Lousy or Luscious, They Are Your Lessons

Posted on May 15, 2012 by Iris Arenson-Fuller

Your Lessons From Life-Lousy or Luscious

(Photo by Petr Kratochvil, Public Domain)

Many of us believe we have come to a point when we want to be done with our schooling, even though I do have friends who have made careers out of being professional students. We would love to be able to graduate from the school of painful lessons, and to reap the rewards of our long years of labor. In case you haven’t noticed, life never stops teaching us. The more we open up and use our learning in ways to benefit ourselves and those around us, the more depth and richness we find in our lives.

In my own life, I have had many roles and studied many scripts, sometimes hoping for insights and sometimes wishing to hide from them. Who I am now is a composite of all of my past experiences and the learning I have amassed. Now that I have acquired some seasoning and maturity from life lessons, I understand that each of the happenings and even the pain that brought me to the place I am today has served me in some unexpected way. I am no different than the rest of you when, on certain mornings I awaken and discover a new ache, a stiff back, or find a new wrinkle I was certain did not exist when I retired to bed the night before. For the most part, though, I am learning how to appreciate what life has been teaching me, even when the lessons are physical, and I am now intent on aging with as much grace and wisdom as I possibly can. (I just checked the calendar and since my birthday is rapidly approaching, do I have a choice?)

Some of the roles in which I have immersed myself (and I still have some of these) are, writer, CEO, adoption social worker, life coach, adoptive and biological mother, grandmother, wife, widow, wife again, lover, daughter, sister, friend, colleague, feminist, activist, champion of many causes, student, girlfriend, mentor, advice columnist, editor, reporter, nursery school teacher, intake worker, salesgirl, camp counselor, babysitter and probably many more I can’t remember at this moment. I am finally beginning to appreciate how each of these has given me something important, though I did not always see it at the time. Some roles I may have once assumed with reluctance, I now remember with fondness, nostalgia and greater understanding. Others hold little or no interest for me nowadays, but once served a purpose and helped propel my life to where it is now.

How many roles have you had in your life? Can you take some time to remember them and to think about ways in which they have added depth and flavor to the wonderful being you have finally become? Can you envision how the lessons you have learned, the skills, insights and experience acquired thus far may actually serve you incredibly throughout the remainder of your life? How many more lessons are you open to? What kind of mastery over these lessons will you achieve?

Are you yet living the purpose for which you feel you were designed? Did you just happen to fall into your current life or job? If you find yourself doing something that is not deeply satisfying and doesn’t feel quite right to you, or that used to feel positive, but no longer calls up the passion it once did, what are you willing to do about it and when? What are the steps, choices and special experiences that led up to living the life you have at this time? Can you retrace your steps and influences and use that knowledge to help you move in a new and exciting direction? Would you do things differently if you could do them all again? Are you willing to learn some new “dance steps” and to emerge from your comfort zone right now in order to find your purpose and to bring changes to how you make your way in the world

How about telling us about the unique ingredients that blended to season the stew that you are now? Can you share your life lessons and how they are all coming together in this moment to produce the changes you desire, and to help you find the purpose you were destined to find? Think about sharing them here with us on this blog, either in a comment form, or as a guest post. Write to me and let me know if you would like to do that. Or maybe you would like to share them on Facebook in response to this post?

How will the wonderful old you merge with the incredible new you? Can you replay the movie that was your past and truly appreciate every scene and every word in the screenplay? Did you miss key elements when you were moving through the experiences that are now memories? What are your takeaways when you think about these experiences?

Andrew E. Kaufman whose piece appeared in the Chicken Soup For the Soul series, The Cancer Book, by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen and David Tabatsky, says, “My world began shifting toward a more universal consciousness. In life, there are no bad experiences, only lessons. It’s easy to get caught up in a crisis, but if you’re only watching the ball, then you’re missing the game. Shifting your focus beyond the obvious is the real game and I was somehow learning how to play”.

I can’t guarantee that the next script waiting for you won’t be the greatest challenge of your life, but it may be the one that showcases you and “brings down the house” in a good way. When I reach my final act I want to take some bows knowing that I may get wild applause, or none at all, but I don’t think I care. I may receive mixed reviews, but once the house has emptied and I am alone looking in the mirror, I hope I can smile and feel good and know that it was all very much worth it!

Lunch With the Chicken Women From the Dementia Floor

Posted on May 3, 2012 by Iris Arenson-Fuller

Portrait of older women by Manner Chuck JH News, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service
This image: Portrait of older women is one of free public domain pictures / images, (copyright free – safe images / photographs)

Before you begin reading, please indulge me for a moment! I like to make my poetry accessible. There are many people who believe they don’t enjoy poetry, or it is “too difficult” for them to understand. Poetry deals with the human condition. Even when we don’t get everything a poet might be saying, there are always things we can extract and take away if we immerse ourselves not only in the words, but if we allow ourselves to feel. To some readers, this poem may seem depressing. To others, it will feel hopeful and real. I hope it touches something in everyone who takes the time to read it. I really love to have comments, so don’t be afraid to write what you feel. Also, please do pass this on to others.

If you like what you read here, do go back and view some other posts dealing with my areas of interest and the areas in which my coaching practice specializes. Better yet, subscribe (upper right side of the blog) and receive notification of new posts directly in your email, so you won’t miss any.

Lunch With the Chicken Women From the Dementia Floor

-By Iris Arenson-Fuller

You might mistake her napkin for a painting,
propped up on the easel of her chest,
once ample, now sad, deflated udders
showcasing a jackson pollock drip painting,
spots and streaks of color, vegetable-beef brown,
carrot-colored splotches, tomato-bright shapes.
we take turns spooning soup into her mouth.
between swallows, she mutters how she wants to die.

Suddenly she brightens, blue eyes peering out
into the land where she lives, but always shocked
to hear she lives there, and has for nearly two years.
moments of clarity help focus enough to recognize
a brown leather chair across the room, a stout helper
with an unusually large rear (she shouts this observation
and seems to enjoy her own comment).
once again, we are introduced to the crew, shake hands,
decline half-eaten grape popsicles.

When we arrive we are treated to a symphony.
her piercing shrieks of delight make us
tighten muscles, a natural shield to protect our hearts.
today we hear the story of lunch with the chicken women
(her favorite is chicken) at a local eatery,
-the once a month trip in the van, often forgotten
within moments of arrival home.
the chicken women strut past us,
one with a blue sock and a brown one,
one wringing hands, despairing over
a lost car she does not own,
one propelling a wheelchair with her feet
like a fred flintstone cartoon car.

The elevator door stares while we visit.
when the privileged enter the secret code
its door opens, a wide, inviting mouth
ready to rescue and spirit us away to safety,
to familiar places where we are still in charge,
still know our own faces in the mirror,
still remember the lessons learned in youth,
still taste them now with the seasoning of maturity.
holding hands, we descend, recite the same words.
a joint whispered prayer, an oral last will and testament,
“please, just shoot us if we get that way”.
we walk to the car, eager to be home
in our safe, but fragile world.

We are Baby Boomers, trailblazers, iconoclasts,
acid rock generation kids with disintegrating mini-skirts
and broken guitar strings we’re reluctant to discard,
all tissue papered quietly in an attic of memories.
now grandparents with arthritic knees,
we tell ourselves our fates will be different.
we joke about future demands for nursing home rooms
with piped in Hendrix music and daily deliveries
of underground newspapers.

We think we can stave it off by going to the gym,
reading self-help books, by chasing dreams
around fields of flowers, running to catch them
till we are short of breath, pretending
not to notice as we float through our days
in bubbles of illusions, but that’s ok
because we know how it takes just one pop
and this moment is done, a puddle of nothing
a small, wet stain on the driveway,
so we force ourselves to stay in the bubble moment.

I don’t really fear the place I will drop into
when I fall off the edge of tomorrow.
I often travel to places that scare me.
I have no travel agent to keep me from
ending up in bad hotels with bedbugs
(like that one in Mumbai).
I just close my eyes and go where I need to
though sometimes my hands and legs shake,
my body feels too small for my heart.

Let the whiskers grow one day, if they must,
let my teeth decide to finally finish their chewing,
let my heart write more of its wild, erratic music
that may keep me dizzy and forever stuck on the couch.
I have stories still stored in my bones
that must be told while I can feel them,
so please let them not dribble sloppily
from the corners of my mouth like watery soup,
making no sense to anyone brave enough to listen.
I need to be me, however imperfect but please
not some chicken woman riding in a van
on the way home to the dementia floor.

tags: aging, dementia, Baby Boomers, fear of aging, living in the moment, facing life, facing death, aging hippies

On the 8th Day of Passover

Posted on April 14, 2012 by Iris Arenson-Fuller

Passover has always been a meaningful and beloved holiday for me .Not only is it the Jewish Festival of Freedom, commemorating the escape of the enslaved Jews from bondage in Egypt, but it is a symbol of man’s search for freedom and an ongoing promise that freedom is possible. Those of the Jewish faith are commanded to not only retell the Passover story of the Exodus, but to experience it as though they had personally been slaves in Egypt, escaped from bondage and experienced the miracles that led them out of slavery and into freedom. The story fascinated me as a child, but really touched me as an adult and as a member of an interracial family. I have always believed in the message that “until all men are free, no man is free” and that oppression is unacceptable, no matter of whom, or where it occurs.

In addition to the lessons taught and remembered, the holiday was precious to me because it was a special family holiday. We had our seders on the first two nights of Passover, at my maternal grandparents’ apartment in Boro Park, Brooklyn. The table and decor were not lavish or inspired by anyone like Martha Stuart. Sometimes the dishes were mismatched, depending on how many were attending. There was a chipped enamel pitcher to hold the wine needed for the service. There was the Cup of Elijah, but it wasn’t a beautiful crystal goblet, or one of silver, as I later found at the homes of hosts whose seders I attended over the years. The side table in the living room that normally held many old photographs, was fitted with its leaves and covered with a fancy tablecloth. The arm chairs and couch were moved into the adjacent bedroom, but the folding doors were left open. My cousins and I would climb in and out of the chairs, lined up from the front of the bedroom to the back and would pretend we were on a train. Then we were called to the table to begin the reading of the Passover story, the saying of the prayers and singing of the songs. My family dog, Laddie, was leashed to the leg of the old-fashioned kitchen sink, so as not to get underfoot during the serving of the meal after the first half of the service was done.

My grandmother, mother and older sister, Carol, bustled in and out of the kitchen, carrying bowls of steaming chicken soup with matzoh balls and other savory dishes. My grandfather playfully made “matzoh (unleavened bread) cigars” for the children. When he intoned the prayers and retold the Passover story in Hebrew, he would glance at the children to see if we were keeping up with his reading. If we were, he would smile at us, showing his pride. Children were permitted a couple of sips of wine, only at this time of year. The youngest child in attendance (often myself) would ask the Four Questions, beginning with our family’s customary introduction in Yiddish, but then breaking into Hebrew,singing it in the old Askenaszic melody. Occasionally the children would be asked to read a passage in English to ensure that everyone understood what was being spoken of, but mostly everything was in Hebrew. There were (as in most families) periodic interruptions when someone told an anecdote or made a comment, but everyone was quickly brought back on track by my grandfather, who was a soft-spoken and gentle man, but to whom this was all very important and serious business. I.loved to open the door for the Prophet Elijah and rushed back into the living room to see if the wine in the fifth cup at the table’s center, never consumed by the guests and reserved only for Elijah, had diminished. Of course, it always seemed to and I was caught up in what felt like magic and miracles when I was very young,

Now most of those family members are gone. There are still cousins but they are spread out in location. When my kids were young I tried to make a seder and did the best I could, cooking, preparing and conducting it, but it never felt the same to me. I did my best but not all of them were interested, and it often made me sad because my seders were nothing like those I remembered from my youth. Occasionally I would get an invitation to someone’s seder. Sometimes my family and I attended a community seder put on by one group or another. This year, though, I found myself with no place to go, feeling sad and nostalgic. My husband and kids had other commitments and Passover doesn’t seem to have the same meaning to them that it does to me. They are adults and imposing it on them is not comfortable or appropriate to me. I thought about attending a community seder on my own, but decided against it. Instead, over the week,I Iistened to the old Passover melodies that I have on tapes and CD’s, and spent some time immersed in memories, some sad and some happy.

My cousins who are observant (I am not) told me of their hard work in readying for the holiday. I remember my mother being exhausted from it all. I remember helping her unpack the special dishes and utensils and things we used only during the week of Passover. I ate matzoh this week and some other traditional Passover snacks and foods and soon, the 8th and final day of the holiday (today) was here.

Next year I will be good to myself and will plan well in advance what to do and where to go. I realized that I don’t do this because I am the only one now in my immediate family to whom this is a special and important holiday. Religious folk would lay blame and say it is my fault for not having raised my kids in this way, but that’s just the way it is.

Yesterday, I read my friend Ruth Deming’s blog. Ruth is a therapist, director of New Directions Support Group of Greater Philadelphia, and an accomplished writer/poet. She wrote a poem about Passovers past in her own family. I loved her poem and got her permission to post it here. Thanks much, Ruth! http://ruthzdeming.blogspot.com/

I hope you like the poem too. You don’t have to be Jewish to have such family memories and to relate to it. I would love to hear about holidays and family times that are strong in your memory and that you enjoyed. How about some comments?

PASSOVER PHANTASY

-By Ruth Z. Deming

she has stopped making seder.
mother eats alone, breaking the
matzoh in pieces. the table is bare.
the house silent but for the
often ferocious winds of
april that sound like
the children, and the white dog
who liked her sponge cake
and that black-haired husband
of hers who died, quite bald
from radiation, at fifty nine.

let’s bring them back.
back to this house, huge,
the lawn fertilized by juan
and his men, the kids in the
backyard playing duck duck goose
laughter spilling over to the
austins in the back who grew their
own tomatoes and whose cornstalks
reminded mom of the trip she took
to amish country as a girl.

with a whistle lynn brings us together
as we crowd around the long table
viewing ourselves in the mirror
daddy’s nose always looked crooked
my long black hair was parted on the wrong side
grape juice for the minors
manichewitz for the majors
aunt ethel arrives, her death will bring us
a fortune, my house, donna’s condo,
i sat in the largesse of her lap
and fondle her tiny red nailed fingers
her amber bracelet
her thin hair

little brother david reclines in his
chair, silent at age 10, he speaks with
his polaroid, the only way he can
view us while alive

my two mommies as i called them once
serve the feast after prayers and handwashing
and hiding of the afikomen
by now we are tired, the brisket and onions
only make me sleepier
i go up to my room for a little nap
and hear the sounds of my family downstairs

the unforgettable sounds amid the clatter of
dishes and putting into the dishwasher
the parade of the sparkling clean water
from the one-faucet sink
i hear them all, i hear the sounds,
i hear the laugher, even now, even now
alone in another room,
forty five years away
getting ready for bed.

Clearing You Out For A New Delight

Posted on April 14, 2012 by Iris Arenson-Fuller

The Guest House

-By Rumi

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

As an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

From Essential Rumi

by Coleman Barks

………………………………………………………………………….

We hear a lot about gratitude these days. We are told too, that being sensitive to what those in our lives do for us, and to what God or the Universe provide, will put us on a good path. Appreciation and gratitude are said to grow more positive feelings and happy occurrences for us. We are informed that when we practice kindness and do all we can to create an environment of peace, these things will multiply in our own lives too. I do believe all of this, but I know I have struggled at times to embrace such beliefs. I know others around me have these struggles too.

Now that spring is here (having arrived prematurely in these parts, but as welcomed as a tender new life placed for the first time into his eager parents’ waiting arms) quite a few people I know are hoping their moods will lift and their depression and despair will disappear with the shovels and snow blowers many of us kept handy, but didn’t get to use much this past winter. It certainly is a bit easier to be aware and appreciative of everything around us when the sun is warming our faces, when the flowers are peeking out, preparing to make a colorful debut that will delight our eyes and noses.

What about those of us, though, who are doing their very best to find delight, joy and peace in the things and people around them, for whom it just doesn’t flow into them with the ease it appears to for some?

I have no magic answers. I have no wisdom beyond what is trapped or buried within you, behind the rubble of your unhappiness. I know that as difficult as it feels, when we indulge ourselves by curling up into the hellish corners into which we have painted ourselves (or into which we feel that life has tried to push us) we must somehow fight our way out.

We must beat our breasts, scream out a war cry and tell the demons in our heads and the villains we feel are hovering around us, that we will not be defeated. It is time to declare war. The battles will not be easily won, or without cost, but if we don’t fight, we are finished before we have even begun.

This fragile moment in which we find ourselves is ours. If we turn our heads even for a second, stop to tie our shoelaces, become too engrossed in the tears that dampen our cheeks, the moment will pop or float away from us and there is no recapturing it. You know that and I know that, but we still waste the moments that are gifts to us.

Today the sun is bright. If we make a small opening where we can peek out from our psychological prisons, if we tip our faces up to the skies, we can be warmed. Better yet, if we set one small goal for this day and that is to get out into the fresh air and let the warmth and encouragement of the sun infuse our bodies and minds like the best medicine, we can catch and keep at least a few moments in which we feel good, warm and hopeful. Such moments have an odd way of multiplying when we allow them to happen, or even at times, when we don’t.

I have been lost too and have wandered in dark, frightening places from which I did not think I would emerge. They are not your dark places, so I can’t offer you an exact map to follow to help you navigate your way out, but I can assure you that no matter what, the sun returns. Regardless of how sharp and cutting the edges of life are for you, when you allow yourself to soften and take pleasure in one moment at a time, the rest of life will begin to soften as well.

If I had the power, I would measure, mix and create a preparation so that we might start fresh and be newly cleansed, eager and rejuvenated. I don’t need to though, because, when left to do what life does, what nature does, without our prodding and without our cynicism, that will happen on its own. Nothing stays the same, even when we want it to, and even when maybe we want to punish ourselves by staying in a place that feels terrible.

I wish for those who need such wishes, the vision and clarity to see the better moments that are hovering quietly in the fields, waiting to be noticed. I wish for you the voice to cry out your first battle cry, weak or strong, so that you fight for what is important to you. I wish for you the strength of arms and the spirit to grab onto the moments that are slipping away from you and wasting your gifts.

I wish for you, a small, guilt-free, quiet clearing in a sunny field somewhere, perhaps where some flowers are beginning to bloom. May you rest there and contemplate the lessons you have learned and the takeaways you have not previously been able to acknowledge, that will be strong tools for you now to use in the next days, months and years. I wish for you new delights, whether or not your own imagination is ready to consider them.

…………………………………………………………………………………

Stay tuned later today for my next post on the Passover holiday. Today is the last day of the 8 day Jewish holiday and I want to share some thoughts and a great poem by my friend, Ruth Deming.

Reigning in the Horsemen of the Apocalypse: is this a female or not?

Posted on February 29, 2012 by Iris Arenson-Fuller

Reblogged from Bernadette Steinmeyer:

Sharing my life with Apollo, a castrated Parson Russell terrier, I know all about defensiveness. Funny, cheerful and easy-going as he is, he can turn into a short-tempered piece of trouble if big dogs spend too much time sniffing his nether regions. This is because as a castrate, he gives off a confusing scent to non-neutered male dogs who tend to sniff him longer than usual trying to work out whether he’s female or not.

Have You Contracted a Case of VDODS This Valentine’s Day?

Posted on February 14, 2012 by Iris Arenson-Fuller

What the heck is VDODS? I can see you now, racing to get your Merck’s Manual so you can look up what you think is a mysterious ailment. Don’t run to the mirror to see if you are breaking out in a strange rash either. VDODS means Valentine’s Day Overdose and Dissatisfaction Syndrome.

Judging from things some friends and clients have shared in the past week, I think this syndrome may be spreading like the Noro Virus at a nursing home, or on a cruise ship.

How do you know if you have contracted VDODS? Have you been spending a lot of time searching the Internet for Anti-Valentine cards? Have you been secretly composing some not-so-nice messages you would love to give to your significant other, but don’t have the guts to express? Do you visit the local card shop, spend an hour there reading every card they have, only to find your stomach turning at the soupy, sentimental ones, getting irritated at the so-called funny ones, or the cards trying hard to be sexy, but missing the mark? Do these cards only emphasize to you what you see as the deficiencies in your own life? Do you compare yourself or your relationship, to something you have been sold, and somehow do you always find your own world not measuring up to your fantasies?

Even worse, do the sentimental ones or the would-be sexy ones make you start to cry because your communication with your significant other has reached an all-time low in recent times?

Perhaps a couple of weeks ago, as the first symptoms of this syndrome began to take hold, you told him or her to please just forget about Valentine’s Day this year because you’re just not in the mood. There are are too many stressful things happening in your lives right now, you’re trying to lose 10 lbs and don’t need the chocolates. Was the unspoken message, though, that you have some anger and some hurtful thoughts and feelings you have repressed for a while, that are festering and making you upset? You haven’t had the nerve to get them on the table, or maybe you have tried, and your partner either ignored you, minimized the problems, or invalidated you by telling you there’s nothing wrong and it’s all in your head.

As V Day approaches, you have gotten more and more agitated. What if he or she buys you a saccharine card, a box of chocolate truffles you don’t want, but will eat anyway, or a piece of jewelry? Should you have something prepared with which to gift your partner, just in case? If you do, though, will you feel dishonest and turn your hurt feelings and/or anger inward?

Maybe none of the above is relevant to you and your sweetie. Maybe it’s simply that you are disgusted with the cards you find at the store, and with the endless commercials on TV that tell you that your own marriage or love relationship falls short of the norm if you are not shoring it up with diamonds, or other costly trinkets!

What’s the treatment then? Do you take a good, old fashioned remedy to try quell the nausea and negative feelings that have been growing as V Day approaches? Do you sip ginger tea? Do you dose up on Pepto Bismol? Do you pretend you are just fine with everything? Do you sleep through February 14th and hope nobody notices you’re not at the dinner table? Do you make snide comments and cover things up with a topping of cynicism?

When I was checking out natural remedies for nausea, not quite certain yet where I was heading with this post, I ran across http://tlc.howstuffworks.com/family/home-remedies-for-nausea.htm/ I found this quote… ”Once you’ve identified the source of your discomfort, you’re on the path to a cure…”

My readers will not find it new for me to suggest spending some time (now, not later) looking inward and scheduling a truth conversation with yourself. Don’t take a pill and wait for it to make you feel better. VDODS may only be a precursor to some more serious ailments lurking and waiting for the right time to attack you and/or your relationship. If you have a lot of negative and unhappy thoughts and feelings that have been churning around within your head, they will find their way to other parts of your body, if they already haven’t and will make you sick.

Give yourself a real Valentine gift this year. Identify the source of your discomfort . If that means writing out what is bothering you about your relationship, this is a great time to do it. Can you let it pour out on paper? Once it is out there, look it over and decide if you are ready to pass your writings on, or if doing this is to help you clarify your own thoughts and feelings. Should you decide you want to bestow it on your significant other, make sure what you write doesn’t blame, being very careful to use “I language”, instead of ”You language”. How about starting with, “I love you and want to share some things I am hoping we can work on together because we care so much about each other”? This Valentine’s Day gift to yourself and to your partner will create more lasting effects than even the extra couple of pounds resulting from a date with a box of your favorite gourmet chocolates. If you settle for the chocolates, once the bon-bons are gone, the repressed or difficult feelings will still be there. If handled the right way, you can start a flow of honest communication that just might make this one of your more memorable Valentine holidays.

When Bad Things Happen to Uninsured Good People

Posted on February 13, 2012 by Iris Arenson-Fuller

By Iris Arenson-Fuller, CPC

This is unfortunately, a true story that I am telling as we approach in one month, the 30^th anniversary of a tragic, life-altering event for me and for my children. If you are a regular reader, or are someone who knows me personally, you may wonder if I have “sold out” when you see the link for ”life insurance” here. I can assure you that I have not, but want to relay to you something I learned the hard way.

When I was a kid, the life insurance salesman was a regular visitor to our house. I did not think of him as a salesman, but as a friend who was welcomed into our kitchen and served coffee and cake once a month on a Wednesday evening, when he came to collect the small premium due him. He joined the ranks of the Electrolux man, (who made periodic appearances though our Electrolux lasted half a lifetime without repair or replacement) the Egg Man, ( a neighbor down the street, and also the uncle of my schoolmate) and the doctor, who made house calls when necessary and was served coffee and cake too.

My parents believed in being prepared for the worst. They unfortunately also believed that the worst was likely to happen, so this probably motivated them to buy life insurance even in the days when extra money was pretty scarce. They considered it a necessity when you were raising children. By the time I came along unexpectedly, my parents had thought their child-rearing days were more done than beginning. I am guessing that they had purchased their life insurance policies years earlier and made payments of a few dollars a month.

When I grew up and left home, the sixties were in full bloom. I was often fiercely rebellious and iconoclastic. Though I loved my family, I tended to reject many things in which they believed, and by which they governed their lives. I hated routines and my mother had many. Monday was wash day, Tuesday, ironing day, Wednesday, for vacuuming and mopping floors, Thursday, for shopping, etc. They had lived their entire adult years in close proximity to both of my grandparents and saw once-a-week visits and frequent phone calls to their parents as an obligation that was unquestionable. I thought many of their values were “middle-classed” values that they had little or nothing to do with my own life.

Well…fast forward quite a few years…I was a young married mother. My husband and I were freshly relocated from San Francisco, to an uninspiring, cookie-cutter apartment in Connecticut where my husband had grown up. My long braids and “hippie” clothes, my handsome husband’s unruly Afro and our son’s longish Dutch Boy haircut, cute little jeans and work boots, all really stood out, as we played on the Green of our New England town. We had wanted to be back home, closer to family members in NY and CT. We were raising our young son and thinking about expanding our family by adoption. We had ambitious plans and suddenly found ourselves in a place where it seemed that the big event of the week was heading to the local discount chain store to buy kitchenware and beer right after the paycheck arrived. This just didn’t feel like us.

About a week after we moved in, a neighbor rang our doorbell and tried to sell us a life insurance policy. When we said we didn’t believe in life insurance, had no need for it and it was more for our parents’ generation, he admonished us and told us we were dead wrong. He said if we couldn’t afford a cash value policy we should purchase some inexpensive term insurance. He implied that by not doing so, we were somehow inferior as parents. We bade him goodbye and had a good laugh at that, since we thought of ourselves as very conscientious parents. Still we perceived of buying life insurance as something for “real grownups”, which we obviously didn’t quite consider ourselves, or for people who were just not “cool” and who worried too much about things.

Eventually we settled in, found a more compatible crowd and started to explore the very rich creative and inspiring community surrounding us in the Litchfield Hills. Our family began to grow, as we had planned.. We felt we had already tested our reproductive equipment and had a commitment to children who might not otherwise easily find loving families. We moved to a different community, but shortly after our move, my husband’s suspected diagnosis of multiple sclerosis was confirmed. We had three kids at the time, with the youngest only an infant, and plans to continue adopting several more children. My husband and I had decided to re-focus on continuing our educations and money was tight. We were stunned by the diagnosis, but determined not to allow it to control our whole world. We could not possibly have imagined how things would unfold.

Within a about a year of his diagnosis, it became clear that Kim was on a rapid progressive course of his disease. Not too long after that, following some teases with exacerbating and remitting symptoms, he began to go downhill till he was nearly paralyzed (tripalegic). By that time we had founded a licensed non-profit adoption agency (that I continued operating until the end of 2010). Kim became its first executive director, though he needed significant help on a regular basis with his activities of daily living. We still did our very best not to have his illness govern our entire lives, or detract us from our mission, but we were not always successful.

In March of 1982, on a day none of us will ever be able to forget, a fire in our dryer spread quickly and devastatingly through our home. Our older kids were in school and our then-four-year-old was watching Sesame Street. My first task was to get our little one out to safety.. I called the fire department and then attempted to rescue Kim, but was unable to. I was forced to leave without him. He died a short while after being rushed to the hospital. Our home did not burn down, but had severe damage and most of our personal belongings were gone. It was some time before we could really begin to pay attention to the “things” that were gone, of course.

Friends and the community rallied, and family members, as much as they were able. My own family had lost my brother, father and young nephew only a short while before this and my family wasn’t in close proximity. Many people had many questions for us, but the most frequent was, “Do you have enough life insurance?”. Naturally they were stunned to learn that other than the mortgage insurance the bank had (thankfully) required on our home, we had none. Fortunately, with perseverance and planning, I was able to figure out how to survive, raise my kids and eventually adopted a fourth as a single parent. I became a convert as far as my previously held beliefs about the purchase of life insurance.

What have I learned and what do I want to impart to you, the reader? I know this isn’t the typical message of my writing, but I feel it is an important one. No, we cannot prepare for every rainstorm or tsunami that comes our way. We can, however, take charge of the things we can control. When we experience tragedy and loss, it is hard enough to pick up the pieces and find the path to healing. When, in addition to grief, we have to face very real and raw survival issues and worry about whether our family will continue to have a roof over its head, clothing or food on the table, it is beyond painful. In coping with meeting just our basic needs, healing is often significantly delayed. Do look into life insurance, particularly if you have a young family!

I will paraphrase and change just a bit, the prologue to Pierre, one of my favorite children’s tales by the wonderful, Maurice Sendak.

“ Read this story, my friend,

for you’ll find at the end

that a suitable moral lies there….

PREPARE!”

Iris Arenson-Fuller, CPC is a Life Stage, Family, Relationship Changes Coach who helps people fly through the winds of change. She specializes in loss of all types, grief, sandwich generation and adoption issues of all kinds. http://www.coachirisblogs.com or http://www.coachiris.com

How to Win the Wrestling Match With Sad Memories and Emotional Triggers

Posted on February 8, 2012 by Iris Arenson-Fuller

This has been a week of difficult memories for me. Then again, those memories are always there, waiting to be triggered by something.

It is our choice whether we let our emotional triggers explode like a pyrotechnics display and overwhelm us. We can and do usually choose whether or not we allow ourselves to spiral into a state of mind that causes us feel to bad, depletes our energy, or even paralyzes and prevents us from functioning. These triggers can pop up in a second, with little warning and can ruin our day, or longer, if we permit it. The triggers could be a date, a photo, an event, something someone says, a song, a scent, a taste, or just about anything. In most cases, it takes just the right (or wrong) combination of triggers to set us off. When we are under extra stress, or when something is not in harmony in our lives, the triggers tend to pop up more often and more easily.

My triggers this week were being asked to write an article about some very sad times in my life and my children’s, and the fact that in about a month, the 30th anniversary of a terrible tragedy for our family will be upon us. Also, today would have been my much older brother’s birthday. He has been dead for over 34 years now. My younger son, who will turn 34 this month, has the middle name, Ramon, in my brother’s memory and honor. My brother’s name was Raymond.

I spent some time this morning staring at a photo in my living room, of my father, his brothers and my own brother. They are all dead now and as I stared, I felt the familiar overwhelm and longing for all of my deceased family members overtake me (and there are many, as happens with time). I felt the pages in my mind begin to turn and to go over the big keywords in our family’s history…”diabetes, heart attacks, amputations, kidney failure, drug addiction, multiple sclerosis, widows, orphaned kids, early deaths, etc” I felt the sunshine that was flooding the room only a few moments earlier, start to fade and as the tears flowed, there was a chill in the air. I sensed my body begin to grow leaden and tired. The energy I woke up with when I hadn’t realized that today was February 8th, drained away. The old, familiar emotions lined up, ready for battle and I watched as anger, sadness, grief, disappointment, hopelessness, fear took their positions, ready to maim me.

I let myself sit with the feelings for a few minutes on the muddy battlefield of my own mind. Never let it be said that I, personal life coach and poet, run away from feelings, or even refrain from wallowing in them sometimes. Then, as I stopped to identify what was happening to my body, I told my brain (in a big, loud voice) to cease and desist. I really say things like this aloud! I brought myself back to the present moment, by detaching from the feelings and focusing my awareness on my body.

“Breathe”, I told myself. “What do I want to feel in this moment?” It is a fact that we have positive emotional triggers, and not just negative ones. While I do sometimes long for a family that exists now only in my head and my heart, that family is about more than those negative keywords my triggers force to the surface. There is so much more to their story and to mine.

As I breathed, I made myself focus on substituting some more positive memories and keywords in my story and our family’s. Some of these words or tags are, “love, family loyalty, survivors, strength, humor, safety, compassion, pulling together, creativity, learning, literature, music, etc.” Thinking about these words slowed my breathing and triggered different thoughts and memories and soon I was smiling, feeling lighter and less sad.

It is important to realize that negative emotions generate more negative emotions. We can’t barricade ourselves from experiencing them, but we can build tools to shift ourselves into a healthier frame of mind (and body). Identifying some of our triggers is the first step to being able to handle things better. Some triggers take us by surprise, but over time, we begin to see patterns. We definitely can decide how we want to feel, whether or not we want to remain stuck in the past, or whether we want to claim our lives and live in the best way we know how.

By breathing and causing ourselves to relax, concentrating on what is happening within our bodies, we bring ourselves back into the present moment. By substituting positive words, thoughts and images for the unhappy ones, we are helping ourselves to move on, and taking the power away from the negative.

PLEASE DO COMMENT ON THIS POST & SHARE ON TWITTER, FACEBOOK AND STUMBLEUPON IF YOU LIKE IT.

***WATCH FOR MY PERSONAL STORY IN A FEW DAYS. I HOPE YOU WILL LEARN SOMETHING FROM IT. IT’S NOT AN EASY STORY FOR ME TO TELL.

Guilt Has Feathers Too

Posted on February 3, 2012 by Iris Arenson-Fuller

Photo by Steve Linster -<a href="http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=6741&picture=peacock-feather">Peacock Feather</a> by Steve Linster

Guilt Has Feathers Too

-Iris Arenson-Fuller – Feb 2012

Guilt has feathers too
that open at the touch of a button.
even buttons you forgot you had,
definitely pre-wired.
we can see the feathers opening,
slowly spreading dark colors,
spilled ink soaking into our souls.

These are not the iridescent feathers
of the peacock, screaming out glory
or nobility, but it depends on which
ethnic foods you eat and who sits
at the table when you wipe off
your greasy fingers and belch.

Those admirers in Harrybrooke Park
who visited, put down their blankets,
focused eyes on the busy blonde boy
pulling his corn-rowed sister in a wagon,
sweet laughter that we seldom hear now,
they only knew the peacock feathers
of the Hindu goddess Lakshmi, so what they
perceived then was just brilliant feathers unfurling
ocean colors of kindness and good luck,

I watch now in a mirror, both gift and curse.
I think my stylist needs me to see
how the back of my head is still there,
not flattened out or bald from the ravages
of life’s teasing and too many unkind years.
I don’t want the spray of guilt that mists the heart,
guilt that you and I share, wrapped up tightly
in genomes, sometimes like cruel gnomes.

Any Buddhist can tell you that peacock feathers
are steeped in meaning and life is always offering
its teas of renewal or drinks of defeat
that you may choose from a tea chest.
maybe you were blinded by your own colors
when you spread your tail seeking admiration.
you had .a steady diet of poisonous plants,
like your friend, the peacock, but now you must claim
your ability to survive even in the face of suffering.

For you, I would sew more eyes on the peacock’s feathers,
make you watch the heavens cleave to pour wisdom
like a balm for your deep, invisible wounds.
I would rip out the fear, the feathers of vanity and guilt,
perform a transplant, fill your skin with golden feathers.
I would watch you fan them out, heart again uncluttered
as you let the light carry you back to the brilliance,
to the blues and greens that once sat happily on your canvas..

Are You Shivering In the Winds of Change?

Posted on January 29, 2012 by Iris Arenson-Fuller

: NASA Photo

Put on a sweater right now and let’s take a look and see if any of this applies to you.

Are you afraid of newness and stuck in the old? Would you like to figure out how to face life and how to grow beyond grief and guilt?

It doesn’t really matter if you thrive on regular changes and find them motivating and inspiring, if you fear them and crouch in the corner, hoping to avoid them, or if you are somewhere in-between. Change is
a regular part of life. Nothing stays the same.

Once we accept that we can’t control what happens outside of ourselves very much, and relax into change, allowing ourselves to be open to the future, there is a whole world of discoveries out there for us.

Do you find yourself stuck in the past, in what was, instead of what is, or what could be (the potential in you and in life)? It is helpful to remember the past when it comes to happy feelings and events. This just fuels your joy in the present and gives you hope for the future. The trick is to enjoy the memories, but not to compare what you had before with what you have now, or to carry with you a yardstick that causes everything new to pale in comparison to the old.

Sometimes when we are stuck in grief, though, we have difficulty tuning in to our positive memories. They may hurt too much. One day you will be able to see that the joys you experienced in the past are actually the building blocks that teach you how to fully appreciate new happiness and gifts in life. Part of being able to move on, feel pleasure and have hope again, requires facing your grief, taming it like a lion tamer and letting it rest in a less prominent place in your life. It will be there, sleeping in the back of the cage, or perhaps waiting quietly on its perch, ready to pounce when you are unprepared and not expecting it. This lion is a part of you now, not always visible when you look in the mirror, but a shadow behind you. You have a choice about whether to let it pounce on you all the time and to maim and impair your present and your future. You have a choice about how much you allow the shadow to darken your attitude and your ability to live in the moment.

When unhappy past events or behaviors that brought us mainly guilt, sadness and turmoil are the things that we keep on revisiting and can’t let go of, this tends to create more misery and destructive behavior. By repeatedly revisiting them we are training our brains to return to that groove and to click and spin in vain. Our minds cannot easily bypass the rut or groove, to enable us to hear the music that is beyond that rut or defect. Dwelling on the unhappiness of the past causes us to physically revisit the pain, as well. Our bodies react with unhealthy and often painful and debilitating stress responses, depending on where we hold stress in our bodies. We tend then to leap from one negative thought to another at that point, perpetuating or own stress.

It is true that you may at times feel that your personal suffering will never end. Your fears may grip you to the point that you are paralyzed to act and therefore, you tie yourself to the familiar, even when it makes you unhappy and does not work for you. Your guilt over something you have or have not done in the past may eat away at you like acid. You may not permit yourself to take any risks, whether emotional ones, business risks or any other kind.

When we experience loss, regardless of the type of loss, or guilt that takes us over, our sense of self can become so shaky that doing new things and making different choices than we have in the past becomes a herculean task., This may actually be a time when changing some things about our lives becomes crucial and necessary, regardless of what we have lived through. Martha Beck says, “Any transition serious enough to alter your definition of self will require not just small adjustments in your way of living and thinking but a full-on metamorphosis.”

Once you accept that change is inevitable and begin to work on yourself, rather than worrying about uncontrollable external forces, life will begin to take on a different shape for you. The ability to navigate your inner world helps you through your travels in the outer world. Once you open your heart and your mind to the reality that everything in life is impermanent, but that everything also renews itself in nature, relaxing into change becomes more natural.

“Old friends pass away, new friends appear. It is just like the days. An old day passes, a new day arrives. The important thing is to make it meaningful: a meaningful friend – or a meaningful day.”-The Dalai Lama

Some Things to Remember.:

You are more resilient than you give yourself credit for being. You have weathered change before.

Try hard to recall the stories in your life that have shown this to be true. If you can’t do it easily, ask a trusted friend or two to help you search your memory, and to give input.

Stop being a victim

Claim your personal power now. Get help if you need to. There is power in your wisdom and in your kind actions towards others.

Find the opportunity in every obstacle that presents itself. Do all you can to create your own opportunities, if they don’t automatically present themselves.

Life is full of opportunities and positive things, and not just trauma and tragedy.

Nobody can be sad, unhappy, anxious or fearful 100% of the time, no matter what has occurred in your life, or what you think looms ahead.

Pay attention to the times you feel good, no matter how infrequent. Note how your voice sounds, look in the mirror and witness your smile, as unfamiliar as it may be & stop dwelling on the times you feel miserable.

Don’t discount clichés. You only have to eat the elephant one bite at a time, and if you bite off more than you can handle, there are remedies for indigestion! You might feel crummy for a bit, but it will pass.

Sometmes it is true that changes happen swiftly, and with cruelty. In those cases, you need to gather all the supports in your personal community that you can, and to employ whatever tools are available to you. There is nothing to be ashamed of in getting and using help. When one thing doesn’t work, it’s time to try another.

Most changes, though, involve choices and you can take baby steps, test the waters, wade out a little deeper and keep going!

Iris Arenson-Fuller, CPC is a Life Stage, Family, Relationship Changes Coach who helps clients going through, or anticipating big changes. Iris helps clients navigate and fly through the winds of change. She has particular expertise in the areas of loss and grief, aging, sandwich generation/caretaking issues and in all aspects of loss, grief, growth and success related to members of the Adoption Community.

If you like this post, please re-post it and please do make a comment below. Thank you!

VISION POWERED COACHING VISITORS CENTER

Coach Iris' Blog: Articles, poetry and tidbits by Certified Coach/Writer, Iris Arenson-Fuller. I am a Life Stage, Family, Relationship Changes Coach who helps people fly more easily through the winds of change

Category Archives: COACHING ARTICLES (Insights & Learning)

Lousy or Luscious, They Are Your Lessons

Lunch With the Chicken Women From the Dementia Floor

On the 8th Day of Passover

Clearing You Out For A New Delight

Reigning in the Horsemen of the Apocalypse: is this a female or not?

Have You Contracted a Case of VDODS This Valentine’s Day?

When Bad Things Happen to Uninsured Good People

How to Win the Wrestling Match With Sad Memories and Emotional Triggers

Guilt Has Feathers Too

Are You Shivering In the Winds of Change?

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this: