  When I found out my dad died, I showed them his picture, but I didn't mention how he'd been in prison or that I used to be afraid that he would hurt me or my mom.

I'm bringing my kids because I really do want them to meet their aunt and for her to get to meet them.  I've sent her a few photos over the last few months, but my kids are really super cute and funny, and I figure if there's any residual resentment from my aunt, she'll bend over backwards to hide it so she can see my kids again.  I've heard of people being really non-accepting of their daughter or son-in-law until a grandkid appears and they suddenly become much more flexible and amicable.  I'm counting on this being a similar situation.

My mother is also coming with us.  She seems as eager as I am to reconnect with my aunt.  It's interesting to see how one person can be the focal point for many, many other relationships, and how they can make those relationships stronger or tear them apart.  My father's death created space and an opportunity for healing.  I'm really grateful for that, and I'm going to allow myself to be vulnerable, take the risk that I may be judged or condemned.  I grew up feeling so alone, I want my kids to have as big of a family as I can create for them.