Election Day 2012

           Today is the long awaited day—at least by people who have paid attention to Elections 2012.  I count myself as one of those people.  I have blogged a little about it, specifically about the notion of having a Mormon President of the United States.  I have read and listened much. This morning I voted, and must admit that, feeling a little philosophical as to the implications of what I was doing, I felt tears welling up.  I was a little surprised to feel that emotion, but then, I am all about feeling my emotions these days.

            Living in California, I am keenly aware of being LDS, and how I am regarded differently.  I know I am different.  I am keenly aware that my religious forefathers were persecuted, imprisoned, and even murdered for their beliefs, being ignored by the government that should have protected them.  The sweet irony is that there is a distinct possibility that a Mormon—one of my people-- might be elected to lead that government and to become the most powerful person in my country and indeed in the world.

            Whether or not the reader votes or doesn’t vote for Mitt Romney, I would propose that this man is the embodiment of a “good” man.  I would propose that this good man has been married to the same woman for over 40 years, and while longevity in marriage is not necessarily an indicator of marital bliss, having listened to him talk about her and her talk about him, there can be little doubt that their relationship remains sweet.  When I watch them talk to one another, I see the sparkle in their eyes that belies their profound feelings for each other.

            This good man has raised five sons to be responsible, civic, and religious citizens, no small accomplishment in the 21^st Century.  He has spent hundreds, if not thousands of hours serving those around him as an ecclesiastical leader.  As a former leader myself, I am very aware of the caring and love involved as you counsel with folks who struggle physically, emotionally, and spiritually, for no pay.  Because he has been blessed with wealth which came to him as a result of using God-given talents, he has donated truly significant amounts of money to the Church and toward its humanitarian purposes.

            He loves and very much respects his parents.  He appreciates their challenges and the challenges of grandparents and beyond.  Even though Mitt was born into wealth, he, like so many, was raised by parents who knew the value of money and hard work.  He has attempted to instill these important values in his children, knowing of the importance of such values.

There is no doubt in my mind that he loves this country and cares deeply about its future.  Like me, he believes that the United States is an exceptional country, founded by men who were inspired and raised up for that very purpose.  It perhaps would have been easy for him to sit back and enjoy his wealth and let others steer the ship, but he cares so deeply about my country that he has put himself in the fray—to battle for the freedom, liberty and other values that made this country great.

So today I voted for this good man.  I realize I have a deep connection with him.  He is everything good my religious belief system embodies.  On an even more intimate level, he is me, and on some level, I am him.  …So my tears are welling up again….  

A Daughter's Work on Shame

For those who have recently read my blog, you will remember a post about my desire to investigate my shame.  That work continues.  Also, many of you who know me will know that I have a hard time believing in coincidences.  To find out that my #2 daughter Emily is presently on her own journey of investigating her shame, just as my #1 son BJ (Robert) is presently on his journey to addiction recovery, IS NO COINCIDENCE!  

Just as I decided to include my son's thoughts about addiction, I feel impressed to likewise include Emily's recent blogpost about her "awakening" to the shame that has governed her life.  It made me feel privileged to have her as a daughter (I am grateful for all of my children) and for her vulnerability to share her struggles with the world. I hope this can in some way be of benefit to you. 

Emily's Awakening: Part 1

    As many of you know, I am not one to shy away from talking about my struggles with anxiety and depression. I’m always glad to talk to someone who has dealt with similar issues, so I figure it’s helpful to others, not just therapeutic to me, to share my experiences. I also think society as a whole needs to suck it up and start being comfortable dealing with mental and emotional health issues, just like it is with medical issues. We shouldn’t feel embarrassed to acknowledge that we struggle with anxiety any more than we should feel ashamed to tell others we have high blood pressure. Privacy I can understand. But shame, never.

    Over the course of my adult life, I’ve sought help through psychotherapy a number of times. I started in college, my freshman year, when I was having a really hard time making the transition. I also sought help on my mission, when I was in Texas, waiting for my visa to allow me to go to Venezuela (which never happened but that’s another story.) The anxiety was so bad, that it was all I could do to put one foot in front of each other as we’d walk the streets near UNT. It took me six months and a transfer to Florida (and the subsequent sunshine and friendlier folk) to feel slightly normal again. The commonality of these and other events in my life that caused me to seek professional help is that they all brought on anxiety and depression.

    If you’ve ever experienced either, and maybe you didn’t even know that’s what it was, you’ll know what I’m talking about: The feeling of nameless but impending doom; The tightening of the chest; The aching pain of nausea in your stomach; The numbness; The feeling of walking through water; the despair. The complete and total despair—that no one understands; that God has abandoned you; that you’ll never feel good again; that you are going insane.

    In my time in therapy, I’ve figured out that a lot of my anxiety comes from an irrational, though deeply rooted fear that I am not worthy of love. Or, to put it another way, I am not a good ______ and therefore not worthy of love. So all my life I’ve tried to be a good daughter, a good student, a good missionary, and now, a good mother.

    So now, here I am, the mother of four under four, and my life is filled with stress. And I get angry. Very angry. All the time. In fact, it was only recently in therapy that I figured out that the anger is almost constant because I am almost always anxious. It’s not the crippling anxiety I felt on my mission; it’s not anxiety attacks that come and go; it’s more of a baseline anxiety that simmers just below the surface and boils over anytime I get provoked. And living with toddlers is, in case you didn’t know, very provoking. So I lose my temper, I do something I regret, and then fall into the pit of shame and despair over how terrible a mother I am. One time, it got so bad that I had to put all the kids in their beds, for their own protection, and then had to talk myself out of taking the pile of sleeping pills I held in my hand. (Google helped. You can’t kill yourself with 12 sleeping pills. You can only make yourself violently ill.) At any rate, that’s the depth of the pit of shame and despair.

    Several weeks ago, when I was telling my therapist about this incident, I was saying something like, “I used to be such a good mother! With Elizabeth, I was such a good mother! Now I’m a monster!” followed by a lot of sobbing. But then I stopped as I thought about what I’d just said. Wait a minute. I was a good mother? That sounds … actually … really prideful. And that’s when it hit me. I wasn’t a good mother when it was just me and Elizabeth. I was just a mother with more time and more resources. Now that I have the triplets, I am still a mother, but with less time and less resources. OH. MY. GOSH. You mean, all my accomplishments, all the things in my life that make me feel like I’m so awesome … THEY DON’T MAKE ME A “GOOD” PERSON!??!?! I just am!?!??!?!?!? I. JUST. AM! It’s ironic, but it took me looking at all my successes, not my failures, to realize that they do NOT define me! Think about it. I graduated from college with honors. Does that make me a “good” person? NO! It means I made good choices, yes. But it doesn’t increase my worth in any way. I lost my temper and yelled at my daughter. Does that make me a “bad” mom? NO! It means I made a bad choice, yes. But it doesn’t have to throw me into the pit of shame and despair, because, it doesn’t take away from my self-worth!

    Another way of looking at it is through the Atonement—the sacrifice Jesus Christ made for us. God loves us—every last sinner of us—and his love doesn’t depend on how “good” or “bad” we are. He loves us. Period. End of sentence. And by falling into the pit of shame and despair, I was only telling myself, “You are BAD. You can NEVER change. You are not worthy of God’s love.” What the WHAT?! That’s not true! That’s a LIE! Jesus gave his life and suffered for our bad mistakes—our sins—so that we can change and improve and so we’ll have the chance to make our actions match the incredible worth we ALREADY HAVE.

    Sitting in the therapy session, figuring all this out, I felt a physical weight lifted off my shoulders. And it didn’t end there. When I got home and I, once again, got angry and lost my temper, I didn’t fall into The Pit. I took a step back, saw my mistake for what it was—something wrong I did, not something bad I was—and could move forward from there. Incredible.

    This, my friends, was an awakening. It has set me free.