Thursday, April 8, 2021

Whose Fucking Rules Are These?

I force myself to do a LOT of things.  I tell myself it's because that's just what you, those are the rules, that's how it's done.  But yall... WHO FUCKING CAME UP WITH THIS FUCKING RULES?  

Also, why am I so unbelievably strict on myself regarding the following of arbitrary rules

Literally NO ONE is forcing me to follow these rules but myself, but I will TORTURE myself trying to adhere to them as strictly as possible... but WHHYYY??  I cannot comprehend this.  

For instance.  The Morning Pages thing.  Writing 3 pages.  Doing them before your realize you have morning breath still.  Not reading them.  Are these ACTUAL rules?  Why do I have to follow THESE "rules"?  What happens if I only write two pages instead of three?  

Spoiler alert: NOTHING HAPPENS.  NOTHING!  No one dies.  No one is even slightly inconvenienced.  In fact, I actually benefit because I get MORE of my morning back!  WUT!?  

Why is three pages even the magic number?  What happens at 3 pages that can't happen at 1.5 or 2 pages?  Asking for a friend.  

For instance #2.  Recipes.  Ok, I'm a little less strict on this than I used to be.  But I'd follow a recipe to the motherfucking T because that's what it says to do.  Yall, I don't like spicy food, but recipes I'd find would call for a mountain of chili powder and cumin.  I'd add it and my GERD would be like, how do you like me now bitch?  You enjoying those spices you know this weak ass meat sack can't handle?  No?  Well, STOP IT THEN.  

Spoiler alter: Listening to my body is something I'm not very good at.  Please see any workout that is actually too hard for me, but I insist on doing it, through the pain and tears, to the detriment of my meat sack (body) AND mind AND spirit.  I don't listen to my mind, telling me, hey this hurts you should stop.  My body is just being tortured, and my spirit is crushed when I ultimately don't listen to my body and I'm broken/sore for days.  On the other hand, my spirit is crushed because my body sucks, but that's what we're working on.

So I'm trying to make an effort to remind myself, those aren't MY rules.  I will explore the rules and, if necessary, make my own fucking rules.  I will rewrite the script because sometimes, it doesn't work for me and I shouldn't need to punish/torture myself to follow someone else's plan.  

As Glennon taught me, I can do hard things.
Even if that hard this is as simple as saying, NO.  That does not work for me.  That way is not MY way.

Tuesday, April 6, 2021


I was reading Buy Yourself the Fucking Lilies (or maybe it was Love Warrior?) either way, the author was talking about how people NEED physical touch.  Despite how un-touchy your family may have been when you were child, if you were always hugged and touched and petted or if your family was not huggers or touchers, human beings are animals that thrive when touched.

Touch is a form of intimacy.

Teh German and I have touch rituals... but upon reading that, I realized that Teh German and I barely touched... like ever.  A pre-sleepy-time peck on the lips if Teh German comes to bed before I fall asleep, a quick peck before one of us leaves to go anywhere, maybe a quick peck after a workout, a pre-work peck.. but that was it.  I thought back and realized this had changed when Teh German started working from home.  Things started shifting when I was staying home all the time.  I wasn't getting out of bed with Teh German and we weren't heading out to face the day at the same time.  When we'd leave the house at the same time, we always said goodbye with a hug.  We'd say hello when we'd come in from work/whatever with a quick kiss, and since we were going to bed at the same time, a pre-sleepy-time peck.  

So really, the hug was the main difference.... and yall, it was a HUGE difference.  

So last week, I started implementing hugging again.  Purposeful hugging.  I was even straight up with Teh German about it.  I also made sure to start it as awkwardly as possible, like I do.  He finally came downstairs for dinner one evening and moved in to give me the standard prescribed kiss and I ignored him and finished whatever dinner preparations I was doing and I could feel him start to get frustrated, but he could see I was doing something and I told him, "hang on," so he did.  

Then I turned to him and said, "No, we're hugging now.  We used to hug every day and now we don't and I miss it and now we're hugging."  And so we did.  He admitted that he missed it too.  So now, we're going to be hugging (and kissing) before work and after work and whenever else.  Sometimes, you just need a hug.

Additionally, I'm hoping that more physical touch helps the intimacy levels in our relationship, which at best can be described as "cool".  For now, more hugging. 

Sunday, April 4, 2021

Is she back?

Based on my last 2 posts, one might thing, AWW YEAH, MEGAN IS BACK!!  But I'm not sure, to be honest.

When I stopped blogging in October, it was a relief in a way.  My life was an absolute shit storm: house selling, packing, moving, new job.  Blogging was another self-imposed requirement I'd put on myself and it wasn't serving me in the ways I needed it to.  And while many of those things have resolved, that still left me dealing with the shit storm that was ME.  My anxiety and my rage and my less appealing Megan-isms that cause me to struggle more than succeed... and it was time to work on some of that.

I've done a LOT of self-reflection and reading of self-actualization/help type of books.  Motivational women who seem to have gotten their shit together and that motivates me to get MY shit together.  I've known for quite a while that I don't always deal with things in the best ways and that mayyyybbbee I should get some therapy.  When a doc mentioned therapy the first time (back in 2017 when I asked for anxiety meds for my current life crisis (full-time work, full-time school, wedding planning, adjusting to new community/house)), I literally couldn't fit it in... and that's exactly how life continued for 3 more years.  In 2019 when I mentioned to my VA doc, "Maybe I should start therapy to deal with all this crap?"  She said, "That's not a bad idea."  Then we discussed it some and realized that trying to fit therapy into an already overly full schedule was NOT a good idea so it was put on the shelf to explore at a later time.

After surviving packing our entire house myself (let's call a spade, a spade, and give credit where credit is due, shall we?  yes, this is a rare occasion, someone please mark it somewhere), the house sell from hell, living in a temporary situation that would have been ideal under different circumstances (i.e. no spouses), buying a new house, and accepting that all of this change was MY FAULT but I was struggling to accept some things, it was time to deal with my shit.  I got set up with a VA doc in MD and, in addition to getting my hot flashes medication refilled AND filled by the VA (so no longer having to pay $$ each month for the meds), I asked to be set up with a therapist.  

That said, while I was relieved to not be blogging, I missed it.  SO MUCH.  I didn't have this outlet for all my shit.  I will share my ugly on FB, but I don't EXPLAIN my ugly on FB.  In this space, I explore the ugly.  I detail out all the tidbits that create the entire situation because this space is MINE and I do what I wawnt.  I missed sharing the silly shit that I said/thought.  I missed sharing the memes/internet things that made me laugh or touched me in my dark spaces.  

But I didn't miss the unknown audience.  I didn't miss the known audience and having to censor myself.  I didn't miss Teh German saying, "Just go bitch about it on your blog," when he'd piss me off beyond my overly tolerant limit.  (BTW, he realized the benefit to my blogging when we had to redo his green card photo requirements, so HA.)

It's a double-edged sword living the "transparent" life, I guess.

A few weeks ago, I got the itch to start doing Morning Pages (MP) again.  I did these during a class in college and didn't hate it, other than the getting up early part and that has been the biggest deterrent to doing them now.  I'm tired, yall.  So tired.  MP are essentially 3 hand written pages in a private journal that you write in each morning immediately after waking up.  No one should read them, even the writer, unless you've got some million dollar idea.  The purpose is essentially to clean the slate each day, to see your patterns and deal with your shit.  While I do need to deal with my shit, my itching was to WRITE to WRITE, not to clean the slate.  I'm fine with a messy slate, but in the 6 months that I've not used this space, I felt the pull to come back and share.

So I am going to share.  I'm going to share the ugly.  I'm going to share the dirty process of dealing with myself and my shit and my problems and hopefully the solutions.  Also, getting up 30 minutes early just isn't something I can currently force myself to do.  I force myself to do a LOT of things (that's another post for another day), but sleep is one of the things that doesn't usually go well for me, so interrupting it when is IS going well is not high on my list of things to do.  So maybe I won't do Morning Pages, but maybe I will start sharing my shitty-shit here.  

So don't expect this to be Weekend Reviews and Five on Fridays and Wednesday Rants or whatever the schedule used to be.  Expect this to be raw and not full of pictures.  Expect this to be what is weighing on my heart.  Expect this to be ugly and maybe sometimes spectacular.  I can't say that I don't want to share dog photos or funny memes, but I'm trying to focus on ME now.  Check my insta for the dogs and scroll through the internet for memes.  

Friday, April 2, 2021

Double Unders

When we'd been in the MD house for a month, I started to get itchy to meet people.  We NEEDED to meet people.  I mean, it took us a few months to get pulled into Roux's Humom's embrace when we moved into our SC house and it took over 6 months for us to even meet Teh PT Fam (thanks Hurricane Michael or whichever hurricane it was).  We aren't very good at making ourselves a part of a community unless we are forced, so I decided it was time to force us to find a community.

Something Teh German and I both enjoy (as much as I bitch about it) is working out.  I found 2 gyms within 10ish minutes of MD house and told Teh German to choose.  One was a crossfit gym, which we've done before, and the other was a Soliderfit gym that was so hardcore Army themed that I was having heart palpitations even giving Teh German the option of that gym.  Thankfully, he picked the crossfit gym.

Fast forward a month and a half to this morning.
Well, wait.  Let's back up to 2015 first.

In crossfit there's this STUPID thing called double unders.  If you do not know this, don't fret, because I didn't know either.  It's jumping rope, but extreme jump rope.  Essentially, the double part is that the rope goes around your airborne body TWICE per SINGLE jump.  Now look.  This isn't your elementary school PE class jumping rope.  There's no bossy little girls standing at the end of a long rope while you jump in the center until you miss one time and then it's someone else's turn to jump/turn the rope.  No, no.  This is fuck you jump rope.  And it's not the fun clacky plastic tube jump ropes, it's a whip covered in rubbery plastic or some shit that feels EXACTLY like when my mom used to whip me with the hickory switch I had to go to the woods and pick out myself.  

In 2015/2016, I did crossfit for a few months before we moved from Shitty House.  Ya know what ya girl can't do?  Jump.  Know what that means?  I can't do double unders.  So, the coaches say, just do singles, like regular jump rope.  So that's what I do.  And then that fucking rope would catch my shin or my calf or get caught in my fucking hair and ALL THE GODDAMN RAGE WOULD ERUPT FROM MY BODY LIKE AN EXPLODING VOLCANO.  There would be rage noises and it took me throwing a jump rope and almost hitting someone (and maybe almost getting kicked out of the gym, oops) before I realized something 2 things: 1- I might have anger issues.  2- You should not throw things when you are mad.  

I felt pretty confident about admitting #1 and maybe trying to work on it, but #2 I still can't always abide by.  

So here was my solution: no more double unders.  Problem solved.  Do not put yourself in situation where you know you are only going to get frustrated and angry.  Just don't.  This isn't quitting, this is understanding your limits and setting your boundaries.  This is healthy.

Ok, so now that we've had that story time, fast forward to this morning.  Double unders were on the menu and I was very clear about the fact that I'd be doing burpees or literally ANYTHING that wasn't double unders and the coach literally ignored me.  She explained to me that the goal was to work on the skill so I could ultimately DO double unders.  I explained that I have a rage problem when the jump ropes hits me in the legs or gets tangled up in me.  She said, then do singles.  I said, no really, I have a rage problem.  This is not how I want to start my Friday, being whipped in the legs with a hickory switch jump rope.  She told me to go get a jump rope.  I knew what was about to happen.  This was not a Megan can pretend to be cool situation.  I was not cool in this situation.  Not even close.

So the workout starts and we get to the part with the double unders and I'm trying to do singles and the fucking rope whips my legs and I feeeeeellll that rage.  I start again.  Another whip.  I take deep breaths.  Start over.  Rope gets caught on my fucking hair.  I stop, I breathe, I right the urge to sling the fucking jump rope against the wall.  Don't throw things in rage, Megan.  Try again.  It's just fucking jump rope.  You used to do this as a kid without problems.  Start again... get whipped in the legs and the fucking rope is out of my hands before I know what is happening.  Coach comes over and says not to throw things (yeah, I know, but I did warn you) and let's try a training option.  I consider this the "literally anything but double unders" alternative that I knew I needed from the start.  But then she added, we'll try with the rope towards the final rounds.  

Ya'll, I could barely get the fucking substitution move right.  It's called penguin claps and I'm only telling you this because we need a laugh at this point in the story.  Essentially, you jump and tap your hands on your thighs twice while you are airborne to simulate the rope going under you.  I do not stay airborne long enough to fucking penguin clap on my legs twice.  I'm clapping my legs while standing on the fucking floor because jumping is not my thing.  Shit, I can barely do step ups (a substitution for box jumps) without almost busting my face because my legs DO NOT properly lift sometimes and my foot will drag and trip me.  This is not me being funny, these are FACTS.  So anyways.  I'm shitty at the substitution and she can see that I'm frustrated with it all... and so she comes over towards the last rounds and hands me the jump rope to do singles.  

It's going well enough and then I whip my legs and I close my eyes and grip the rope handles like I'm going to fucking crush those motherfuckers and brreeeeattthheeeeeeeeeeeee.  I start again.  Rope gets caught in my hair again.  Coach says, maybe you need a longer rope and fetches it for me (I had originally picked the rope she'd told me to grab, just FYI).  I finished that bit doing the penguin claps that infuriated me because I was tired and couldn't fucking clap my gd hands against my legs once before hitting the ground I was so tired by this point and I'm overrrrwheeelmmmeeeddddd.  When it was time to do the next exercise, I laid on the floor and couldn't complete the movement (hollow rocks) because I couldn't breathe.  I was teary and couldn't breathe.  I had to sit up just so I could take breath.  I didn't want to fucking cry because of a fucking jump rope, I had to get it under control, but I could.not.breathe.  

I laid back and heaved some breathes hoping that I could control this.  But also, WTF is wrong me with?  Why is jump rope making me cry?  Is this PMS?  WTF is happening right now?  Is this is a panic/anxiety attack?  Is this just a temper tantrum meltdown?  What the fucking fuck is happening to me?

After a few seconds, I managed to catch my breath and refused to let myself cry.  I dried my teary eyes and popped out my hollow rocks and trudged on.. and then we were back at that fucking jump rope again.  I tried to take the singles slow.  Jump high and hold your elbow in, the coach had said, so I tried that.  And then.. I HAD TO PEE.  Queen of the Weak Bladder here, in addition to whipping myself, now I had to not piss on myself.  I whipped myself no less than 3 times and finally said said fuck this, I have to pee now because I'll pee on myself trying to do other exercises if I don't go.  

So I did that and was late starting the next round.  I caught up... and finally the last gd round of double unders was upon me.  Jumping high without a shitty half-full bladder made only a slight bit of difference, but not enough to not get whipped and that was enough for me.  I have no idea if I completed the allotted number of jumps, but I was drained physically and emotionally by that point.  

This is unusual for me, because I am that weird person that gets a 2nd wind and I'll be dancing to the music during the rest periods to encourage myself and keep myself moving.  Also, the music was WAY TO FUCKING LOUD.  I was already struggling but the music was SO LOUD that it was only grating on my already frayed nerves.  But when you're already the whiney asshole it's hard to be even more whiney and be like, could we turn it down about 5 decibels please?

We moved on to the 2nd part of the workout (because a 32 minute EMOM was not sufficient) and I modified the "skull crusher" movement and when the coach came to me and said, you should have the bar over your forehead, I said, "Look, I'm a head injury kid.  I will not be accidentally dropping this barbell on my face today.  I've already whipped myself with a jump rope, but I call it at dropping something on my head."  She finally accepted my modification and let me be.  We finished the rest of the workout and I cleaned up my station and tried to be cool, but on the inside, I was so very, very uncool.

I was embarrassed that I had thrown the rope (same as in 2016).
I was mad at myself that I can't do double unders.
I was mad at myself that I can barely do singles.
I was mad that my bladder fucking sucks and couldn't handle jumping for 45 seconds x4-5 rounds without threating my attire.
I was mad that I even touched a jump rope, because I knew I was setting myself up for emotional overload/failure.
I was mad that, that coach has seen me teary TWICE now (the first time was over legitimate back pain because of wall-balls in a similar situation except I don't refuse to do wall-balls).
I was embarrassed that I had a meltdown/panic/anxiety attack at the gym (who the fuck gets so fucking invested at the gym that they get upset to the point of tears/having a meltdown/attack? I mean, seriously).
I was concerned that I didn't even know what a panic/anxiety attack looked like.  Was I just having a meltdown or was that a legitimate "attack" of some sort?  Why doesn't the Anxiety Queen know that?
Why was I so upset that I was upset?
Was this PMS?  How does someone who is so hormonally controlled have fucking PMS? (for real, I'm on a daily pill for those hot flashes with no break, so I should have consistent levels, mkay.)
Why couldn't the coach accept my limitation?
Why couldn't I accept that the coach was trying to HELP ME BE BETTER?
Why couldn't I get past the whipping of my legs?  Yes, it stings, but it's not the end of the world.
Why did every time I whipped my legs with the jump rope did I flash back to when I was 10 or so, having to bring my mom a switch from a tree to beat me with?  
Was I just reaching for an excuse not to do something I'm not good at?
Was this accurate self-reflection?
Why was I still in this spiral?  How could I break the spiral and move on?
Why can't my body do the things I demand of it?  
Why is my body so weak?  (Side note: I did handstand holds against the wall the day before and I was the only one in the class who could even get up to the wall without assistance.  I couldn't do the push-up part, but I did 30 second holds, so I knew this was a ridiculous question.)
Why was this so absolutely devastating for me?

I still don't know the answers to some of those questions.  I don't know why I give myself the shortest stick, always.  It is exhausting.  This journey is exhausting.  I know this isn't healthy though and I'm trying to be/get better and that is also exhausting.