A Date with The Dazs

I was introduced to a new term the other day.

It is called Self-Sabotage.

I had never heard that term before, but it sounded awful.  It sounded horrible.  Who would sabotage themselves or their relationships with others?

As I was thinking about it, I wondered if I engaged in self-sabotaging behaviors.

Even though I knew deep down inside that I sometimes do, 

I checked with my trusty friend Google to confirm my suspicions. 

And she/he let me know that self sabotage includes things like:

Addictions

Break the Law

Cheating on a Spouse

Drugs

Eating Disorders

Extreme Modesty

Not going to the Doctor when Sick

Overeating

Procrastination

Refusing to Exercise

Ruin an Personal Opportunity to better Oneself

Staying in Abusive Relationships

And many others.

I would venture to guess that self-sabotaging behaviors have something to do with shame. 

I realized that last week was not the best of weeks for me.

One morning I wandered around Costco just pushing the cart and admiring absolutely everything in the store.

Except for the electronics.

I even checked out the audiology booth as well as the glasses and contacts in the optometry department. 

I bought things that I would use, but didn't really need.  

I filled my shopping cart with water-softener pellets, cases of water, boxes of food, eggs, oatmeal, and even a rotisserie  chicken. 

I also added a box of Häagen-Dazs® icecream bars.

Vanilla Milk Chocolate was my nemesis.

I almost never buy sweets, and definitely in that great of quantity, but last week was the exception.

On Friday I was feeling especially low and decided to cheer myself up (aka avoid my feelings)

I decided to enjoy a Friday night date with the Haagen-Dazs bars.   

It was delicious

I didn't stop at one, two, or even three.

I bet I ate more than my recommended daily dose of calories in one sitting.

I was eating my feelings and they tasted smooth with a little bit of crunch.  

They were cold as they slipped into the back of my throat.

It was heaven, and hell all at the same time.

Shoving my sorrow deeper and deeper with each swallow.

Just so you know...

eating my sad feelings and anxieties didn't work and I felt awful.

"Why did this happen? How did you let yourself eat so many? That is so unhealthy."

The judgments flooded in.

(This is where the shame comes into play.)

I realize now how self-sabotaging eating my avoided feelings can be.

It doesn't fit with my personal values or goals.

Eating ice cream alone is fine, but I was using it to smother my anxiety of the final CERT class.

Last Saturday they were staging a mock-disaster with casualties filled with moulage. 

For those of you who do not know what moulage is click here.

Moulage kind of reminds me of this.

(photo courteous of SFC Robinson from my unit)

It was awful to think about preparing a fake mass casualty disaster.

My self started asking questions like,

What if you have a flashback when you are there?

What if you loose it and start crying uncontrollably?

What are people going to think of you?

Aren't you a strong person?

Come on this is just a simple class.

You can make it through a couple of hours practicing emergency medicine and extraction.

The more I listened to that "itty bitty, shitty committee" in my head, 

the more my memories flooded, and the more I ate.

It hurt to remember.

It hurt when the teacher asked me last week how many people had performed CPR on a real person.

It hurt when he called on me and asked me what my success rates were.

I croaked as I said zero.

And later I cried remembering the death and devastation that comes to individuals, families, and communities.

Note to self. 

"There is a reason you don't buy (or eat) a Costco size boxes of Haagen- Dazs! No matter how crappy you feel!"

Waiting

Is is spring time yet?  

Who knows what to do with all of this snow?

Hats and scarves are fun accessories, but I'm hoping for days when I'm not wearing long johns under my pants.

Speaking of pants,

When skinny jeans first came into fashion (again); I thought to myself, "Why would anybody wear those ugly peg-leg pants?"

However, 

Living in Utah has seriously changed my perspective.

Skinny Jeans are marvelous if you want to wear boots.

And when it snows a lot, you end up wearing a lot of boots.

Praise to convenience of the "peg-leg pants".

On Kindness

This morning while I was in the shower I was listening to "The Mormon Channel"

I listened to a talk given by Joseph B.Wirthlin in April 2005.  

It reminded me of what I wrote yesterday.

You can enjoy it by clicking here.

Dreams, Shattered Beliefs

I would have to say that I had a pretty idealistic childhood.

I grew up in "Mormonville Utah."

Which basically means the suburbs of Salt Lake City, filled with good Christian people who believed the same kinds of things I do.

I was raised in a family that taught values that I cherished.

When I was thinking about joining the Army I was drawn in by the core values.

Check them out by clicking here.

They spoke of 

Loyalty,

Duty, 

Respect,

Selfless Service,

Honor,

Integrity,

and Personal Courage.

They fell right in line with things that I already believed.

I memorized those words up and down and could recite any definition in basic training.

I was once asked by my Command Sergeant Major which one was my favorite.

Integrity!

"Because where you have integrity, the other values will follow." I

However....

I found the military not so stringent at adhering to those values.

There were people that I respected, but they were few and far between.

The lines of black and white got mixed into a muddled mess of I-don't-know-whats.

I know that everyone has individual experiences, and I acknowledge that mine are mine, and other military members might not have had the same experiences.

My hope in humanity shattered as I witnessed the atrocities of war and watched as my dreams began to unravel as my marriage to my children's father turned controlling and abusive.

I have struggled to connect, because I believed the world was one way. (Good)

But then all I saw was another.  I labeled it (Bad).

I watched families fall apart, people die, watch my sisters in arms being treated less than human and simply as sex objects to be used, abused and manipulated by the men.

It was awful.

I witnessed war and how extreme amounts of distress can bring out the worst in some people.

I lost trust, I lost faith, and I lost hope as I returned to civilian life.

I have had many hard nights.

Sometimes when people find out I was in the Army they ask me what it was like to go to war.

Sometimes I jokingly reply, "Let me tell you in the morning.  I relive it every night in my dreams."

It usually deflects any further probing and painful questions.

It has been hard trying to come to terms with humanity as I have discovered more about the history of the world.  

Mankind does not have such a great track record.

Whoever has the bigger stick will oppress and take advantage of people who are poor.

Money rules all. 

and

Women are traded as commodities in the market as opposed to human beings.

So what keeps me going?

I have to fight to look for the good.

I want to know kindness.

My first experience at finding the good an looking for kindness came in a most unexpected way.

I learned it from the men in my first PTSD support group.

They are men that I have come to love and respect because of their goodness.

There are three that will always have a special place in my heart.

(You know who you are Rick, Jake, & Tarl!)

I also find home in humanity when:

 I see someone hand a monetary note out the window to the person standing by the side of the freeway freezing in the snow.

As I watch a new mother nurse her baby.

When I see strong women fight to tell their stories.

When I see people act selflessly towards the ones they love, or the ones they don't even know.

When I attended a Narcotics Anonymous meeting with a friend and watched as people wanted support as they tried to combat the effects of addiction.

When I see people sacrifice of their time and talents to hold church callings.

When I watch children sleep in their innocence.

When a neighbor takes me to lunch and we become friends.

When I ponder the majesty of God.

These are the things that keep me going.

Wanting to be kind.

Witnessing kindness.

It is easy to find the negative.  It is all around.

It is hard for me to find the Hope.

And last week I was renewed by a small act of kindness.

Someone left this in my door about a week ago.

I do not know where it came from, but I do have my suspicions.

It was a simple gift that reminded me that there is still good in the world.

It came with a story

"Legend of the dream catcher Native Americans of the Great Plains believe the air is filled with both good and bad dreams.

According to the legend, the good dreams past-due the centerfold to the sleeping person. The bad dreams are trapped in the web, where they perish in the light of dawn.

Historically dream catchers were hung in the tipi or lodge and on a babies cradle board."

The love that came with this gift will probably work better than the web.

Thank you for reminding me that there is still good in the world.  

I have faith in humanity because I can still see the goodness in others.

Running

From my journal 2003.

"As the Sun peaks up from the top of the mountains

I feel the warmth

I have been running East

Catch the sun

That is my goal

Race until I reach the top

The highest peak

The place where I go to be alone

I run

It is my escape

Escape from the world

I am by myself

Free

Free for those few moments where it is only me

I run to the beat of my heart"

Moments I Will Miss

When I started looking for a place to live last summer, I never thought I would be lucky to find something so close to my Grandmother.

She is like the glue that holds the family together.  

She is kind, refined, special, charitable, and always has something to feed you if you show up.

She is the epitome of unconditional love. 

She and my mother made my childhood an adventure.

Moments with her were magical, filled with baked cookies, playing in the irrigation water, hiking up to her Grandfathers property in Big Cottonwood Canyon, summers at Bear Lake, Yellowstone, Jackson Wyoming, Cherry Hill, and winter visits to their RV park in Arizona, and Sunday dinners.

There were songs and stories of our pioneer ancestors who crossed the plains with faith in God in their hearts.

She is 86.

She was there for the birth of my second son.

My little "Bear" 

 When I was so lonely in AZ a year after my divorce she flew down to stay with me for a week. 

I was sad to think that they may not ever remember her.

Now I am thrilled that we live just one mile away from her.

We are so close that my children can walk to her house after school to get a cookie.  

I don't know how much longer we will have her, but I am blessed  to know that my children will know their maternal great grandmother.

Last night we spent the evening helping her crack walnuts.

After dinner she popped popcorn and the children watched Pinocchio on her living room floor.

She used to read story books to my little "Bug."

Now he reads them to her. 

I hope we get to keep her a long, long time.

She is loved.

She inspires the good in others.

"I love you Grandma!"

Patience

Does anybody drink Yogi tea? 

I think it's wonderful. Not only do I get flavorful cup of tea, but I also get a quote which usually pertains to my life. 

Today's quote says, "Patience gives the power to practice; practice gives the power that leads to perfection."

Lately I think that my children have been trying to make me perfect the art of patience.

Oh sweet sleep.

Thank you God!

(and my sister and her husband for helping me with the kids tonight.)

How Did He Do It?

When I was small my dad used to take me and my older brother skiing. We had so much fun over the years.   My summers were filled with excitement as I saved my allowance for winter skiing money.

Eventually my California cousins would plan a trip each winter and we would ski at Solitude.  

My Mom always stayed home and we had such great adventures with Dad.

I didn't have formal lessons until I was in junior high, but we managed just fine.

It was fun.

And oh boy! My dad must have had patience.

So when I received an email from Wounded Warrior Project for a family ski day at Park City Mountain Resort, I jumped at the chance to share the winter mountain experience with my boys. 

 Little did I know how stressful it would be...

I enjoyed a private lesson in the morning, and the kids picked up some basics from a separate instructor.

Many thanks to the people at the National Ability Center in Park City who donated their talents and shared  their time and skills with us on the mountain. The view was beautiful and the air was crisp.

I met up with the kid around lunch time. 

After eating our sandwiches in the car we headed back to the slopes and let the real fun begin.

Cough, cough, ahem.

Do you realize how hard it is to keep track of two speed racers on the mountain mixed in with lots of people?  Talk about anxiety!  One fell near the top of the run, the other raced to the bottom.  I was somewhere in between wondering if I should hike up or ski down.

It's a nightmare, and absolute nightmare!

By the end they were tired and grumpy and complaining that I wasn't in the right spot to take a video.

"Seriously guys, we are supposed to be having fun here."

As I left the mountain I was grateful for the ski instructor who somehow managed them in the morning, and I vowed never to go skiing by myself with two little boys.

Which is why I ask.

How did he do it?

How did he do it by himself?

Maybe because we went with friends...

Maybe he is just that good....

I don't know.

How did he have the patience to teach us, keep track of us, and keep us warm, happy, and fed at the same time?

Mind boggling.  

I was ready to string my kids up by their toenails by the end of the day.

When they woke up this morning the first thing they said was, "Can we go skiing again today?"

(Grumble, Grumble)

Seriously?

Community Emergency Response Teams (CERT)

When I moved into my new home there were a few "treasures" left behind in the basement.

These treasures included a walker, crutches, a raised toilet seat, and the handrails you can attach to the back of a toilet.

Seeing as how I don't plan to be needing any of those things for at least another fifty years, I decided to ask around to see if anyone wanted them before donating them to the local thrift store.  

(My favorite is Savers because they give you a 20% off coupon if you give a donation.  These coupons have allowed me to purchase many fun things from the local stores. Books are my favorite.)

I contacted the Relief Society President from my local Ward to see if anybody from our local area might be in need of these items.  

The Bishops wife said that she would like to store them in the CERT Cache in case of an emergency.

After that she told me that she thought I would be an excellent person to become CERT certified.

As I looked around the ward and saw that a great majority the congregation is nearing the ending quarter of their lives. 

I thought that maybe in the event of a disaster they might need me.

After all, I have been to war. 

I have lived through many disasters.

...and I have many hours of emergency medical training and experience.

I know how to swing an ax, fill a sand bag, and organize people in to groups and teams.  

The only problem is that after getting out of the military I swore off any trauma medicine.

The events of the war completely ripped my heart from my chest and I haven't done anything in the medical profession since getting out of the army.

I agreed to this CERT training, because I knew it would force me to stretch just outside of my comfort zone.  

On Friday night I dropped my kids off with my parents for a sleepover party. When I got home I was feeling super anxious about the training and wanted to back out.  

....but I had given my word....

I said I would be there.

And come Hell, high water, or PTSD, I was going to go!

I called 1-877-WAR-VETS to talk to a fellow combat veteran for encouragement.

(He encouraged sleep)

With anxiety in my heart and fear of the unknown, I showed up for the training.  

After-all, if my 88 year old grandfather (who also happens to be a WWII Vet) is trained then I may as well pull up my boot straps and lend my skills to the community in the event of a disaster.

Was it uncomfortable?

Yes.

Did it trigger my memories?

Yes.

Did I want to go home and crawl in bed with my memories?

Yes.

Did I have nightmares the night after?

Yes.

...But the main question is WAS IT WORTH IT?

Yes.

Because I learned that I can do things that are hard for me.

Anxiety isn't going to kill me.  Neither are my dreams.

I actually made a friend.

And I remembered that this is what I know.  

I know how to act under stress.  I have lived disaster, and I have skills and perspective that others may not.

I may be a very valuable asset to my community.

...and best of all I still have caring in my heart for other people.

Tonight I went to my Grandparents house to show my Grandpa my CERT gear.

We proudly donned it and posed for a picture.

I hope my children learn by example to give of their time and their talents to help others.

Light, or no Light? That is the Question.

How do you like to sleep?

I prefer dark.

In the dark you are alone.

There are no shadows to send a chill up your spine.

Night light? No thank you! To many shadows…

Decade

Have I seriously lived long enough to be talking in Decades?  

10 years!

10 years since I landed on the other side of the world.  

(My first Sunrise in Kuwait)

Did you know that it is cold in Kuwait in February?

Trust me, it is.

We left Fort Hood Texas and flew to Boston to Refuel.

From Boston to Frankfurt Germany.

(On the way home it was the first place I flushed a "real" toilet after months in the sand)

And then we flew from Germany to Kuwait.

Before landing the pilot turned off all the lights so we would have a blacked out landing.

It felt a little creepy.

When we landed and departed the plane there were several men in special ops units standing around with some serious weaponry.

We took a darkened bus to Camp Arifjan.

After several hours of briefings (which I can't remember),

The sun rose on the middle east, and I witnessed one of the most beautiful sunrises.

That's one neat thing about the desserts of Kuwait and Iraq; Their sky's are absolutely incredible.

The midnight sky is filled with stars.

The mornings are ripe with color.

And the evening sun brings comforting colors to a chaotic day.

When I arrived in Kuwait, I thought that I was going to pull medical coverage for other units who were training in Kuwait.

Little did I know I was headed for war.

Ten Years!

 Today I had a surprise visit from some Arizona cousins.

They were coming to ski it The Canyons and ended up coming to dinner afterwards.

 I made fresh arugula and pear salad to start,

followed by a dinner of butternut squash ravioli, and sides that included summer squash with Italian seasonings,Waldorf Salad, and quinoa with cinnamon, nuts and cranberries.

We drank Italian sodas out of champagne flutes that were garnished with frozen raspberries from my Grandmother's garden.

Yum!

My, my, how things have changed!

Speaking of my Grandmother.....

Last night she dropped off a special Valentines cake for me.

It's nice to be remembered by the ones you love!

Happy Valentines Day!

Dress Right, Dress

Just so you know...
For those of us with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder...
Sometimes we struggle with issues regarding Safety, Trust, Power and Control, Esteem and Intimacy. 
Today I want to focus on Power and Control. 

Sometimes I want it to be "My way or the highway."

After living through events where I have had no control over what happened to me or my body, I have become hyper vigilant. 
It's like being super aware of the things that are going on around me.
Sometimes I pick a certain spot at a restaurant just so I can observe my surroundings.  I may be paying so much attention to what is going on around me, that I can't make a decision about what drink to order.
(Water is always fine.)
I startle easily at things some people wouldn't even notice.
I am on Alert!
My body is telling me that I am in danger, even if I am perfectly safe.

I cannot control what happens to my body.
The nightmares will come unexpectedly.
I  won't know why my heart is beating faster,
all of a sudden I feel my skin start to prickle as the rate of my breathing increases.
I feel clammy, and sometimes sick to my stomach.
Sometimes I feel like crying.

My brain is sounding the alarm.
"Invasion!"
"Take Cover!"
"Help the wounded!"
"Prepare for a mass casualty!"
"...there will be death..."
"Shut off your heart and focus, let your training take over."
That doggone brain or mine is having chemical warfare in my body, and I can't figure out why.

I don't know why this is happening until I look up and see a med evac helicopter that I hadn't noticed cruising overhead.
I didn't see it or hear it, but somehow my body registered the sound and associated it with memories of the past.
Or I identify an odor that brings back a particular memory.
Or the neighbors are shooting off fireworks to celebrate a special occasion.
Or my kiddos jumps on me when I am in a relaxed state.
 

Because of this, sometimes I want to be in total control of what happens in my life.

Is this possible? No...There are WAAAAAAAAY to many variables.

However, I still have the opportunity to choose.

So I choose to meticulously load my dishwasher.

Some of the things that have happened to me in my life, I can't change.

I can't wish, hope, or will them away.

They are what they are.

I am who I am because of my experiences.

I can still choose how I will react, regardless of what my body is telling me.
I can slow my breathing,
I can tell myself that I am safe,
I can distract myself,
 

I cannot change my past, but I still have a choice about what I will do with my future.

And sometimes I choose to exercise my power and control over my flatware.  

It will bow to my every whim, because not only do I will it,
I LOAD IT!
(most of the time)

If I want my plates, forks, spoons, knives and cups to obey my will, 

I simply have to put them where I want them.
They don't care.

On the OCD side of things you may ask....?

Maybe,
Helpful...Debatable.
My choice....absolutely!

For those of you wondering what it means to "Dress Right, Dress"
It basically means having everything in a perfect row looking nice.

Please enjoy the video below.

Missing?

Do You Ever Feel Like Something is Missing?

.....I Do

The Attic

The attic in my parents house holds many treasures.

We may tease Mom about hoarding, but I had no idea how many happy memories could come from a box.

Toys trigger memories of playing with my siblings. Some of my favorites were the Magic Nursery Dolls. Gifts that were given by my paternal Grandmother, who died when I was thirteen.

My heart lit up to remember the days before the Nintendo and other electronic entertainment; when the parents still had a 12 inch black and white TV with bunny ears.

As a small child I was given a Fisher-Price MEDICAL KIT.

(They still make them and they are quite similar.)

I thought that I had worn that thing out.

Somehow it survived the countless hours of check ups I performed on my sibling, the toys, and even myself.

It was my first interest in the medical profession. In kindergarten I had hoped to grow up and become a ballerina. But second to that I knew I wanted to be a Doctor!

No wonder I ended up a medic in the Army.