Is Positive Thinking Really THAT Powerful?

While out in California, I got some cross-contamination gluten from lunch, and so was a little trepidatious about dinner (which was the most delicious Thai food I've ever had). My dad said I could take Advil, since that helps when he gets glutened. The lovely makeup artist who took us out offered to give me some, and I said, "No thanks, I didn't find that that worked for me when I tried it." My dad said, "Well, you have to BELIEVE that it will work, and then it will." 

Arrrrggghhhhh. 

I probably seemed a bit unhinged when I said acidly, "Oh, is THAT how that works? If THAT was how things work, I would have children!" 

Probably a bit much for sitting with people who just met me. 

I get so riled up when there is the insinuation that you can "invite" things to happen and they will. That positive thinking can influence anything. That humans have this amazing sort of control, and yet people die of cancer and car accidents and children are murdered and I couldn't have babies. 

I have opinions, obviously. 

Mali at No Kidding in NZ wrote a post this week about Positive Thinking that made me think more on this. 

See, when you are in the midst of infertility treatment, everything is "you have to think positively." It is as if a negative thought can just throw everything right in the trash. And one reason why I hate that is because if it comes down to whether I think the right way or not, then it is my fault if things go wrong. Which is complete and utter bullshit. 

I personally put a lot of pressure on myself to be positive, to feel positive, to do everything possible to immerse myself in positivity. It was exhausting. And it didn't make me feel better when things didn't work out. I started to really hate the trend of toxic positivity, especially since it is often offered by people who were lucky to have their situation work out. 

I think that the idea of coming up with your own encouragement card is brilliant. I loved A Crack in Everything's version, and I also loved Mali's version in her post. 

Here is mine: 

1. It is okay to feel absolutely everything that you are feeling.

2. Do things that nourish you while everything is hard, and try not to feel guilty about taking the time to do it. 

3. Nothing that happens is because of a thought that you had.

4. Make a list of all the things you ARE, whether you become a parent or not. You are more than this quest. 

5. It is okay to say no to things that will make you sad or put yourself in a situation where you feel shitty. You do not have to explain yourself. 

6. Make a gratitude list -- so when things are crap, you can look at things that are going well despite the shit circus swirling about you.

7. Find a therapist who understands uncertainty and grief and doesn't cry when you talk (no joke, I had one who literally teared up and said, "you're so strong" on repeat, and that just wasn't helpful when I was like, yep, I LOOK like I am strong, but I am a gooey mess on the inside, which is what you are here for." Then I had one that was absolutely phenomenal and helped me through some of the worst days I've ever had.)

8. Be realistic -- hope for the best, but know the options. Don't be afraid to explore other eventualities. (This is way easier for me to say now that I'm on the other side, but it would have been helpful to explore living without children earlier than I did.) Being realistic will not harm your chances.

9. You are enough. No matter what, right now, wherever you are -- you are enough and you are worthy. 

10. You are not a failure. Things might fail around you, but YOU are not a failure.

What would you say to your former self? 

Congratulations, Dad!

I am sitting in LAX, waiting for my flight home. What a whirlwind we've had, visiting with my dad. 

Um, my dad is famous. He received a Lifetime Achievement award on Sunday for his work in prosthetic, special-effects makeup. We were fortunate enough to be able to attend, since it fell during February Break (although had it not, I would have figured out a way!). 

On the red carpet

This is not my usual scene! It was incredible to see my dad's legacy, both in the work that he's done over the decades and the clear impact he's had on other artists. He has developed new ways of doing appliances. He is an artist, a sculptor, and a scientist. 

People are always like, "that must have been so cool growing up!" Yes, and also... no. 

The movie business is weird. And hard. It is not particularly family friendly. Before my dad moved out to LA (when I was a 9th grader), he would leave on location for jobs for months at a time. We did get to visit in interesting places, like Baton Rouge, Louisiana; Laurel Canyon, CA; Toronto; and more. When he lived with us, he had a lab in the basement. It smelled of foam latex and had drawers of lipsticks that I occasionally filched (silver Clinique tubes were my favorite, especially Guava Stain). Once we had buckets of Ultra-Slime delivered to the house when he was working on a Poltergeist movie. 

When visiting in LA, you never knew what you would get to see. I have been on location for a handful of movies and shows, and even got to be an extra once. It impressed upon me how very un-glamorous movie life is. Once I watched actors get out of a car, shut the car door, and say one sentence...about 50 times in a row. I've seen how getting your prosthetic makeup done is long, and boring, and claustrophobic. But, I've also seen how my dad can make it entertaining. 

It was hard, only seeing my dad first two weeks out of a year after my parents divorced. Butt then harder when I visited on my own steam, because that was actually less often. I've been fortunate to see my dad about once every two years for a bit, but it can be as long as seven before in person visits. I hope it's easier now that he is retired! (Working retired, of course, no more 6-month trips to South Africa I think.)

I love my dad so much, and it's always difficult to say goodbye. Those was an amazing visit though, with a day at the LA Zoo, the Aquarium of the Pacific, the fancy schmancy day, and the best Thai food I've ever had in my life last night. Now we really to board our plane, and I am grateful to not be traveling with kids (hats off to those who do, it looks miserable). 

Taking a rest at the zoo

I am so so proud of my dad, and so glad that we could celebrate with him! Until next time...

Me and my dad

Bryce and I all gussied up

Do I "Deserve" Less Because I'm Childless?

Loribeth at The Road Less Travelled wrote an excellent post last week about the word choice of "regular families" in an article about the housing market. 

It actually reminded me of an experience we had when looking at houses ourselves. 

There was a house on the fringe of our old neighborhood that we actually looked at twice. It was a beautiful, older home with lots of character and pretty much all the nooks and crannies and space you could ever want. The first time we looked, we were starting the adoption process. We looked at it from the perspective of being a potential family of three. I loved the bedroom that had a closet with a little WINDOW in it, and could see our mythical child playing in there, or using it as a reading nook. It was very Harry Potter. I loved the room dedicated to an elliptical machine, the fireplaces (one surrounded by bird's eye maple), the yard, all the possibilities. We decided not to pursue it because it was on the threshold of our limit and we didn't know how much we would have to set aside for adoption. 

Well, that very same house went up for sale about 3-4 years later, which begged all kinds of sad questions. The bedroom with the cool window-closet had been painted with chalkboard paint and there were Harry Potter quotes everywhere, scrawled by some tween/teen. Who knows if they got divorced or a new job or what made them put the house on the market so soon, but as we walked through this time, we knew we would never have children. The house was definitely big, but then the realtor said, "Oh you don't have kids? Oh no. This house isn't for you. This for a family." 

What. The. Flippity. Flap. I'm sorry, who are you to say what is and isn't for us? 

We didn't stay with that realtor. 

We found a new one, who showed us houses that we asked for and never ever said anything about our childless state. And our house now is smaller than that nooks-and-crannies house, but it is PERFECT for us. And it has three bedrooms, and two offices, and we have made it entirely cozy and tailored for our life. It's like this house was waiting for us, for the right time.

So there, judgy realtor. We ended up in a big house, "more space" than we apparently deserve, and it is the perfect fit. I retroactively thumb my nose at you. 

Empathy and Involuntary Childlessness

A friend of mine is going through the first anniversary of a life-altering event. She thought she had found her person, and then that person turned out very much to not be at all who they purported to be, and she found herself dismantling a life she thought would turn out very differently in just one year. She has also started rebuilding her life in a very short period of time. But it's been hard, and dizzying, and a smack in the face that grief is not linear. 

I don't know exactly what she's going through, but I do know what it was like for me to dismantle a life that didn't turn out the way I'd thought, and then work to rebuild. I remember what it felt like when things were raw and it took a great deal of effort to get up off the floor and resemble a human-like substance. I remember it feeling like the pain would never end, and then feeling like I was fine, okay, doing great... until a sneak attack leveled me. 

A gift of living through the death of a dream is the empathy and perspective it can give you to support others who are going through their own personal tragedies. There are, unfortunately, so many situations where everything you thought was or could be true gets turned on its head. The skills of listening without judgement, sharing strategies or feelings you had while fully acknowledging that no one knows EXACTLY what someone else is going through are so helpful. Being able to share that the body remembers anniversaries and no, you're not crazy for feeling ill and shitty and then realizing it's a year since _______. Being able to share that it's perfectly normal to both appreciate the new things you rebuild while resenting that you have to do it in the first place. Being able to share that often, finding an answer to the question "how are you doing?" is difficult and sometimes you just want to say "TERRIBLE actually. Everything is a steaming shit sandwich." And, feeling the utter exhaustion of all the feelings. 

I would like to think I would have been a good support even if everything had worked out the way I envisioned. I definitely think I'm a better support because I have gone through my own dismantling and rebuilding.