WISE TO BE W.I.S.E.?

Why do women squabble and quibble?  Do men do this?  If we are dabbling in stereotypes anyway, I suppose men do have their career hierarchies, muscle mass, and penis size issues to deal with.  But, being a woman, I think I have a pretty good view from the front on a lifetime of tits (haha) for tats that females seem to bandy about.  And we all have our Egos which, poor things!, just insist on having their way.

So, over the weekend I was at a party when a woman from my church, maybe 10 years my junior, and whom I admire for many reasons, said she needed to talk to me about something.  That "something" was the name of the women's group I've facilitated for over 4 years.

We call ourselves the W.I.S.E. Gathering -- Women Investigating, Supporting, and Exploring.  It's a group formed to give voice and visibility to women over 60.  So yeah, we card at the door; gotta be 60.  We love welcoming those into our midst who have "come of an age" to join in.  Initially we got some guff for what some called our practice of age discrimination (there were numerous other all-ages women's groups and gatherings, just sayin'), but that criticism has largely passed, I think.  Yet now I was hearing this:  It's really the name of the group that is the rub.  "If you are the WISE women does that make us (younger women) the "dummy" women?"

My initial thoughts, upon hearing this were along these lines:  "Hmmm…no, of course not!  Hmmm…I feel bad about this.  Hmmm...this is pissing me off.  Hmmm….interesting that I am being triggered by this feedback.  Hmmmm…what the hell?!?"

I was determined not to be defensive, to breathe, breathe, breathe, and keep listening.  The name, it was suggested, should be something like "Silver Sages".  (Uh-huh, not too keen on using stereotypical physical characteristics as an identifier, but maybe that's just me.)  The rationale she shared is that wisdom can be gained at any age, but you have to be old to be sage.  My take?  Semantics.

But I have been pondering this ever since.  I am sort of amazed that some women in my congregation are annoyed by our group because of a word, one that in traditional cultures is an honorific used to denote an age and stage of life.  I agree, age does not automatically confer wisdom.   I know some batshit crazy and very unwise women of all ages.  

Yet…having lived a long time means having (usually) gathered the experiences and perspectives that seem to even out the psychological volatility and emotional vulnerability of a more youthful age.  It seems to focus one in a way that was not possible when younger.  There is time to reflect, to see the end times not that far away, to wrestle with the urgency of life and to do the work and feel the joy that commands our immediate attention.  But this time of inner exploration can often force us into a state of marginalization by our culture (and our friends and families.)  There is a drive to "keep busy" so we can still feel vital and be seen as such.

So what jazzed me about starting this group was to keep us more than "busy" with kitchen duties and social event organization and book club facilitations -- all incredibly noble and worthy pursuits, but not at all the complete picture.  I was starting to see a "kindliness" veneer slapped over the fire I knew was still smoldering.  I wanted to make a place where we could shout out our anger, pain, sadness, and JOY at living fully, completely, and meaningfully as Elders.  I wanted to create a place where the word "elder" didn't get mistaken for "elderLY".

At our first meeting 4-1/2 years ago I expected maybe 5-6 curious women to show up.  The small room overflowed with 24 women -- and we have averaged about 18 for each session since.  Struck a nerve, apparently.  Filled a need, apparently.  We did a little consciousness-raising exercise that first afternoon.  I asked women to shout out cultural stereotypes of aging women.  The list we came up with consisted of 24 negative characteristics and 8 positives.  After meeting together monthly for 8 months, raising consciousness, rejecting society's biases, and forming a sisterhood of women sharing passions, activism,  hopes, and dreams, we looked at the stereotype exercise again.  By our last gathering of that first year we had accumulated 81 positives against 39 negatives!

And to me that was what this is about:  remembering who we are.  Or maybe for the first time affirming who we are.  At 63 I am among the youngest in our group.  That means that most are a good deal older than those who take exception to our name.  It seems there is never an end to discrimination against women, both overt and covert, but for most of the women in our group they came of age at a time when women were denied so much in so many ways it's almost comical to think of it (if it wasn't so sad.)

I became an adult in the early 70's -- a time that swept me up in women's liberation activism and created opportunities that were unheard of for women 10 years my senior at the same age -- and not even recognizable to women 10 and more years younger, who reaped some of those benefits.  (I will never forget a woman in her early 30's who publicly thanked me and my age cohorts for the work we did that allowed her to take so much for granted in her own life -- to play sports, go into a non-traditionally female career, to own her own home.)

Reading Mark Nepo's "Finding Inner Courage" this morning, I ran across his reference to psychologist Erik Erikson and his work on identifying psychological stages of development.  The task of old age (he says 65 and over) is to "find meaning in the whole of one's life in the face of one's immanent death, and the good outcome (of this search) is expressed in the virtue 'wisdom'."  We are doing this work together in W.I.S.E. and I hope I don't sound defensive when I say that whatever wisdom we have come by, those of us born before 1954, was hard won and ours to embrace in a name that affirms.

And I know well that all of us, regardless of age and regardless of what name we give to our gathering spaces, need a place to come together to do the work of our distinct ages and stages of development-- honoring, supporting, and cheering each other on wherever we are.  Maiden, Mother, Crone, or Wise Woman, Sage, Elder…we're all in this together.  Let's get on with it.

At least, that's the view from here…. ©

LOOKIN' FOR FUN...AND FEELIN' GRUMPY

It is the time of year when I can't believe I've lived in the Pacific Northwest for 31 years and not gone mad.

It is June-uary Eve (almost) and the hints at summer that we had in early May have been drowned out by the seemingly nearly non-stop rains of the past couple of weeks.  Oh, it is amazingly green and the rhodies are putting on a show of color that is breathtaking.  And everything is growing crazy fast (grass, weeds, vines...)  But it is WET.  And chilly (60-degrees on a warm day).  It's still sweater and socks weather...as it usually is in June.  When it is SUMMER everywhere else!  This makes me nuts.

Son-Two just got back from a long weekend with his cousins at their sunny Sedona home.  He posted many photos on Facebook of them partying on their patio, floating in their pool...  Maybe that made me colder and grumpier.

Also I have a sports injury.  Hub and I went on a 4-mile "urban nature walk" last Friday.  My plantar fasciitis flare-up necessitated getting some supportive insoles for my shoes, so I stuck them in my hiking boots, thinking I was being oh so conscientious about caring for my feet.  The insoles took up too much space and I ended up with nickel-sized blisters on the TIPS of both of my big toes!  Finally, on Monday, Hub lanced them to relieve the pressure.  So, now they are bandaged and so sore I can barely tolerate socks, let alone shoes.

The news is also overwhelming me.  Wars and rumors of wars.  Chemical fertilizers poisoning our food supply.  Violent weather patterns causing enormous tornadoes, hurricanes, droughts.  People shooting each other with stunning regularity. Short-sighted, anti-intellectual, ideologue politicians blocking any attempt at progressive legislation.  Child abuse -- some asshate put his infant daughter in the freezer because she wouldn't stop crying, then he fell asleep!  (She was found by her mother an hour later, cold, but alive).  I could go on and on.  It's too much to take in sometimes.

This is a bummer post.  But my promise is to be honest.  And honestly, sometimes grousing for a minute helps.

We used to do an exercise in my women's group called "Poor me!"where we named every frustration, irritation, and bad thing in our lives, large and small, and after each, said, "Poor me!"  Sometimes tears would flow as we acknowledged a truly rough patch of life; sometimes after a bit of "poor-me'ing", laughter would erupt as we realized it was all pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things.  I guess this is a "poor me" kind of morning.

So, now I'm gonna plug in some Magical Strings, read a bit of Billy Collins, sip a cup of Madagascar Vanilla Rooibos, and look forward to lunch with friends.  Poor, poor pitiful me!

At least that's the view from here....©

I AM WOMAN, WATCH ME CRY

I have done "personal growth" work with great intention for 14 years, since embarking on a particular path of experiential learning which takes place in various weekend "trainings".  In the several I've done, they each in their own way send one essentially on a journey into the dark night of the soul (in a safe and supportive atmosphere), then usher one back again, renewed and awakened in a new way.  This is not as scary and "woo-woo" as it may sound.  But it is intense and it is amazing--  and amazingly loving.

"Personal growth work",  for me and others like me, is to face with great fortitude the inner demons, psychological shadows, and psychic barriers to living a life of unfolding self-awareness, emotional strength, and intimate connection.  It's a journey for sure, and  I figure I'll be on this path right up to the ultimate personal growth moment of heading for that proverbial white light in the distance.

So, anyway, about the crying...one of things I've learned is that tears are normal and essential to healing.  Tears of grief, joy, confusion, anger... it's all good.  But, wow, are we uncomfortable around people who cry!   And many of us are uncomfortable being criers as well.

Here are two examples from my own life, recently, but typical of what I observe over and over.  A few weeks ago, I attended a workshop where people stood to speak, mostly to express thanks.  Occasionally someone would be moved to tears and apologize for it.  They were obviously embarrassed, and expressed,  "I will try not to cry" or "I'm sorry I'm crying".  What's up with that?  What could be more beautiful than a heart so full of love and gratitude that tears spring forth?

The other thing which happens all the time is for those observing someone crying to try to comfort them.  I see this with women especially, who can barely contain the care-taking urge, and leap right in at the first hint of a misty eye with an arm about the shoulder and a tissue offered.

Well, consider this question:  Who's uncomfortable?  The woman crying or the woman observing it?  Is it her own discomfort with that emotion making the "helper" want to stop it?  Because when you proffer that Kleenex you are saying, in essence, "Oh, dear.  Here, let me help you clean up that tear-stained, snotty face and help you pull yourself together."  Or when you offer an arm about the shoulder you are saying, in essence, "You need me to support you; this is obviously not something you can do alone."

I don't think these are conscious thoughts.  The conscious thought is more likely, "Poor thing. Let me help, comfort, make better."  It's a compassionate impulse, yet one of 'power over' sometimes, which often creates even greater embarrassment for the woman experiencing the emotion.  Now she gets to feel slightly childlike and pathetic too, so she quickly tries to shut it all down to save others from discomfort.

I suggest it is just as compassionate to allow a woman to stand in her own power.  To allow her to own her own feelings, no matter how painful.  To honor her 'work' by allowing her tears to fall when they come (they do come for a reason -- to serve a deep emotional need), and to set aside one's own discomfort while compassionately observing another's painful (or maybe even joyful!) moment.

In my women's circle we have a norm, after all these many years largely unspoken:  "I'll ask for what I want."  The Kleenex box is within reach; I can get to it myself if I need a tissue.  I can choke out "I need support" if I want a woman to sit close and put her arm around me.  Or, I can choose to stay in whatever emotional distress I need to, sobbing and snotting it out to completion while my sisters hold me in their strong embrace of silent witness.

I'm just offering this perspective as an alternative to jumping in with the sympathetic urge to comfort.  I can cry and still be strong.  I can ask for what I want.  I am woman, watch me cry, and if that makes you squirm, well, that's about you, not me.

At least, that's the view from here...©


Interested in this type of work? I've experienced both of these and more:
http://www.womanwithin.org/#!wwtw/c13ub
http://www.womeninpowerprogram.com/description.html

SCHEDULING SANITY

I use "old school" month-at-a-glance calendars; have for years.  And I keep the old ones in a file drawer.  They are a "diary" of sorts of the "busyness" of my life.  (The only one I've lost track of in the 25 years I've kept them is the one which documented the milestones of Son-Two's first year of life...I was sleep-deprived, a bit depressed part of the time, and completely overwhelmed by a 2 year old and a newborn...so losing that calendar, while a little tragic in terms of documentation, is also understandable). 

What I notice, when I glance through them on occasion, is that for most of those years I scheduled myself crazy.  Literally, perhaps, since in 1996 there were weekly "therapist" entries for several months.  I remember the depression, the overwhelming feelings of worthlessness, the near constant crying. Well, not constant exactly, because I apparently still led workshops, volunteered in my kids' classrooms, sat on committees all over town, helped oversee a major remodel on our home, helped my mother move from Illinois to Washington after my dad died...little things interspersed between counseling sessions.

Just over a year ago, shortly after the new year of 2011,  I sat in front of the fireplace during a meeting of my women's group and burned a replica of my calendar.  I had just had a very significant "wake up call".

(**NOTE: My women's group meets twice a month to focus on "personal work" -- meaning we meet to offer support and challenge to each other on our life's paths.  What makes us think, feel, and do what we think, feel, and do?  Does it serve us to stay stuck in a certain pattern?  If not, how can we break free?  How can we help shift the paradigm that no longer serves us?)

I had just been facilitated by one of the Sue's in a process of looking at my absolutely crazy-making pattern of over-committing and over-scheduling my life.  At one point, I was challenged to let go of some of the things I was involved in.  I agreed wholeheartedly, then when further challenged to name which things would go, I  began to negotiate and rationalize why I had to hang onto most of the things on my "to do" list of commitments.   Suddenly it struck me....I was like an addict; powerless over my calendar and my inner need to be needed, feel important, feel productive, and like my life had meaning beyond just "being".  I was all about "doing" to be of worth.

Why?  Maybe because when I was a child, children were to be "seen and not heard".  I felt invisible and ignored when I was "good" and I was never "bad"...that was a job for my brothers, who were perhaps braver than I in rebelling at the age appropriate time.  So as an adult, I lived my "goodness" to the extreme -- maybe for the notice and recognition and respect I'd always craved.  (There...that's what "personal work" looks like -- although it takes longer and is much messier.)

I realized in a sudden flash of recognition that I had to "burn my calendar", clear the dates, and start over.  Nothing scheduled.  Blank space.  How did that feel?  Was I of less worth?  Did my life have less meaning?  Could I still be seen, accepted, and appreciated if I didn't fill my time with do-gooder duties?  Scary stuff.  

Since then, and now retired from my job, I've completely reorganized my time and how I "spend" it.  Instead of retirement freeing me up to do more, I've decided to do even less.  I have a handful of activities and commitments that are meaningful to me.  And I have a lot of blank dates on my calendar.   I occasionally have a concern that this new slower pace falls stereotypically into the "getting older", "less energy" category.  But it really doesn't feel that way to me at all.  It just feels like I am finally taking responsibility for pacing my life in a way that feels full, satisfying, and not crazy-making busy.  It feels like I'm living now how I wish I had ALWAYS lived, regardless of age.  I'm finally just happy being...even if I'm not always doing.

At least, that's the view from here...©

**Interested in more info on "personal work" and a life-changing experience?  Check this out: http://www.ww-wc.org/woman-within-weekend