November 18, 2023 Change Your Mind…

…change your life.

I once mentioned this aphorism to my Ex in the 90s while he was driving me to the airport. I was in the midst of yet another attempt to fix my life, and began to talk about how this concept could really help me. Instead of engaging in that discussion, he immediately attacked me over the whole idea, going so far as to conjure up this scenario: “How could this help a woman eating out of a dumpster?” His face was pure granite, his countenance disdainful. I was stunned, yet tried again. That turned out to be a hopeless exercise. So, I dropped it; we rode in silence after that.

Now, this idea has value for me once again. My mind needs changing on a lot of things: what I can reasonably expect from myself, from others, and from life. The concepts of forgiveness and acceptance are also impacted by what position my mind takes on these matters.

I have, indeed, changed my mind about “forgiveness” and “acceptance.” A somewhat rancorous email exchange with my son did that. He has identified as being Jewish, which is fine by me; however, his initial email about this asked me to “accept all of who he was.” I was unhappy with this request, as he seemed to purposely exclude his heritage from me. It felt as though he was more enticed by his father’s great grandfather’s horse rustling than by my ancestor Ethan Allen (after whom he is named), the leader of the Green Mountain Boys, an important component of the American Revolution.

Anyway, in an email dated November 6th, he expounded on his belief that my being “fine” with his identification was somehow less than my “accepting” it. My response took but little research. I found, from Psychology Today, that “The biggest misunderstanding about acceptance is that it means that we’re OK ["fine" and "OK" are synonyms] with the thing we’re accepting, that we’ve somehow gotten comfortable and on board with this situation we don’t want. Reality:Acceptance does not require that we’re OK with what we’re accepting. It does not imply that we now want what we don’t want. It does not include feeling good or peaceful about what we’re accepting. It does not mean we now agree with it.”

Every therapist that I have ever had has pushed the “forgiveness” thing and seemed, to me at least, to equate “forgiveness” with “acceptance.” I have tried to forgive myself my failings, past and present, but with no success. Now, thanks to this email exchange, I find that I am coming closer to accepting myself, and to recognizing my failings without rancor. I am trying to accept that my children would rather have nothing to do with me. I’m definitely not OK with it, but I will, eventually, accept it.

For too many years, I had repeatedly apologized to both of them. I was asking for forgiveness, I suppose, which of course they could not grant. Now I see that I should have been asking for “acceptance.” And they will either accept me as the fault-ridden person that I am, or not. It’s their choice.

I accepted my parents, and even had a difficult discussion with my father about the physical abuse I had suffered at his hand. He wrote me, and said he admired the "courage" I displayed when I confronted him. My mother would not discuss the past with me at all. My dad, upon getting his cancer diagnosis, which included a 5 year expiration date that had its fruition, chose to finally tell me that he loved me. How awesome is that? After reciving her own terminal diagnosis, my mother did not make an extra effort to say she loved me, and on her death-bed kept to her old habit of pushing me away with one hand as she hugged me with the other.

I wonder if my children will ever accept me for who I am, as my “occasional son” has. I have gone so far as to slap G across his face for a racist remark, yet still he regards me with affection. Or self-interest: he has now told me what he wants for Christmas, as I him. Either way, he not only accepts me, but has adopted me as his “occasional mom.” If I ever get my financial house in order, perhaps I will take him to Korea with me, which is the last dream of my life.

I should also look back and try to re-set my memories based on where my mind will be if I manage to change it to focus in a more dispassionate way, compared to where it was when those memories were made, and more importantly, remembered. Such a comparison may yield fruit in the form of a truth that is nearer to the reality of what actually happened.

I have a refrigerator magnet that says: “Don’t believe everything you think.” My on-going inner monologue is extremely negative. I need to change my mind about that and not believe what my mind has said to me for decades. For years, whenever I have internally said, “I hate myself,” I have countered with “Don’t hate yourself; other people will do that for you.” Perhaps as I gradually accept myself, this refrain will stop repeating in my head.

The other constantly repeating thought I have is that “I hate my life.” And I do. I am financially ruined, although only from my upper-middle class perspective. The only way out is to sell nearly 1/3 of my farm, which will happen next week, and I am already treating my IRA as a checking account. “Oh, well,” as my mom used to say. The land that I will have left after I sell the cropland, my “lottery ticket,” requires the most upkeep. I cannot afford that any more. Without the upkeep, living here will be unsatisfactory. I will ride my trails and bemoan the fact that they are not what they should be. What then? Leave my beloved farm, or not? I must change my mind about how I regard my new circumstances here, or decide that a better option would be to move away.

Setting aside the issue of where I should live, what do I want my life to be? With what elements should it be comprised? At the moment, no idea. This will take a lot of thought, and perhaps a change of mind, to decide that which is most important to me now.

There is one thing that I can likely never change my mind about: I need boxes. Ballet had very rigid boxes, but I found freedom within them. Modern dance, having almost no boxes, was much harder for me.

Adopting the life trajectory of my parents, there were boxes which you tick off as milestones are completed. I recall my father saying, “All I have to do now is die.” Perhaps this further cemented the idea that all of life is a list which upon which you “check off” what you have accomplished.

So, Elementary school, check. Junior high, check. High school, check. College, check.

At that point, I was out of boxes. I was lost without a new box, but now I wonder about what my choices would have been if I had been able to change my mind about what it was I could, or should, do. So, I went for the easy box: law school, check. Marriage, check. Job, check. Buy a house, check. Have children, check.

Be betrayed by my husband, check. As my marriage dragged on, I actually anticipated that box. So, divorce, check. Sell the city house, check. Move to the farm, check.

For some time before the betrayal, I felt as though I was sinking. Afterwards, I sunk out of sight. I could not change my mind about how I felt. Perhaps changing your mind about emotions cannot be done, but I must at least try.

So, breakdown, check. Suicide attempt, check.

I finally pulled myself together just enough to sell the city house and move to the country. My mind was in sync with the situation, and there was no need to change it, except in one particular: I became obsessed with revenge. It ate me up inside. There, I really needed to change my mind, but it was all about emotion.

Is growing old the penultimate box? Not growing older, but old, with all the infirmities that implies. I have grown older, and perhaps old, after my year-long mistreatment of myself. Here is an area upon which I must change my mind: not on the aging per se, but on how I continue to treat myself and that which I love.