Friday 30 January 2015

Scar Tissue - by Sharon Floof Kasenberg

Scar:

The scar on my face tells the story
of how at eleven years old
a beach-combing jaunt became gory -
my face was a sight to behold.
A rock left a gash, badly sewn up -
a seam down the bridge of my nose -
which bothers me less now I'm grown up,
although I still know that it shows.
It was a freak accident really -
when stone tossed aside by a friend
hit boulder and veered willy nilly
to scar up my face in the end.
I know where it hit was a blessing;
an inch to the left or the right
would damage in ways more distressing -
an eye likely would have lost sight.
In fact, my scar grants me perspective -
the incident could have been worse.
Though marred my face isn't defective -
I don't see my scar as a curse.
This small battle scar from my childhood
has taught me a lesson or two.
I've learned there are times I'll not look good
no matter what I try to do.
I view others' scars with compassion -
we're all marked by trials we face,
and through the solutions we fashion
we foster acclaim or disgrace.
Each wound brings fresh wisdom as we're taught
no matter how each scar arrived -
the mark left behind shows that we fought;
we took a few hits, but survived.

By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, June 2007

I can tell you a thing or two about scar tissue.

Sticks and stones can do damage, as proven by a scar I've worn down the bridge of my nose for more than forty years. I've also had a scar over my right eyebrow for the last seven years because I ran into my car door. As well as those two prominent facial scars I have a scar on my abdomen from surgery I had as an infant and another over my tailbone that I acquired sliding down some stairs as a child. (Splinters - ouch!) Of course, as a newlywed I jokingly told my husband that I was born with a tail that had to be removed. It made a much better story, and one that he passed on to our sons when they were young!

I've often joked that I could never get lost - I have too many distinguishing markings.

The scar on my nose started out really ugly. It was an inch long gash dead center between my eyebrows. The doctor on call made an unholy mess of sewing it up and the skin puckered and looked fierce and red for months. People stared and asked what happened. Sometimes they were tactless or even downright rude. More than one person wanted to know what was "wrong" with my face. After several months I toughened up and it bothered me less.

My friend who'd thrown the rock felt terrible. We both knew exactly how the accident had played out, and that she had most definitely not been lobbing stones at me. She had tossed the rock in the exact opposite direction, but it had glanced off a boulder and flown backwards to where I was seated about fifteen feet behind her  I sometimes think about that day, and how frightened she must've been as she left me with her brother and raced down the beach to get help. I blacked out momentarily, then came to and saw a very white face hovering over me. It occurred to me that he'd perhaps thought the rock had killed me, and I reassured him that I was okay. Oddly, I felt quite calm; more bothered by the blood on my face and swimsuit than by the pain in my head.  I very sensibly waded into Lake Superior and let the icy water wash me clean and slow the bleeding before the two of us headed down the beach towards my parents' cabin.

In truth, I think my friends were both more traumatized by the impact of that rock than I was. Certainly my friend flinched for a long time when she saw my scar, and often expressed  hope that its appearance would improve, and over time it did - a little. I finally had laser surgery on it in my late thirties,which I was told would make it look about 20% better. I could've had honest to goodness plastic surgery on it, but it didn't bother me much by then. After that point everyone assumed it was just a wrinkle, which was slightly irksome.

The scar over my eyebrow was problematic too. My husband handily applied a butterfly bandage and staunched the bleeding, but I had a black eye for a week. Again I got stares and questions. This time around there were reactions from uncomfortable passers-by who clearly assumed I'd been assaulted. (Those who know me well cracked jokes about "the other guy" faring worse.)

Two nasty gashes on my face left scars. I know they're there, and anyone who gives my face more than a passing glance probably does too. But here's the thing - they're just little marks on the surface. They don't hurt me, and even when the wounds were fresh and people asked questions, made assumptions, grimaced and looked away - I knew I could cope.

When I've noted reactions to external scars I've wondered how well we'd all handle being able to see the invisible scar tissue that results from hurt and wounded feelings - from words that hurt more than sticks or stones and leave lasting damage to our self-esteem and our ability to trust others. I've learned that those scars heal slower and can cause a lifetime of pain.

My face healed faster than my friend's feeling of guilt - even though she had nothing to feel guilty about. I learned that we can spend our lives obsessing about what's on the surface and ignore deeper and more meaningful problems. I learned that sometimes people make really stupid assumptions about what caused the damage we wear on the outside - and needless to say the hurts we carry where nobody can see. I know there were teenaged boys - as well as gossipy girls - who thought my scar was ugly. I learned not to care. I learned that the discomfort of others usually has a lot more to do with them than me. I learned not to worry about seeking approval from those who couldn't see past visible flaws.

I mean, if someone was willing to disqualify me as a friend (or a potential date) because of a scar on my nose (which I couldn't do much to improve) then how would they ever be able to cope with the deeper scars I had? Would those people ever be capable of empathizing with me or understanding  my insecurities? I doubted that they would, and thus my scar became a reliable litmus test. If a person could look me in the eyes and see past it, they were in. I learned the difference between those who asked about the scar to satisfy their idle curiosity, and those who asked because they genuinely cared about me and wanted to know what had happened.

Two nasty gashes healed - and left scars. What does a scar or two matter in the grand scheme of things? My first boyfriend asked about the scar on my nose, and then shrugged it off with a reassuring "I've got a few scars too - doesn't matter - we're both still good-looking!"

I adopted his laissez faire attitude and never looked back. There are scars on my face. I have a few scars inside too. I can accept these obvious imperfections. They're part of my history - they're part of my present. They are identifying characteristics, part of what makes me the person I am, but they don't define me.

Scars on the skin's surface are evidence that some sort of trauma was experienced, but healing took place. External scar tissue doesn't hurt.

It's the scars on the inside that cause us the most discomfort.

Friday 16 January 2015

Turning the Tables on Labels - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Labeling:

"The pretty one, the pretty one" -
They said, "you'll be the pretty one."
Perhaps they said it all in fun,
but 'twas a label she would shun.

They said, "Don't waste your time with art -
you ought not scribble, you're too smart."
But she intoned, with all her heart,
"My passion is creating art."

They said, "My dear, you're too intense!
So much emotion makes no sense."
And she replied, "In my defense
my feelings are of relevance."

They'll call you "silly", "loud" or "gay",
a "poor sport" when you will not play,
a "whiner" if things aren't your way;
"successful" when your life's okay.

Some labels stick, that's very clear,
but others simply won't adhere -
perhaps the wearer shows no fear
and strips them off when they appear.

No label easily defines;
each person many traits combines.
When strengths and talents one entwines
all labels fall - uniqueness shines.

By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 15, 2015

So what's wrong with being labeled "Pretty"?

Well, nothing - unless that's the only way you're perceived. But all too often, women (especially) are acknowledged to be "pretty" or "beautiful"  and aren't allowed to be anything else. Society has a bit of a double standard where the sexes are concerned. A handsome man is more likely to be given credit for being intelligent than an attractive woman. Thus "pretty" can be a label that is as potentially limiting as it is complimentary.

As a small child I was cute. In my family I was perceived as "the cute one" - "the baby". For five and a half years I wore those labels. Then my baby brother was born, and whatever notions I had about my own cuteness quotient were blown to smithereens. He was, undoubtedly, far cuter than I was. His newborn rosy cheeked perfection couldn't be competed with. Furthermore, kindergarten had demonstrated that cute little girls were a dime a dozen. By the time I was six I knew that I'd need to be more than "cute" to make my way in the world. So, the way I see it, you'd have to be less self aware and more of a narcissist than the average six year old to be content to sail through life on your looks alone.

Labels - even those that are perceived as being complimentary - are limiting. There's no reason why the "smart" kid can't be the "nice" kid AND the "good-looking" kid.  For that matter, that same "smart" kid may be a "troubled kid" too. We all merit more than a one word synopsis, but in our fast paced world we want to be able to take a quick look and categorize.

Negative labels are especially damning. In grade five I had a teacher who had me pegged as "a trouble-maker" from the get go. I had never been perfectly behaved, but I'd certainly never been seen as a disciplinary problem either. Still, Mr. "Snave" took one look at me and decided that I was a bad seed.  I got detention after detention, which my parents found a little surprising. Since he was also the Vice Principal at my public school (which necessitated his being out of the classroom fairly often)  the class could get pretty rowdy when his absences were prolonged. Somehow Snave could walk into a class of thirty kids, twenty-five of whom were talking, and only hear the same five voices every single time.  (He even dubbed us his "After Four Club". Oddly, most of the kids who really did have disciplinary problems managed to not be in this "club" - go figure.)

The sad part of my story about Snave is that as my years of interaction with him went on I did become one of those kids with a bit too much attitude. His undeserved label actually became its own self-fulfilling prophecy. I figured that if I was going to be punished anyway, I might as well do something to deserve it from time to time! That's when I began to understand that people sometimes do live down to the negative expectations that labels place on them.

Labels stick. Consider what I'll call the "Parable of the Mean Dog".

Johnny sees a big dog that growls at him. (The dog actually growled at him because another kid, about Johnny's age, had hit it with a rock. But Johnny doesn't know this, and isn't well versed in animal psychology anyhow.) So he tells his friends that the dog is mean.

His friend Mike doesn't believe him, because he knows the guy who owns the dog. Johnny is upset about not being believed. He wants to be right! (Maybe it doesn't occur to Johnny that this is the case, but it is.) So he tells Mike to come with him after school and he'll prove that the dog is mean. Off they go after school. The dog is sleeping behind a chain link fence. Johnny yells to wake the dog up. The dog lifts a wary eye, and goes back to sleep. Johnny pokes the dog with a stick, and the animal shifts it's position. Johnny pokes the dog again - hard.

The dog wakes up and growls at the boys - and Johnny (now vindicated) says,

"See? I told you that dog was mean."

That's another problem with labels. None of us want to wear them, but most of us want to put them on others. Sometimes, like Johnny, we want to be perceived as someone who is good at labeling.

"I had him figured out the first time I met him" we'll say proudly.

If you're good at reading people I mean no insult. (I'm good at reading people too.) But the guy who takes pride in labeling won't just store gained perceptions in his or her brain. This individual will feel the need to share their labeling finesse with the general populace. If anyone disagrees that they "pegged it right" they will feel the need to prove themselves right. And in the process of "poking the dog" they might achieve the satisfaction of having some of their less flattering labels validated. Nobody likes to be poked, and if you weren't grumpy, mean or unkind before that label adhered, you just might be after the prodding takes place.

Then you'll have a hard time getting rid of the label. You can yank it off and toss it in the trash, but that glue really adheres, and try as you might you could be wearing the leftover sticky residue for a long time.

That gluey residue might make the child you decided was "the pretty one" feel that she has to work harder to be taken seriously and be seen as someone who has talents and thoughts and feelings.

The truth of the matter is that nobody deserves to be quickly summarized, or to have a label slapped on their back. Every one of us is an individual comprised of all kinds of traits, experiences and abilities. People don't need to be neatly sorted into categories like "attractive" or "intelligent" or "amusing", let alone boxed in negatively by the words " mean" or "fat" or "stupid". I'd even take it so far as to say that none of us should be seen as merely "gay" or "straight" or "Catholic" or "Mormon".

As for race, I've had the experience where some over-the-top politically correct person has described every single feature of a person in order to avoid telling me the individual was black. And when I finally figured out who they were talking about I thought, "Why didn't you just make it easy and say he was black, since he's the only black guy in the room?" I'm just practical that way. Besides, I have no objection to being referred to as white, or a redhead. Those are obvious physical traits, not affixed labels. Still, I completely agree that nobody should be stigmatized on the sole basis of skin color or hair color (and as fair haired person I can say I don't appreciate blond jokes at all).

We are all more than how we look.

We are all more than our greatest talent and more than our biggest failing.

We are all more than how we acted during our most negative exchanges, or during our standing ovations.

We are all more than "smart" or "funny" or "kind" or "difficult".

Describing someone is one thing, but sticking them with a single, one word summary is another.

Put away that DYMO label-maker, and dig a little deeper to see just how many wonderful, terrible and amazing experiences and characteristics make up the people around you. You'll be surprised.

We are all more.

Monday 5 January 2015

Changing Winds - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Changing Winds  (By Sharon Flood Kasenberg - Jan. 3, 2015)

The winds of change
are sure to blow
and rearrange
the life you know.
A gentle breeze
may bring fresh hope
as on the seas
of life you cope.
Kind winds prevail
just as you need
to lend your sail
a little speed.
But when a gust
a gale becomes
you may be thrust
in wind that numbs.

All winds change course,
blow cold or warm -
or gain in force;
become a storm.
And each fierce blast
will test your skill -
can you hold fast
when winds blow ill?
All sailors learn
to weather storms -
for wind they yearn
in all its forms.
The calm, I'm told,
can be far worse -
sails don't unfold
and sailors curse.

All on the seas
must learn to row
when there's no breeze
the ship to blow.
Unhappy men
take up the oars -
wind blows again;
morale soon soars.
Too many days
I've had to row
while singing praise
to status quo.
Sails that were still
as I stood by
now catch and fill
so I can fly.

 "Nothing endures but change" 
- Heraclitus

Change is inevitable. We may grow very comfortable with the way things are, but that doesn't mean those things won't change tomorrow. Change will occur, and we may balk all we want, but eventually what changes around us will motivate us to adapt.

I'm not a person who ordinarily relishes change, but there are times when comfortable old routines get stale, old stand-by recipes grow unpalatable, and my favorite old jeans just plain need to be thrown out. There are times when I crave something different - a new taste on my tongue, a new style of clothing, a change of pace or fresh scenery.

On the other hand, better opportunities will sometimes present themselves in new locations whether or not you like where you are, and children will grow up and leave home whether or not you're ready for them to go. The daily wear and tear that your home and furnishings experience will require you to make changes - to  replace favorite items, to add fresh paint and renovate. Appliances will give up the ghost, and your trusty ride will one day betray you. Probably most of these things will occur when you have the least inclination toward making major changes of any kind.

Life's like that. Change will occur, whether you want it to or not.

"Change happens when the pain of staying the same is greater than the pain of change"
- Tony Robbins

Sometimes we can see how doing the same old things day in and day out, while expecting new and exciting outcomes, is driving us a bit crazy. When life in the land of "Stalledandstuck" becomes unbearable, and we've moved on to the less magical, but more satisfying town called "Progress!" we might feel the need to continue a personal pilgrimage. (If you are unfamiliar with these two towns, let me direct you to my first post of 2014 - "Progress - A Sharp Right Turn Before Stalledandstuck") This continuing trek is sure to take us through a valley called "Change". And the thing about that valley is that it just isn't ever an easy place to be. It isn't comfortable. It is seldom welcoming or accommodating.

"Change" is the place where you need to stop because your engine died. It's like the diet you're forced to go on by the doctor with the disapproving look on his face. It feels like the aches your underused muscles will have to endure on their way to becoming strong and healthy. Nope - no matter how much you know you need to get into that valley, "Change" isn't going to provide you with warm fuzzy feelings and visions of pink unicorns grazing under sunny skies.

In his book, The Stand, Stephen King says "No one can tell you what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't."

When I read this quote it really resonated with me, because even some of the best changes that occurred in my life had their hellish aspects. I remember how nervous/excited I was about becoming a mom; how sleep deprived I was in the beginning, and how often I doubted my ability to parent well. I have great memories of my sons as brilliant and lovable tykes, but I also remember the not so great feelings I sometimes had - like when I felt less than brilliant as a mom. Too often I felt frustration - with them when they misbehaved, and with myself when I lost patience. There were "blue and lonely sections of hell" en route from my days as an irresponsible and single twenty-something to my days as a thirty-ish mother of two young sons.

I knew marrying and having kids would change me, but I was lonely and ready for change. In my case the pain of staying single, of not sharing my life with someone else and not having children, would have been greater than any pain that would ensue from taking the plunge into the unknown waters of marriage and motherhood.

"If we don't change, we don't grow. If we don't grow, we aren't really living." 
- Anatol France

Not all of the change I've experienced has given me as much joy as motherhood. Many years ago my family moved to another province. My husband was offered a good opportunity to advance his career, and the two of us were excited by the prospect. (Excitement didn't stop either of us from crying like babies when we said good-bye to our first house or the little town we'd grown so fond of.) Our sons were less than thrilled about leaving friends and familiar surroundings, but we assured them everything would be fine. They'd make new friends and this would be a great adventure!

We were wrong. It was a three year period of mostly misery for all of us. We all tried, but realized that we'd landed in a pretty inhospitable climate. The kids in the neighborhood had a tight little clique, and few friends were made by any of us. Even the job was a bit of a disappointment, and as beautiful as our new neighbourhood was, I got tired of exploring and admiring it alone.

That experience changed all of us. I can't speak for the rest of the family, but I know I grew from it. I learned that I need friends more than pretty scenery. I learned that I wasn't immune to depression. I learned that I could be a ferocious mama bear when my kids' happiness was at stake. I learned that my husband and sons were the three people I could always count on. I learned that I could survive my own disappointment, but my kids' disappointment felt insurmountable.

I didn't enjoy learning any of the lessons I gained from that experience, but I know that it made me a better person. I grew - became more self-aware, more grateful and more courageous. I grew more determined to find happy moments in difficult circumstances.

"A bend in the road is not the end of the road...Unless you fail to make the turn."
- Helen Keller

There will be times in any life when transformations we've undergone won't be well received by others. They may not come right out and say it, but their message will clearly be "I liked you better the way you were before."

Sometimes the changes people make feel like the "end of the road" for those around them.What they may need to remember is that your journey isn't the same as theirs - and perhaps that bend in the road is going to make you better, happier or stronger in ways that they can't even imagine. They might be surprised to eventually learn that they prefer "the new you" to the previous version.

The bully won't appreciate the kid who finds a voice and yells, "Leave me alone!" (But he might eventually come to respect the fact that this is one kid he can't mess with.)

The hovering parent will feel affronted the first time their child says, "I want to do it myself!"(But she/he will come to appreciate the importance of having a more confident child.)

The friends who liked you - because they thought you felt the same way about a whole lot of things - won't like knowing that their opinions of you were based more on their own assumptions than any real knowledge of who you are. They will be unhappy when you begin to say, "I just don't see it that way." So you might want to soften that statement by adding - "But that doesn't mean that I don't love you."

That's the beauty of it. I change, you change, circumstances change - but when it comes to those we truly love and respect the road never ends.

It might feel kind of disappointing to have someone criticize you, or fail to appreciate your transformation just as you feel that there's a nice wind filling your sails. You don't need to feel discouraged. Nobody else was with you when you entered the Valley of Change - it's a place we all visit alone. Nobody knows how much your arms ache from rowing your own boat through calm and stagnant waters, or against the currents of popular opinion. And nobody else has to live with you as constantly as you have to live with yourself.

"All is in flux, nothing stands still."

- Plato

Life will throw you curve balls. Scientific discoveries will force you to embrace change. Pluto was a planet, then it wasn't. (Now I'm not too sure how Pluto gets categorized.) Everyone accepted that the world was flat, until a few heretics came up with the theory that it wasn't. Every day the universe changes, circumstances change and ideas change. You will change your clothes and change your mood and change your status (and not only on Facebook!). Opinions will change, moods will change, climates will change, and yes, we will change too. One day we'll be caterpillars trudging along on a hundred legs, and the next day we'll inexplicably take to spinning, then crawl into cocoons and emerge without a single leg to stand on.

Change is hard, but it isn't all bad. To add to a famous quote by Mahatma Gandhi, I believe it is possible to "Be the change that you wish to see in the world."

Rumi put it this way, "Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself."

As of now, I have adopted the words of George Bernard Shaw as my new personal motto:

"Those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything."