Dreams
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
–Langston Hughes
Thank you to everyone for your love and support after my last post. Every word means so much to me.
Not surprisingly, I’ve just come out of another bout of grief and tears this morning, feeling the impact of so many dreams that have died. Certainly, some of my dreams have come true, and my grief in no way diminishes my gratitude. But right now, the grief is hitting me like a tsunami. Every day is a constant process of letting go of dreams that have propelled me all my life. I thought I’d let go of all the big ones, but I’m still hanging on, and I have to stop. Hanging on just brings me heartache.
I’m going to write about the dreams I’ve come up against today. Writing helps me feel like I have some control over what’s going on, but please don’t take this piece as any kind of indication that everything in my mind feels orderly and precise. At the moment, I’m feeling about as burned out and confused as I’ve ever felt in my life.
Where Did the Past Go?
This morning, I was sitting in the kitchen window, looking out at the orange lilies in the next-door neighbor’s yard. The light was dappled by the chestnut tree, and the shaded yard nearly had a feeling of autumn about it. But it’s not autumn, and what I was seeing was a memory from when I was a child. The only flowers we had were the same type of orange lilies; they grew by the side of our house. I had a very strong sense memory of being a little kid, living in that house, running around with my brother, feeling like everything was okay. Of course, most of the time, I didn’t feel like it was okay. Most of the time, I was anxious and fearful. But on a Saturday morning in summer, when all we had to do was go down to the drugstore, buy baseball cards and candy, and spend the rest of the day playing baseball, or wandering in the woods, or pretending to be Batman and Robin, life felt like it ought to feel—happy, hopeful, innocent.
My dream was that it would stay that way, and that my brother and I would always be close, but of course, that didn’t happen. My parents are gone, and my brother is lost to me. For the sake of his privacy, I won’t go into details, but suffice it to say that he is not someone I want to know anymore (and he appears to feel the same way about me). How we started out being innocent and happy, and ended up where we are now, is hard to explain. I could tell you everything that happened, but it would never be the whole story, because the whole story is not a collection of events, but the complex working out of pain, fear, love, anger, and confusion. It feels like my original family got put into a centrifuge, and each of us got spun out in different directions, never to return. It’s overwhelming for me, and unbearably sad. I want those days back. I want that dream back. I want to make it all work out just fine. But it’s all over. I can’t change any of it.
I’m Not Who I Was Supposed to Be
I was reading an article today on the Internet, and I noticed that the author was the daughter of my childhood piano teacher. Her name stood out to me because of a particularly sweet childhood memory. One day, while I was at my piano lesson, playing a piece that I was going to perform in Boston, the author and her sister, ages 2 and 4, were standing on either side of the piano bench, jumping up and down, screaming their heads off. When I was done with the piece, my piano teacher said, “If you can play a sonata through THAT, you can play it anywhere!”
So, today, I did a little bit of searching about what this woman has been doing with her life, and it turned out that before writing a well-reviewed book, she had been a producer for Dateline NBC. That’s when another level of grief hit. You see, I was a really smart kid. I mean, really smart. I taught myself to read. I got all As in school. I nearly aced every SAT and college board I took. I was gifted in music. I won a statewide piano contest. I got into an Ivy League university. I was supposed to be successful. I was supposed to be a producer, a director, a musician, a lawyer, a doctor or Anything Other Than What I Am. That was the dream, and it guided my entire childhood and adolescence. Now, I look at people who couldn’t do what I did when I was just a kid, and I see that there is no way I could ever do what they’ve done as adults.
Every now and then, I torture myself by going online and searching for the names of people from high school, just to see what they’re doing. It’s unbelievable what people are doing. They’re out in the world being important and successful. I keep asking the question: How can people have surpassed me like this? I never expected to be famous, but I once was full of promise. Could I have ever worked at the jobs they have? No way. I know it. And yet, I can’t quite grasp why not. I know that raw intelligence isn’t everything. I know that I don’t understand (or respect) social politics. I know that I get overloaded in groups of more than two people (and sometimes even that’s a stretch). I know all these things, but I still can’t quite accept what’s happened. The gulf between who I was supposed to be and who I am is so deep and so wide that my mind can’t take it in and make any sense of it.
It’s like looking at someone who has died. How can the person be alive one moment and gone the next? The mind can’t go there. You want to say to the person, “Just wake up.” You want to see where the person has gone off to. But you can’t. And that’s what’s happening to me. I still see myself as that person with the dream of doing Whatever She Wants, but I’m not that person. That person is gone. Where did she go, and when? At this point, I’m so sensitive to everything, I can barely go outside my door.
What Could Be More Important than the Approval of Others?
When I was in high school, I was determined to be one of the cool kids. Of course, I failed miserably, but what did that matter? There were other kids I could have hung out with—the ones everyone made fun of because they were shy and awkward and carried slide rules and pocket protectors. I liked them just fine, but I saw what they had to put up with. I saw the cruel things that people wrote in their yearbooks. I saw how people laughed at them every day. I saw that they were perpetual outsiders, and I fled from them because I wanted to be an insider.
So, as I got older, I straightened my hair, lost weight, wore conventional clothes, and tried to become acceptable. I’ve never stopped. I’ve been trying and trying and trying to be one of the cool people. I have a million faces, and I have a million clever things to say, all in the service of not wanting to be laughed at and rejected.
I cannot be weird. I cannot be an outsider. I cannot be looked upon as an oddity or a freak. I must be like everyone else. Those were my prime directives in life, and I once dreamt that I could fulfill them.
Guess what? Game over. Bye bye to that dream. See ya. Nice knowin’ ya. And no, you can’t ever come back.
You Mean You Don’t Want My Energy for Free?
When my daughter first started school, she was in the eighth grade, and I offered to volunteer at her school as a tutor. It’s a small school, and all the teachers wear many hats, but they didn’t want or need my help. Of course, they didn’t say it outright. They said, “That’s a sweet offer” and then proceeded to ignore me. Who knows why? Am I too smart? Too direct? Too weird? I don’t know. Once the homeschooling was done, I was hoping to use my skills as a teacher, and I was offering them for free. But no one ever took me up on it.
At this point, I wouldn’t be able to help out at the school because of my sensory issues, but it still hurts that I never got the chance.
Seeking My Fellow Aspies and Auties
Okay, now that you’ve come this far, let me get to the latest and greatest dream-that-must-die. Remember the school for autistic young people, where the person was so excited to get my offer of serving as a volunteer? Where she said that they were completely open to my needs around sensory issues? Remember that? Sounded good, didn’t it?
The last email I sent them was on June 24, suggesting that we get together on June 30. That was over two weeks ago, and I haven’t heard a word—not even to say, “I’m sorry, June 30th won’t work, but how about some time in July?”
Now, I tried really, really, REALLY hard to not get my hopes up about this school, because things just generally have a pattern of not working out in rather mysterious and inexplicable ways. But, the truth is, I had my hopes up, big time. It wasn’t just about having something to do. It was about being around autistic people. Since then, I have found another Aspie in town, and we are emailing, but other than that, I have no local contact with anyone autistic. There are groups in Northampton and Amherst and Keene and Springfield, but I don’t live in any of those places, and I can’t possibly drive there and expect to have any energy left when I actually arrive.
So yeah, okay, I had my heart set on being at the school. I could walk there and be among some autistic people. Oh well.
I keep wondering what I’ve done wrong, and why people don’t want my energy when I’m willing to give it for free. Am I too direct? I’ve only spent 25 years and a gazillion dollars in therapy being told to be who I am and to ask for what I need. So I do, as clearly and as authentically as possible, and voila! I still get left by the side of the road. I’m a perpetual outcast. It’s really unbelievable. It would be okay if I loathed people and wanted nothing to do with them, but I love people and I want to help them. I just keep hitting the big brick wall that everyone else seems to see but me.
I just don’t understand. I try to be NT: no dice. I try to be myself: no dice. I try to be direct: no dice. I try to be gently patient and encouraging: no dice. I try to be super-competent: no dice. I try to acknowledge my challenges: no dice.
I would really like to get together with my new Aspie friend in town, but to tell you the truth, I’m scared. It seems like everything I touch in the outside world magically screws up. I keep thinking that there would be no social pressure with another Aspie. I keep thinking about how relieved I would feel to actually meet her in person. But I’d probably just cry for much of our first meeting, and whoops! another person gone.
So it’s hard to dream about anything that concerns other people. And I don’t want to be alone. So my life feels pretty awful right now.
Bob keeps saying that I just have to keep letting go of the dreams that don’t work so that other dreams can take their place. But I’m not sure I can bear any other dreams. They break my heart. If I could understand why things don’t work out, maybe I could change what I’m doing, but I don’t understand it at all.
© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
=(
I feel you on so many of these things. I just wish you lived in IN! ‘Cause I got PEOPLE, miss lady. I could hook you up!! =)
Sadly though sometimes even with “people” I feel right in that same place… “Why don’t they want me around? What did I do wrong?” etc. Or sometimes I just want them all to go away because they’re wearing me out!!!
Truthfully I think you’re fantastic, I think you ARE one of the cool people, but I know that it’s pretty tough not to feel like you can “connect” with people, particularly people locally. And that “dumped at the side of the road” feeling… I definitely get that. I’m told that sometimes NT’s just don’t THINK… they get busy with whatever or wrapped up in whatever or, OR, they don’t need our help or aren’t sure what to do with us after they’ve given us some thought but they don’t want to “hurt our feelings”. And it’s like, “LOOK. It’s hurting my feelings to NOT KNOW. Please tell me so I can move ON with my life.”
Rachel,
I’m going through much the same process as you. My ‘that explains everything’ joy only lasted a couple of days before I got slammed by NT reality, had it put forth that the way I operated in the world wasn’t compatible with the social nature of a spiritual group I am in and hoped to advance in… so I’ve been working with the ‘letting dreams go’ aspect for about a month now. Along with all the other realizations and adjustments a late Dx brings… I’m 51 and found out about 2 months ago.
It’s one hell of a frame shift, I can say that at this point.
And I am just beginning to see that that is all it is… a frame shift. And it’s going to take a bit, but I will adjust to the new info. As an Aspie, I may not be wildly flexible, but I am able to adapt and adjust. And I am as determined as only an Aspie can be. =0)
I’m a Buddhist, and the Buddha taught us that we don’t exist in the ways we think we do… This is one powerful example of that.
I solidified my future and invested my energies in something that never existed in the first place…
Remember… Our lives are far more miraculous and mysterious than our dreams and imaginings would have us know…
Once you’ve regained your center and energy, call the school and pursue your interest… don’t pull the passive number…
Blessings,
DB
Having never met an Aspie, I don’t know how that would go-but from all I keep reading (here & elsewhere), it’s supposedly not nearly the “crazy-making” experience of trying to keep one’s “public face” on that is socializing amongst/amidst neurotypical persons.
I’m merely one person, but I don’t disregard folks for being obviously emotional (crying doesn’t frighten me the way yelling does)-and I bet plenty of your readers would say something similar. I fear I’m unskilled at comforting people, but I certainly don’t find humor (or shame) in another’s injury/hurt. All I can do is use words, to ask how the person would like me treat them, how might I behave (look at the person or look away, offer a hug or not, keep talking/writing or just sit there silently) so as to minimize any additional fear/anxiety (distressed feeling).
As for being underwhelmed at one’s outcome in the “where are they now ?” thought process-in relation to one’s peers, or in comparison with the early predictions made about one’s future success-I can’t say anything necessarily consolatory, but it hits me as well. I was expected to do all manner of wonderful impressive things in the world, yet I’m barely in the world at all-I hide at home in half-chosen, half-imposed obscurity. I was garnered superlatives from my peers & from adults, I got called “brainiac”, and I bought into the high hopes that everyone conferred upon me-how would I know this magical, eventual transformation would never come to pass ? No one realized I’d end up an underachiever. So, yes, I share this corrosive pain of feeling like a disappointment/failure.
I don’t know how to make it better, beyond talking with my dear friends (and compassionate, wise professionals). Those who do believe in my value here & now, as I am. Those who are willing & able to express & explain what they appreciate about me in my seemingly useless state (“not good enough” is the refrain in my head). Those whom have spent so much time with me over the years that it proves that I must be “rewarding” to these people to some degree-or else they wouldn’t have invested their energy & attention in me. Those who see improvements in my future but aren’t waiting for that possible unfolding/blossoming to enjoy interacting with the present/current me.
Have you seen these great lists of positive ASD qualities ? There are many online & in offline books/articles. One such link is “Ten terrific traits of ASD people”:
http://autism.about.com/od/inspirationideas/tp/besttraits.htm
I read this post yesterday and really wanted to say something, but in standard Aspie fashion, I didn’t know if I had the right thing to say or not so I figured it was better to say nothing.
I have no answer about the friend thing, because I have none that are not my family and they are plenty enough for me to keep track of. Some of it is trust issues with me, the rest of it is that I realized years ago that my emotions can’t stand all the social games. I really am much happier without them. With family I have plenty of people to talk to that because they are family, they almost HAVE to care, even if they think I’m just spewing drivel.
As for the rest of it, to what end goal would everything else contribute? From my experience, there is a reason for what life does, that everyone has a purpose. I have lamented so many of my ‘lost lives’ (people I so desperately wanted to be but simply cannot because of being an Aspie) from a Broadway singer, all the way to a computer programmer, or even just a receptionist. After every attempt to live and sustain in the NT world, once the idealism crumbled and the reality and overload would hit like a cement wall, I was left with just little, poorly functioning me.
Every time I would sit and think what the core was that I was so desperately trying to obtain, surely it wasn’t the overload, but I would just end up hiding in our bedroom, wanting to read and play video games. For way to many years I punished myself for that. If I would have had words for being less than worthless I would have renamed myself with them, it felt like my only purpose was to fail, at everything. Just a few years ago I realized what was the core kernel in the reading and video games that was so adamantly crucial to me, it wasn’t the escapism (although that helps with the overload) but they all contained stories. Everything in my life has always been about stories. Gathering them, savoring them, remembering them. My working memory is very faulty, but my memory for stories is so acute that I can’t reread a book more often then every fifteen years because I remember the details so excruciatingly well. The final reason why I started writing my book was because I was getting furious that I could not find the book that was JUST RIGHT for all the stories that were bumping around in my head.
Learning to write for me has been a very difficult process. I do no not understand nouns, adjectives, verbs, conjunctions, it never has made sense to me. My punctuation is weird and I try to get rid of as many commas as I can but I have a hard time putting periods in the middle of my thoughts. Not to mention being dyslexic and always having trouble reading. It hasn’t stopped me, not for long anyways after I realized that it was the doorway connecting everything inside me with the outside world.
So again I say, To What End?
I have begun to watch some of Amanda Baggs’ videos following some of the links that you have posted, and was interested in her view language and understanding by Autistic people and the lack of understanding of it in the NT world. I have also been reading Tony Attwood’s book and was pleased to see how frequently he refers to comments by Aspies. Perhaps it is a bit of a stretch, but who’s to say that our ‘simple blogs’ won’t begin to breach the gap and fill in the spaces the people researching Autism can’t see or understand from the outside? Giving explanations on the hows and whys for the Autistics who can’t reach past the language barriers.
I know that without you I would have probably languished and died as a stranger in my own internal world, despite how much thinking I do and the parts of it that I have slowly learned to understand. Your writing is a boon to so many people, a lot of us comment but I think there is a lot of those who just don’t know the right things to say even if it is just a simple thank you.
Our purpose is always rooted in our strengths, even those like me who wished to be a painter instead because it’s not such an upward battle. Life does change. Paths veer off in directions that a step or two ago we never thought that they would.
“I have a million faces, and I have a million clever things to say…”
I have seen this with myself countless times over the years, eventually I realized that it is a strength that I have a hard time seeing in the NT world. Being able to use it to see what it is like in the other person’s shoes, to take the experiences from every hat or mask that you have worn over the years and get down to the core of things. That’s why your writing is so helpful, even if you think it may not be. Sorting out all the unneeded words and leaving only the important ones.
“Bob keeps saying that I just have to keep letting go of the dreams that don’t work so that other dreams can take their place.”
Bob is right. I used to hate to admit when Craig was right, but eventually I realized that fighting it was only punishing myself because I was afraid to see a new realization that would cause change. Change still isn’t easy but listening to Craig makes the difficult paths significantly shorter.
I really don’t know if this was anything helpful to hear or not, I hope so because it is what I knew to say. All I know is that I wanted to help. And please forgive me for being so long winded, when I have something to say I can’t keep it short.
Rachel, I know how these low sorta slumps can be. I tend to run a manic-depressive / high-low cycle.
I’m a hiker and (when I can) try to be a bit of a climber. I think I’ll come from that direction with an analogy.
Climbing a mountain is about planning, compromise, and motivation. You plan a route and visualize what to do at each point, but always compromises and adjustments must be made while under way. Reaching the top brings a sense of accomplishment, but also often brings a sense of loss of purpose. I usually find myself thinking, “What now?”
I kind of see you as being at a “what now?” point.
I believe that we live our lives with a goal of self-realization. The decisions we make are almost always for the ultimate purpose of increased understanding of ourselves. Diagnosis may have connected so many of the dots that you have accumulated over your life that a clearer picture has developed and a good portion of that dream of self-discovery has suddenly been realized. Is it possible that for the first time, you are simply seeing yourself in a whole way? Maybe many of the choices that you made along the way have been made solely to get you to this point.
I know for myself, diagnosis was like a light-bulb being lit in the darkness. I had this huge unlit room where I collected odd bits of myself which were obviously not part of the “normal” world. So here I am, standing in this huge collection of things that I was unable to throw away. Things that I simply set aside and tried to hide from view. Now I’m looking around and know that I have to somehow integrate all this stuff into the model from which I constructed my life, knowing good and well that it doesn’t really fit. What now?
There is one great thing about being at a “what now” point. It is an unequaled vantage point. It is there that you can look around and find the next mountain to climb.
So I agree with Bob for the most part on this. It is with your new perspective that you can find dreams that you can strive for and sometimes fulfill. It is with new eyes that you can see a real path for yourself.
On people and them not wanting your energy for free. I deal with this sometimes myself. My observation has been that many people view aspies with instinctive distrust. We don’t make eye contact. We obviously think extensively sometimes before answering questions and we appear rehearsed when we answer quickly. Combine that with the world we live in. Most people are highly suspicious of an offer of something for nothing. Doesn’t fix anything but I offer it as just a thought.
Rachel, my heart aches for you. I can’t help but believe that it will get better. You are going through a lot and dealing with a lot of stuff right now. It might take awhile to slog through, but you’ll do it and come out on the other side feeling better for working through things and putting them to rest.
I too believe you will recover from this low point. My life has also been a disappointment- I graduated first in my college class, received a PhD from a major university, yet I am a mere teacher at a mediocre high school. I never had the family I wanted, and probably never will. But I try to count my blessings and soldier on. You have a beautiful child, a loving husband, and a really cool countercultural lifestyle in the country. And you are an eloquent writer developing an online community right here. In some ways, I envy you for all that. Maybe you should watch “Mr. Holland’s Opus” or “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Things tend to work out, albeit not in the way we planned.
I can deeply relate. But I must say, the free energy you spend here writing all of these things is more of a gift to those of us who can relate and those who wish to understand than you could even begin to imagine.
I’m positively overwhelmed by the love and support coming from everyone in response to this post and to the one before it. It’s amazing. I so wish that the whole world could read your responses. Then, they would understand how much care, emotion, empathy, and courage we have, instead of just looking at the outside and thinking that what they can see with their eyes is all that we are.
I’ve been reading all of your words, trying to absorb it all. It may take awhile. It’s such a gift to hear people say, “I’m not sure what to say” and then to hear them say it anyway, and to say things that are so deep and true.
In an email exchange today, I wrote something that I want to send out to all of you:
“I’ve been getting so much support and appreciation for writing my blog that I feel much better today. All I’ve ever wanted in life is to do something important, something of worth–not to be famous, but to have a positive impact on the lives of other people. Unfortunately, my early indoctrination into the idea that I was capable of anything made me think of helping people in a more formal, credentialed, mainstream way, and until this week, I hadn’t realized how much power that early training has had over my life. While my spiritual path is to simply do the work without the glory, I’m still detaching from those old voices and expectations.”
Finally, I’ve found a way to be of use–here, with all of you. And for that, I’m profoundly grateful.
I’d say you are a catalyst-an underappreciated role-for the good of many.
Know “social anxiety” is not your diagnosis-but I draw useful tidbits from all over the range of mental problems, to address my own myriad challenges.
These quotes appeal to my individual sensibility/filter/process-hope they don’t irritate/annoy/aggravate other readers. Am not saying you don’t know all this-merely that I find it helpful to remind myself of them. Applying (emotionally) the ideas one knows oh-so-well (intellectually) can be excruciating amount of effort (and often isn’t possible, no matter how hard one strains the brain).
From “Painfully Shy: How to overcome social anxiety and reclaim your life” by Barbara & Gregory Markway, 2001:
“…the more we yell at ourselves to ‘buck up’, ‘snap out of it’, or ‘get tough’, the more anxious we become.”
“Remember, acceptance doesn’t mean you’re giving up and not trying anymore. In contrast, it means you’re looking at yourself and your situation realistically.”
“…it’s much easier to work toward change if you’re not wasting energy criticizing yourself for your perceived flaws.”
“We need quiet, thoughtful people in the world” was an affirmation from the book-with which I could actually agree.
“It’s good to keep in mind that shyness and sensitivity are not necessarily ‘good’ or ‘bad’ traits, but ones that are valued differently depending upon where you live.”
Instead of saying this: “You’re shy”, try this: “You’re talkative with people you know well.”
Instead of: “Don’t be afraid”, try saying: “It takes a little while for you to feel comfortable with new people.”
Instead of: “You’re anxious”, try: “You’re cautious. You like to know what something is all about before you try it.”
* Those were suggestions for parents to say to their shy children-yet I find them fitting “reframings” for me (an adult).
“Before the surgery, I had become fairly immobilized with pain. I wasn’t able to see many clients (it hurt just to sit), and I couldn’t do much around the house. In addition, I had been doing some volunteer work, and now I was forced to say ‘no’ to any such requests. After the surgery, my recovery period was longer than I’d planned. I was limited in what I could do.
Because I’d always tended to judge myself by external standards, particularly by how much I’d achieved or accomplished, I had a lot of ‘adjusting’ to do. I questioned whether or not I had any value as a person since I wasn’t able to do anything ‘productive’. What good was I to anyone ?
Somehow, slowly, I began to realize that I could still do (or perhaps be) the things that truly mattered: I made Greg (her husband) smile, I read Jesse (her son) a book, I listened to a friend’s problems. I came to view myself differently. Before my back surgery. I sometimes made diminishing remarks about myself such as, ‘I’m too nice’ or ‘I’m boring’. Now I thought to myself, ‘Nice is good. Nice is something of value.’
I also lost some of my vanity regarding how I looked. I moved slowly and awkwardly after the surgery, but I didn’t care-at least I was moving. I carried a pillow so I could attend church more comfortably; that’s an idea I would’ve shunned before. I wore flat, sensible shoes, and I still do. It may sound trite, but I’ve found it’s true: Good things can come from life’s challenges.”
* Last couple lines of that do strike me as too optimistically neat & tidy, but I wanted to include the full anecdote.
Great stuff, Belfast! Thank you.
Rachel,
I don’t know if it helps, but you are so not alone. Sharing your story connects you to so many people. You are touching lives and helping others to work through the same issues that you are dealing with. Thank you for your honesty and bravery.
My son was diagnosed with AS about two years ago and after researching and learning about AS I wonder whether my husband has it too. Some of what you talked about here resonates deeply with me as I watch him (my husband) struggle in the world. You have helped me to see his struggle with more sympathy and understand his lack of socialization and friends.
As for the AS person who is close to you. I understand that your anxiety is very real and your pain has caused you to second guess whether it is a good idea to meet with her. But she may be feeling the same way and the fear of losing another relationship may cause you both to lose the opportunity at what could be a fantastic relationship.
From what I have read here you are wonderful! You express your concerns beautifully. I wish that we were closer together, I would love to get to know you and learn more about who you are AS and all!
Hi Danielle,
Thank you for your beautiful message and words of support. I hope that my blog will continue to help you understand both your husband and your son.
coming in a bit late here, was away for 2 weeks visiting family, a bit emotionally intense and AS did come up at one point, my mom is maybe AS like me and we have felt like aliens all our lives… also managed to say “sensory overload” and make the offspring understand I couldn’t stay in certain places for too long.
your words are resonating with me again. I was also told I could go far, be an academic or whatever, in fact a friend told me last week that I shhould go for a PhD. But I know the social side of academia and the “office politics” would do me in, big time. If it was purely about the pursuit of knowledge it would be a different matter, of course. but we all know it’s not.
at one time I wanted to go on the local speaker circuit. I now know that won’t happen either.
an alterntive practitioner I consulted about something else altogether (chronic pain issue, but she asked about emotional stuff too) said I could be “dynamite” if we fixed what’s holding me back…
all of this has made me feel like quite the failure over the years. now I begin to see that if I can accept my challenges/”limitations”, I can achieve within that framework and if it touches or reaches or help others, that is a blessing.
rambling a bit I;m afraid…
i’m not ready to start my own AS blog, but I am being so helped and comforted by your words and knowing I’m not the only one.
And I second what Danielle says in her first paragraph.
Once again, thank you
Hi misfit,
So glad to see you back! I can’t count the number of times people have told me things like “You’d be dynamite if we could only fix whatever-it-is…” I’m starting to feel, once again, the liberating nature of *not* needing to fix anything about myself. I’ve put in my time on that. Now I try to just do what I feel most called to do.