I’m Resisting Change, but I’m Doing it Anyway
Really, I am too hilarious. I can see it. I’ve listened to several encouraging audiobooks over the last year, all of them cheering me on to commit to the life I want. But as I listen, I notice the self who is pushing back, the one who says, “Don’t you realize I won’t be able to spend as much time sitting on my ass complaining and worrying and putting myself down?! Not to mention distracting myself with TV and social media and my endless pursuit of foods that feel like reward, celebration, or solace?”
Okay. Let’s keep this dialog going! But how to distinguish the parts? Old me, new me? No, that’s too simplistic—there is more than one “old me.” There is the old me of childhood who was powerless in an abusive family; the old me who excelled in school and work; the old me who drank and did drugs before I got sober; the old me before my best friend died; the old me who was not yet diagnosed with bipolar; the old me who was diagnosed and worked; the old me who was diagnosed and couldn’t work; see? There are too many. Let’s call them Stuck and Flow. Stuck is the me who desires, and is terrified, of change; Flow is the me who is dedicated to working and contributing my creativity to the world.
Stuck: I need to take a nap.
Flow: Okay. I can see you do. Go ahead. (Flow recognizes Stuck’s overwhelm and has a caring response.)
—four hours later—
Flow: Good job! You had your nap and went out to meet new people!
. . . pause, hmm. I need an observer, too. Turns out this isn’t a dialogue. . .
Flow: You’re complicating things.
Stuck: Oh, no. The cat wants to sit on my lap, but my laptop is on my lap.
Flow: See if the cat will share.
Stuck: She seems to. Oh, she’s gone. But the smoke from the incense is bothering me. And it’s almost time for the news. I want to see coverage of the shooting and the weather.
Flow: Are you—
Stuck turns on the news. Oh, wow. More dead people. More suspects. Different parts of town. The weather? Not much happening. It’ll get hotter this week. Stuck makes a pot of decaf coffee. She has to wash out a mug because they’re all dirty. She fills the sink with soapy water and piles in the dirty dishes. She unscrews the lid of a jar. Ew! That smells. Soap. Water. Swish. Into the recycling. Pour frozen mango in a paper cup. Oh, yeah, the incense. Move it. The cat is now stationed atop the coffee table.
Flow: Heidi?
Stuck: Oh, right. Change. I want to change. That means I have to do things differently.
Flow: That’s right. I want you to sit here and finish this blog post.
A few months ago, I realized that I would have to give up my life as a victim in order to finish my book. But so much of my identity was wrapped up in my victimhood that I couldn’t imagine living differently. Who would I be, if not a victim? A success? Pshaw! That seemed farfetched.
I wish I had a precise record I could point to of all the ideas I absorbed from other people, so I could attribute the sources of each turn toward change as it happened, but I only have a list of the books I either bought or checked out from the library. I will include them at the end of this post. I just want you to know that my change has not been organic—had I left my future up to my original organism, I wouldn’t be writing this. No, I had to force myself out of my victim mentality, and since I didn’t know how, I had to learn. As Benjamin Hardy wrote (here on Medium), “What got you here won’t get you there.” Exactly.
I feel a hop-skip-and-a-jump past victimhood now. Yes, shitty things happened to me, but I no longer live in my mother’s house. As a matter of fact, she’s dead. She’s been dead. Since 1987. My dad is dead, too, by his own hand, no less. He made that choice in 2017. Hmm, never thought about the thirty years between their deaths or them dying in years ending with sevens. (Stuck suddenly wants some mixed nuts. She goes to my Sam’s Club app to see what they have—even though it’s 10:45 p.m. on a Saturday night. That’s what I’m talking about: distraction. She takes a sip of decaf.) So, my parents are dead. They can’t hurt me anymore. The only person who can hurt me is me. I’ve been an expert at keeping myself down since I learned how to do it as a kid. No to that! I’m not going to be the victim OR the perpetrator. But now what? Now who?
Automatically, I’d say “Rescuer.” But no, not rescuer. I’m not role-playing. Well, besides Stuck/Flow? Oh, geez, I refute myself!
Not long ago enough, I had an ‘aha’ moment. It was when I realized the truth that I was born whole, innocent, and perfect, contrary to the “fact” I’d learned and believed, thanks to Catholicism: that I was born a sinner. What B.S.! I can’t believe I hadn’t questioned it sooner—like on the day I first heard it. Not long after that realization, I was in a meditation group and the leader said something about our “basic unworthiness.” Excuse me?! I’m not buying into that! Your basic unworthiness, your high/lowness. Original sin is a deal-breaker for me.
(Oh, that isn’t the real time. My clock has stopped; the battery’s dead. It’s 11:54 p.m.)
Stuck: I’m hungry!
Flow: keep going.
After my nap, I went to an art market at Steinfeld Warehouse I’d planned to go to. I went to support artists and see what it was like; also, because it’s the new moon and there would be a person doing tarot card readings. A friend of mine was thinking about going, but when I texted her at 7 p.m., she’d changed her mind. I didn’t ask why, but she’d previously been concerned about parking. At that very moment I stopped and texted this to myself, “Decision: Listen to my reasons for not doing something. Does it sound like something an old person would say? If so, ask again. Example: Parking is hard at the destination. DEFINITELY NOT something a younger person would worry about. Or maybe younger isn’t the word—timid is better.” Then I inserted the red circle with a line through it next to the word TIMID and hit send. Another text, “NOT TIMID.” Then I left. (I’m not saying my friend is timid or old, I could just see that Stuck might have stayed home for those reasons. It was a teaching moment.)
Once I was at Steinfeld, I met some artists and bought a handmade book and button from one of them.
(Stuck just heated up and ate some basmati rice and half a can of chili hot beans with some Tapatio sauce to spice it up. Then she looked up what movies are on TV and did all the dishes. Now they dry in the rack)
Inside 7-Legged Spider Gallery was a table with a candle and instructions to write down your new moon intentions on a slip of paper and then burn it. I did. My intention is to commit to my commitments. When the tarot reader was free, I sat down and asked, “What will support my intention to commit to my commitments?” The cards gave me crystal clear information.
- You are changing: Ten of Swords (reversed) crossed by the Queen of Wands
- You are committed to this change and aren’t fooling around: Six of Pentacles and Six of Swords (reversed)
- Some people will not accompany you forward as you pursue your goals, and that’s okay: Five of Swords (reversed)
- Rules and discipline are essential to achieve your goals: The Emperor
Here at home, I pulled another card: Two of Swords. According to The Wheel of Change Tarot, by Alenxandra Genetti, “The two of Swords represents the moment of choice—the tools, the options, and the goal.” Yes. I’ve made the choice to change. Like in the image of scissors cutting a pattern, the future is forming as I live into it. I’m learning that choices are easier to make once you’ve committed to a goal. I say, bring it!
Here’s an incomplete list of books I’ve read in the last couple of years that have added umph to my efforts (in random order, mostly nonfiction or memoir, almost all of these I listened to as audiobooks, and most of those, read by the author):
How to Be a Bawse: A Guide to Conquering Life, by Lilly Singh
How We Change (And Ten Reasons Why We Don’t), by Ross Ellenhorn
The five-part series The Dangerous Old Woman, by Clarissa Pinkola Estes
Willpower Doesn’t Work, by Benjamin Hardy
Be a Triangle, by Lilly Singh
Stolen, by Elizabeth Gilpin
Middlemarch, by George Eliot
The Art of Asking, by Amanda Palmer
Tidy the F*ck Up: The American Art of Organizing Your Shit, by Messie Condo
How to Be Successful without Hurting Men’s Feelings: Non-threatening Leadership Strategies for Women, by Sarah Cooper
I Don’t Have a Bucket List but My F*ck-it List is a Mile Long: The hilarious guide to making your life happier, richer, and even more badass!, by Ruby Rey
Essential Welty, by Eudora Welty
Underland: A Deep Time Journey, by Robert Macfarlane
H is for Hawk, by Helen Macdonald
Decluttering at the Speed of Life: Winning Your Never-Ending Battle with Stuff, and, How to Manage Your Home Without Losing Your Mind, by Dana K. White
How to Keep House While Drowning: A Gentle Approach to Cleaning and Organizing, by KC Davis
The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma, by Bessel van der Kolk, M.D.
Get Your Life Back, by John Eldredge
Will, by Will Smith
The Anthropocene Reviewed, by John Green
The Untethered Soul: The Journey Beyond Yourself, by Michael A. Singer
Educated: A Memoir, by Tara Westover
If You Want to Write, by Brenda Ueland
This Will Be My Undoing: Living at the Intersection of Black, Female, and Feminist in (White) America, by Morgan Jenkins
The Pleasure of Writing and Other Essays, by A. A. Milne
How to Write a Book, by David Kadavy
Theatre of the Imagination, Vol 1 & 2, by Clarissa Pinkola Estes
At Home in the World: A Memoir, by Joyce Maynard
I Used to Be Charming: The Rest of Eve Babitz, by Eve Babitz
The Complete Poems, by Anne Sexton
A Girl’s Guide to Missiles: Growing up in America’s Secret Desert, by Karen Lynnea Piper
War Is a Racket, by Smedley D. Butler, U.S. Marine Corps Major General
(finished 3:58 a.m.)
