Ginger M. Sullivan's Blog, page 7

Gravy for Parents

The alarm blared at 5 AM. My body, more than my mind, resisted the start of a new day. How I wanted to ignore reality and slip back into my down-covered dreamworld.

But the disciplined part of me wouldn’t allow such. Instead, as has become the habit of most folks, the first thing I did was reach over and pick up my phone. The one laying next to me that has sadly become an extension of my left arm.

Apple’s finest told me I had two new text messages. Who texted me in the middle of the night? I wondered. This can’t be good.

It was my young adult son. The one living out West on his own. The one I adopted. The one with the curly red hair and more personality than is fair to the rest of us. The one with more special needs than fits on any school, camp or athletic form. The one that first stole my mama-heart and kept it permanently.

What does he want this time? my tired, cynical self asked. Money? The Netflix password that I swear he shares with half of Utah? A one-way ticket home? To tell me that I was going to be a grandmother? I knew it had to be something. It is always something.

As I braced for the worst, (we moms of special needs kids have a unique kind of PTSD), my eyes surprised my heart. Shining from the screen were words we parents long to hear yet learn to never expect.

“Hey, I was talking to my girlfriend about my childhood. I wanted to say thank you for being an amazing mother. I couldn’t ask for anything better. You worked so hard for everything you gave me, and I appreciate it so much. I love you.”

I was stunned and should have gone back to sleep. Anything else in my day would pale by comparison.

Because, you parents know, or need I be the one to break it to you, that appreciation from your children is gravy. We take on the job of parenting as a choice. We sign-up for a one-way relationship whereby our role as giver demands 24/7/365. I hit the gravy train yesterday morning. Best savor that moment because it might be a long time before that engine passes by again.

Parenting is like marriage in that way. Nobody dare tell you how goddamned hard it is, or the human race would come to a screeching halt.

Wanted: Cook, Driver, Therapist, Emotional Container, Coach, Banker, Mentor, Teacher, Breast, Comedian, Playmate – all rolled into one. Must always be on-call. This is a volunteer position. Can be isolating. You will receive no immediate feedback except perhaps criticism from those you care for. Success will be determined by some unforeseen long-term outcome. Warning: this job will bring out the worst parts of you. All those unaddressed issues from childhood that you thought you mastered or buried or worst yet, didn’t even know you had.

Yep. No one is signing up for that position. The world would quickly revert to mere dinosaurs.

And yet, 353,000 babies are born each day around the world. (Did someone not warn these people?) We sign on anyway. We love anyway. We invest our time, money, sleep, bodies, hearts and souls anyway. Because we wouldn’t not love another generation into taking our place. Life is too grand to hoard. We must share its delight.

Yesterday at 5 AM, I had a moment of bliss. Mind you, I can’t erase the memories from hell. Hospitals. Police. Calls on repeat from the school principal. Days and years of keeping my head down and doing the next right thing with whatever capacity I could muster at the time. No thank yous. No progress reports.No clue how all this would turn out -if it would turn out at all.

Yet, I would do it all over again. I would love up my boy all over again. I truly won the parenting lottery. I love you more, my beautiful Aidan.

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What is Your Best Relational Move?

I know it’s not romantic. We so long for love to be organic. We don’t want to admit that we need know-how and skills to take love into the long haul. 

But, spoiler alert: love requires strategy. 

We need to think before we act. We must intentionally be relational in our daily moves if we want love to not only last, but to thrive.

Tip: Ask yourself, “what is my best relational move right now?” 

Probably not to storm out, when a moderated statement of needing space would work better. 

Probably not to seep resentment from an unresolved and unrepaired rupture from yesterday, when a request to talk and be heard would do the relationship wonders. 

Probably not to get defensive, when a simple slice of humble pie would heal rather than hurt.

Step it up, friends. I get that adulting is difficult, but we can’t expect our love lives to remain in fairyland. They aren’t going to last without your doing the hard stuff of taking care of them.

What is your best relational move right now?

For the rise of your life …

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Gratitude in White

Snow blankets the Washington DC area. It is one of those picture-perfect mornings when the world forces a stop to the usual.

“Look at me!” she shouts delightfully in white cottony flakes. As if we could ignore her extravagant display. As if winter would pass without her crown jewel stealing an act or two. 

But, sun or snow, the dogs gotta go. My warm and curmudgeonly self had put off their walk as long as possible. (Parenting requires so much damn responsibility.) So, I found some wool socks and dug out my dusty snow boots for the season’s virginal use. 

“Here we go,” I said aloud, uncertain as to whom I was convincing … the dogs or myself?

Upon opening the back door, the black lab does an Olympic-sized dive into the 6-inch layer of snow that covered the porch. She then hesitates, as if ignoring the wise ole’ saying “look before you leap.” We always have wondered if she is developmentally-challenged.

The pug, on the other hand, has more brains than beauty. She refused to budge. “I’m not going out there,” she said with her locked-down legs. Bad for her that she’s light enough to pick up. Good for me that I get to pretend control.

Off we went. Making tracks with our feet. Contaminating Mother Nature’s perfectly groomed canvas. 

As the dogs tried to figure out how to do their business without a hint of grass in sight, the white surrounds drew my attention to my insides. I noticed a shift in mood. My inner child wanted my attention. 

“What fun!” she murmured, thinking of the few yet memorable snows of my youth. The two-inch southern ones that closed school and drove panicked shoppers into battle over that last loaf of bread, carton of milk and roll of toilet paper. As if their literal life might end without the equivalent of prison essentials.

As I commanded the dogs, “Poop … poop … poop,” my reverie continued and before long, my inner life of feelings joined our winter walk. I no longer cared if or when the dogs went potty. 

Love came for my younger brother who ran over a four-foot pine tree on his wooden sled while my other older brother and I laughed… 

Joy came for my dad who was foolish enough to drag a sled of us kids behind his red Volkswagen Beatle… 

Satisfaction came as I recalled the recipe for snow cream, knowing that we enjoyed the unsanitary concoction and, devilishly, somehow lived to tell… 

Sadness came as I thought of my own young children who would screech delight at a snow day only to find that last year’s winter gear no longer fit… 

As the dogs pulled me back to the warm house, I snapped back to the present. Yet, I was aware of a change in heart. I went out cold, numb, distracted and resentful but I was headed back in grateful and full. I was now connected. Both to nature’s white world outside and to my colorful world inside. I knew it was going to be a good day.

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Holding Both the Good and the Bad

You could feel the tension in the room. The unprocessed negative emotion, like a trough of hardening concrete, sat between them on my green couch. As they both looked at me with pleading and desperate eyes to “fix this,” she gently put her hand on his leg. I slowed to speak, wanting her courageous gesture to sink in. Anything I might say would not have been as helpful – and beautiful – as her action.

What did this woman do, perhaps unbeknownst to even her? 

She held the good within the bad. She bravely and rightly refused to throw the baby out with the bathwater. She knew her relationship was in trouble – in that moment. She knew she was hurt and angry – in that moment. She knew that the conflict needed to be addressed, that her kind gesture would not resolve the pain. And, she also knew that she loved him and that she was committed to spending the rest of her life trying to love him deeper and better. 

Thus, she chose to hold the good in the bad. The love in the pain. The connective tissue despite the momentary rupture.

And, that takes maturity, skill and the ability to self-soothe and hold the long view. Because, it’s just feelings. A normal phase of intimate relating. No need to indulge the feelings to the point that I scorch the earth by turning my partner into my enemy. Rather, better to eat that slice of humble pie and reach out as to maintain the good within the not-so-good.

Embrace your complexity today. A blend of color makes for a more beautiful palette of paint. Know that you can have more than one feeling at a time. For, life is intricate and needs a wider berth of expression than the stark limitation of black and white.

For the rise of your life …

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There is No Cure

There is no cure. No magic pill. No easy way. 

How, our inner five-year-old wishes this were different. She or he wants to have cake and eat it too. Literally. And right now, mind you. After all, we deserve this, right? We believe – and justify – that the bricks we walk should be golden and the path simple. 

Rather, life is continuous …at least, until, it is over. If we want to accomplish something, anything, it’s a daily decision on repeat. 

A healthy body. 
An extraordinary relationship. 
A well-adjusted child. 
The pinnacle of my profession. 
A bountiful summer garden. 
The mastery of craft. 

There is no cure. There is no finish line. 

Sure, you can stop. Rest. Bask in your laurels. Pat yourself on the back. But, camp instead of build. For, there is more work to do and letting up too long will lead to that inevitable backslide. One cookie becomes the box. One skipped workout becomes a week’s worth. One turning away from your partner becomes a wall. 

There is no cure. I am sorry to be the one to remind you of this. I do wish I had better news. 

So, stop wishing it were different. Grieve that fairy-tale life you thought you were going to get. The one “they” promised and you deemed owed to you. Instead, garner the next best thing – your choices today. Because, your ability to make one after another is a magic all in itself.

For the rise of your life …

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House Afire

I admit I am not the best cook. It’s a skill I never mastered. Even if I follow a recipe exactly, it never looks like the picture nor tastes as the superior adjectives in the description tells me it should. Then, there is the bonus of the smoke alarm. I can’t make chocolate chip pancakes for my kids without that damn thing blaring. The modern one in my new house goes beyond the ear-piercing hoo-ha. It actually talks to me – “F-I-R-E,” it jangles in the most monotone, moderated Siri-like voice. As if I don’t know what the fuck it is. 

“Shut-up!” I retort, stooping to having a realistic dialogue with technology. I know I can’t cook. I don’t need some loud shame-filled reminder.

So, I grab a chair. Wave a rag. Open windows. Turn on a fan. Rip out the batteries. Anything to just get the noise to stop. 

And, that obnoxious fanfare might be saving my life. After all, it is only doing its job. Telling me that there might be a fire in my house. That me and my family need to get out. And, we all know that when I’m in the kitchen, a deadly fire is a real possibility.

Emotions are that way too. They are there to serve the purpose of getting our attention before the whole house goes up in smoke. Something is not right in our personal house and we need to stop, notice and fix it. 

But often, like a real smoke detector, we just want the thing to shut-up. Stop feeling. Ignore the noise. Go away. I’m not listening. There isn’t an actual fire in the house – so we tell ourselves. Leave me alone, we say to our pesky emotions. You are a nuisance. Be quiet and go away.

And, feelings are just doing their job. They are not broken but rather, they are functioning perfectly. Serving a purpose as to share information of our full aliveness. If we ignore them, the fire will grow. They will get as big as they need to in order to grab our attention and they will not disappear until the issue is extinguished. Because, somewhere in us,a fire is burning and ignoring its presence could be fatal. 

So, embrace your feelings as your ally. Keep the batteries updated. Stop and listen when they talk to you. Better a false alarm than scorched earth. Commit to being a wise owner of your one beautiful mansion. 

For the rise of your life …

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Not-So-Unconditional Love

Here I go again, raining on your parade. But I guess better to hear from me than from someone more important to you …

Unconditional love between partners does not exist. 

Because, accountability counts. It is possible to erode love, whether slowly or quickly, with disrespectful, unloving behaviors. 

The only unconditional love that is available is from parent to child. “Accept me” makes sense in the developing world of a child in the context of a hierarchical familial relationship. 

After that, we are thrown into the world and our behaviors will dictate how loved we are. Which, of course, does not mean I am not unlovable. If someone sticks around with generous understanding, they have an opportunity to understand my story and feel genuine compassion and warmth. But my bad behavior might prevent this from happening and the sad takeaway might be that I feel unlovable.

Better to get rid of the false fantasy, the romantic notion of unconditional love, and replace it with … 

Love me enough for who I am – the totality of my humanity – all my good and all my not-so-good – WHILE loving me enough to encourage me to keep growing into the best version of me. In other words, compassionate understanding plus accountability.

That sounds like a winning recipe. Or, at least the best one we got.

For the rise of your life …

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Go Around Again

Many of you know that I ran track in high school. The mile run was my specialty. That’s four laps around for you sports novices. After the many logged hours of pre-race training, all that was needed was a strategy as to pace and take over and then the sheer will to give it all you had and then some. It was a masochistic hypnotic juggernaut.

Sounds like marriage. Or, at least my high school track days came to mind last night as I was sitting with a couple.
“But I’ve already tried that,” the husband said with resentment and resignation after I offered a possible relational move that might get him what he told me he wanted.
“Well,” I said, as neutrally as I could muster. “You can go around again, or you can hang up the towel.”

I then went on to explain that when you contract for partnership (i.e., marriage), you are signing up to do laps for the rest of your life. You revisit the same issues repeatedly. Hopefully, if we are smart enough, we will learn from the last go around. We assess what went right and not-so-right. We then tweak in order to do differently and expectantly, do better. Then, off we go. Another lap around the marital track.

I’m not sure he liked my metaphor or my encouragement to try it again. His look told me that he’d rather find the bench or the locker room, the couch or the bar.

But we were there. And, I’m a pain-in-the-a**. And, he loves his wife. And, he was an intelligent, willing participant.

I went on to explain that when things don’t go as planned, he gets stuck in the hurt. As if his marriage is constructed as a one-lap event: the attempt at contact failed; ergo, the marriage is doomed.

“Nope. Get up.” I instructed. “Let’s learn and do it differently.”

And around the track we went again.

This time, I went with him. I offered some relational tools that might allow his turn toward his wife to be more connective and thus, effective. As you probably guessed, he did it. We ended the lap with a win-win-win. A win for him. A win for her. And a win for their relationship.

His face beamed.

Granted, my knees retired my running shoes decades ago. So now, my heart must do the running, racing for the prize of relational living.

Like my old days on the track, we must get used to going in circles. Embracing the imperfect repetitive journey. I just hope we are smart enough to make each lap count. That we learn and grow from the last trip so that the next round might be new and improved.

For the rise of your life …

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Long-Term Love

“How do we know when it is going to work?” she asked, the healing-hearted woman in a hurting couple.

“You don’t,” I said truthfully and painfully, so wishing I had a different answer. A better answer. A reassuring answer.

Because, it’s a daily decision to invest in a relationship. To decide that today, I am in. That I will pour something of me – my time, energy, love, feeling, action – into you and into us.

What will that look like tomorrow? I don’t know. What will that look like twenty years from now? I don’t know. No one knows because you don’t get to know the outcome. We are humans, not magicians. You can only write the story as you are living it in the middle chapters. You are limited in your power and knowledge of only committing to the process of being on the journey today, with the additional fragility that your partner must make that same daily decision.

No wonder this marriage thing is so complicated and often does not work. Because, long partnership is not made at the altar. It’s made in the daily moments of turning towards your partner, when the seduction (for oodles of reasons) is to turn away. Those accumulative micro-moments create longevity.

So, you can only know that it will “work” in hindsight. When you look back and see that yes, indeed … we made it.

So, stop focusing on knowing – as if you can soothe your anxiety that way. Focus on being. That’s the ticket to something somewhere.

For the rise of your life …

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Love is Permission

It’s been a hard time in America. I wish I could say surreal, but sadly, we are adapting to a new normal. Threats, bombs, killings, hate. And, there is no sign that it will stop anytime soon.

We gasp. We send our thoughts and prayers – whatever that means. Yet, we are buried under a perpetual tsunami of animus. Powerless to make a difference in the current tide of our culture. Thoughts and prayers seem to be the limit of imaginable effective change.

But, it’s not working, folks. It is not enough.

“Gun control!” scream the Blues.

“Mental health!” yell the Reds in retort.

“Violence to end violence!” says our current President.

Love in the form of permission, say I.

Because isn’t our country immense enough to hold all forms of humanity? Wasn’t our country founded on freedom of expression and desire for independence? Are our hearts so small and restricted that we can love only certain colors, sexualities, genders and religions? Can’t our emotional worlds go beyond fear to curiosity, understanding, tolerance and dare I say, celebration?

This is my world. On Friday, in rainy DC traffic, I drove to one airport to pick-up my daughter’s best friend from camp (who happens to be French) so that the girls can have a weekend of teenage delight. I dropped them home to giggles and hot pizza. I then headed north, still in the deluge, to Washington’s other airport to pick-up my African family who are residing in our home for a month. My other “adopted” daughter, with her elderly mother and baby daughter in tow, had been to Disneyland for the week. They hugged me bigly as I welcomed them back home. A full house. The United Nations. All sleeping under my roof. Eight diverse humans, two dogs, and one snake. It is my normal.

As a group psychotherapist, I offer patients a second-chance family. Ones that give the message of “come as you are.” There is no wrong way to be. You bring what you got because you got it for a reason. It may not be working for you anymore, but we start where we are. Because, the group – our family – is big enough. Our hearts are open enough. There is room for all. With permission and openness, expansion is now possible. Because tolerance and compassion provide the calm necessary for growth.

What does it cost you to love more? Last I checked, love, is not a limited resource. I don’t have to agree with you. I can even disagree with you. But, I can make room for allowance and maybe on a good day, for understanding. Because our country is big enough. The heart can stretch wide enough. Sharing with you does not take away from me because I have more than I need. And love is our superpower.

We stop hate when we stop blaming others and take a harsh look at ourselves.

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