Invisible Woman
Invisible woman
seen just as "the wife";
can't anyone see that
she lives her own life?
She keeps a low profile -
at least, so it seems -
so nobody's really
aware of her dreams.
A part of the background;
appendage on arm,
and if you ignore her
you mean her no harm.
Just try to remember
her life is her own
and there's much more to her
than ever is shown.
Her life in the shadows
can often demean.
Invisible women
deserve to be seen.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, June 24, 2019
For the past six months I've been asked one question repeatedly. This question comes from people who've known me forever - and thus should know better than to ask it - and from people who met me two minutes before posing the question. This question has become almost the only question most people ask me these days, and for that reason it has grown increasingly difficult to answer it gracefully...
"How do you like being the Mayor's wife?"
It's kind of a loaded question, especially given the fact that it is inevitably asked in public, and with an upward lilt in the questioners voice that makes it clear that they expect me to respond with excitement - and unfortunately for them, enthusiasm for that particular title is really hard for me to muster.
Let me clarify, for the record, that generally speaking I like being married to my husband. That's why we were married for thirty years before he was voted Mayor of North Perth. When you ask how I enjoy being married to "the mayor", you are implying that I should somehow enjoy my marriage so much more than I used to, because now he's "important", and I, by extension as "his wife", am more important than I was too.
I don't see it that way at all. My husband is no more important to me than he was before he was elected, and I am definitely no more important than I ever was. To me he is still Todd, and if you want to know the truth, he is just a busier and more stressed out version of the man he's always been.
I'm not Hilary Clinton - I didn't hit the campaign trail tirelessly to ensure he'd win - because it didn't matter that much to me whether he did or not. His victory was due to his hard work, and I had very little to do with it.
Please don't ever refer to me as "The First Lady of North Perth". I don't like titles at all, and have never even liked being called "Mrs. Kasenberg".
I am Sharon.
Let me tell you why I feel so adamantly opposed to being identified as "the mayor's wife".
In my younger days, as a new wife and mother, I chose to stay home with my children. This decision entailed some financial sacrifice, and some sacrifice of self-hood. I became one of a legion of invisible women; a housewife. A "stay at home mom". People assumed I stayed home because I wasn't smart enough to get a job. Attending work functions with my husband was an excruciating chore. I dressed up as well as I could, stood at his side, and was introduced to people who didn't even bother to engage me in small talk once they realized I was "just a mom".
For most of my life I belonged to a very patriarchal faith. It took me many years, within that organization, to be known as more than my husband's wife, or my sons' mother. Finally, after a few decades, I became known as a woman who possessed a few skills of my own - I could speak well, I could teach classes, I was a good baker and a writer of poetry. When I left that faith, I went through a period of intense self re-discovery, and I began to really forge my own identity.
I embraced my Sharon-ness.
Just when I was starting to feel that Sharon was finally being seen as her own person, an entity seen beyond the context of wife and mother, my husband became mayor. And once again I was relegated to "wife of" status.
I am proud of my husband's accomplishments, but his position as mayor has as little to do with me as his position at any of his other jobs has.
It might seem glamorous to be the mayor, or by extension the mayor's wife, but it isn't. If I were Melania Trump, with an incredible figure, make-up artists at my disposal, and designers all vying for me to wear their labels, I might get a whole lot more excited about being able to attend a gala every now and then, but none of those things apply to me. I have body issues, and like countless other fifty-something ladies, I try on everything in my closet before I go out, in hopes that I'll hit on something that doesn't magnify every imperfection. And putting on make-up is pretty hard when you need to wear your reading glasses to see what you're doing. I just don't love feeling like I'm on display, and hobnobbing with "important" people and making small talk isn't my cuppa tea. I'm an introvert who would always prefer to stick with a small group of trusted friends.
I know there are plenty of women who think they would totally groove on a title that I don't appreciate. They think it would be fun to be recognized, but miss the fact that with recognition there comes a lack of privacy. It gets frustrating to have people stop to chat up, or worse - complain to - your husband when you're trying to buy groceries or enjoy a social evening together. They might think that as wives they will get to influence decisions, but much of what is discussed in chambers can't even be shared. What I hear most as wife are his frustrations. I hear about all the things he'd like to do, but can't. I hear about the people who complain and sometimes harass him, and sometimes I even get to answer the home phone when people decide - erroneously I might add - that their complaints with the municipality will be handled faster if they go "straight to the top". (Obviously it's much more efficient to have the mayor make three or four calls to take care of your complaint than it is for you to just call the proper department directly, right?)
Here's the truth of the matter. My husband was more fun to be married to before he became mayor. He wasn't as busy, and we had more time to relax together. He wasn't as tired and stressed. I worried about his health and state of mind less when he was "just" my husband.
I'm not going to tell you that he doesn't enjoy a lot of his duties as mayor - he does enjoy a lot of "the job", and I'm happy about that.
But for Sharon, being seen as an appendage at social events is not fun. Being alone a lot of the time is not fun. Worrying that I'll say or do the wrong thing while being recognized as "the wife of..." is stressful.
I am not a pale reflection of my spouse. I was my own person for more than twenty-five years before I became anyone's wife. I was the wife of Todd for more than three decades before he became a mayor. I don't ask to be held up as a role model, and I resent becoming invisible again.
So, when "the question" is on the tip of your tongue, fight the urge to ask it. There are so many better ways to initiate a conversation with me than by asking me how I feel to be "the wife of..."
I don't like feeling invisible. Tell me you can see me.
Monday, 24 June 2019
Wednesday, 29 May 2019
String Snipping - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Parallel Dilemmas
I'm afraid to be old
there is so much life gone,
and a lot I was told
made me feel like a pawn.
Tell me, what can I do
to recoup wasted days?
Up ahead there seem few,
can I still change my ways?
While I mourn all I've lost
through the wisdom I've found
I will question the cost
of soul coming unbound.
You're afraid to be young -
there is so much ahead -
perhaps coming unstrung,
but consumed by the dread
that through days that await
your life may not improve
because no twist of fate
can all problems remove.
Will you end up alone?
Will you find all you want?
If a clear path is shown
will it beckon or taunt?
There are fears to be found
every phase of each life;
we will always seem wound
in a huge ball of strife.
each, encumbered by doubt,
has decisions to make
and will stall and reroute,
finding new roads to take.
I will fall, you will fail;
we'll both stumble and slip -
maybe hope can prevail
if some strings we each snip.
Tell me I'm not too old
and a string will be cut -
I'll remind you you're bold,
snip another string - but...
I can't promise you ease,
you can't gift me with days;
every answer you seize
will not mirror my ways.
You can say I am strong
and have wisdom to spare,
but your days are still long...
How I wish you could share!
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, May 12, 2019
Ageism exists. It seems that no matter what stage of life we are at, we want what what we perceive as the "perks" that the generations ahead, or behind us, seem to have. Children want to be teenagers who, from their perspective, seem to be largely free of parental control. Teenagers want to be autonomous adults, truly free to make their own decisions. Adults, burdened by bill paying and parenting, long to go back to what they now perceive as their "carefree" youth. Middle-aged people look forward to retiring; the end of long days at work and more time for friends and family. Senior citizens, frustrated with the frailties of age, would do just about anything to go back in time to their "prime of life" - the stage where they were happiest and healthiest.
My experiences, as a mother, and as a host mom to international high school students - and friend to those who have returned home - have taught me that no matter where we are in life, we face common dilemmas. We all have the same basic needs, the same desires, and we all battle insecurities.
So many of the problems faced by humans transcend generational boundaries. My eighty seven year old mother craves friendship as much as my seventeen year old students do. Old, young, or in-between, we all want acceptance from others. We all want to feel confidence in our ability to make good decisions. We all want to feel good about ourselves; to know that we each shine in our own way. We all want to feel satisfaction; to know we are living meaningful lives and making a positive difference in the lives of those we care about.
It's easy to forget how many common struggles are shared across generations when our lives appear so different. One reason we may lack empathy for the problems faced by both older and younger generations is our lack of interaction with them. We tend to choose friends in the same age range as us, people who are going through similar experiences in the same time period. We forget that our experiences all invoke emotional responses, and that those emotions we feel in our particular situation are mirrored by those who are generations removed from us.
To exemplify this point, let's look at some parallel dilemmas that evolve from the decisions we need to make at various stages of life:
Teenagers are at a stage of life where important decisions need to be made. What comes next after they graduate high school? Will they go on to college or university? If so, where? What will they study? If not, where will they get a job? Will they continue to live at home, or find their own apartment?
To a teenager, every one of these decisions is huge. Each decision is filled with uncertainty and fear.
Compare those decisions to the ones made by someone facing retirement. What comes next when they no longer go to work each morning? Will a change in income level require a change of address? What will the retiree do with his/her days without a job to go to?
These are huge decisions too, and often accompanied by fears and uncertainties that could be remarkably similar to those felt by a teenager about to graduate high school. Unlike teenagers, most retirees have had a lot of experience with major life changes; they have moved into different homes and changed jobs. They have experienced life and loss more fully - but they will probably still feel uncertainty and fear. Change is never easy - no matter what stage of life you are in.
I've learned that my life perspective improves when I make friends across generations. I learn as much from seventeen year old friends as I do from those who are in their seventies. I am enriched by being mentored, and being mentor. I covet the wisdom shared by those who have amassed more than I have because they have experienced more life than me. And I envy all the days that lie ahead for those who are younger, as I try to dole out maternal wisdom to sons, and play Yoda to the teenagers who I have opportunities to influence. Through it all, I continue to learn and grow, and in doing so feel amazed by how much we all have in common - regardless of chronological age.
We all yearn to be accepted and valued by those around us - we all want love and companionship.
We all struggle with decisions that we need to make, and we battle self-doubt and fear at every stage of life.
We all want to feel satisfaction and happiness.
We all want to free ourselves from our daily concerns; from the discouraging feelings that we might not be doing everything right, or making all of the right choices.
I think we'd all be happier if we spent more time dwelling on these commonalities, and snipping away - together - at that great ball of strife that keeps us all - young, old and in-between - from making the world a better place.
I'm afraid to be old
there is so much life gone,
and a lot I was told
made me feel like a pawn.
Tell me, what can I do
to recoup wasted days?
Up ahead there seem few,
can I still change my ways?
While I mourn all I've lost
through the wisdom I've found
I will question the cost
of soul coming unbound.
You're afraid to be young -
there is so much ahead -
perhaps coming unstrung,
but consumed by the dread
that through days that await
your life may not improve
because no twist of fate
can all problems remove.
Will you end up alone?
Will you find all you want?
If a clear path is shown
will it beckon or taunt?
There are fears to be found
every phase of each life;
we will always seem wound
in a huge ball of strife.
each, encumbered by doubt,
has decisions to make
and will stall and reroute,
finding new roads to take.
I will fall, you will fail;
we'll both stumble and slip -
maybe hope can prevail
if some strings we each snip.
Tell me I'm not too old
and a string will be cut -
I'll remind you you're bold,
snip another string - but...
I can't promise you ease,
you can't gift me with days;
every answer you seize
will not mirror my ways.
You can say I am strong
and have wisdom to spare,
but your days are still long...
How I wish you could share!
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, May 12, 2019
Ageism exists. It seems that no matter what stage of life we are at, we want what what we perceive as the "perks" that the generations ahead, or behind us, seem to have. Children want to be teenagers who, from their perspective, seem to be largely free of parental control. Teenagers want to be autonomous adults, truly free to make their own decisions. Adults, burdened by bill paying and parenting, long to go back to what they now perceive as their "carefree" youth. Middle-aged people look forward to retiring; the end of long days at work and more time for friends and family. Senior citizens, frustrated with the frailties of age, would do just about anything to go back in time to their "prime of life" - the stage where they were happiest and healthiest.
My experiences, as a mother, and as a host mom to international high school students - and friend to those who have returned home - have taught me that no matter where we are in life, we face common dilemmas. We all have the same basic needs, the same desires, and we all battle insecurities.
So many of the problems faced by humans transcend generational boundaries. My eighty seven year old mother craves friendship as much as my seventeen year old students do. Old, young, or in-between, we all want acceptance from others. We all want to feel confidence in our ability to make good decisions. We all want to feel good about ourselves; to know that we each shine in our own way. We all want to feel satisfaction; to know we are living meaningful lives and making a positive difference in the lives of those we care about.
It's easy to forget how many common struggles are shared across generations when our lives appear so different. One reason we may lack empathy for the problems faced by both older and younger generations is our lack of interaction with them. We tend to choose friends in the same age range as us, people who are going through similar experiences in the same time period. We forget that our experiences all invoke emotional responses, and that those emotions we feel in our particular situation are mirrored by those who are generations removed from us.
To exemplify this point, let's look at some parallel dilemmas that evolve from the decisions we need to make at various stages of life:
Teenagers are at a stage of life where important decisions need to be made. What comes next after they graduate high school? Will they go on to college or university? If so, where? What will they study? If not, where will they get a job? Will they continue to live at home, or find their own apartment?
To a teenager, every one of these decisions is huge. Each decision is filled with uncertainty and fear.
Compare those decisions to the ones made by someone facing retirement. What comes next when they no longer go to work each morning? Will a change in income level require a change of address? What will the retiree do with his/her days without a job to go to?
These are huge decisions too, and often accompanied by fears and uncertainties that could be remarkably similar to those felt by a teenager about to graduate high school. Unlike teenagers, most retirees have had a lot of experience with major life changes; they have moved into different homes and changed jobs. They have experienced life and loss more fully - but they will probably still feel uncertainty and fear. Change is never easy - no matter what stage of life you are in.
I've learned that my life perspective improves when I make friends across generations. I learn as much from seventeen year old friends as I do from those who are in their seventies. I am enriched by being mentored, and being mentor. I covet the wisdom shared by those who have amassed more than I have because they have experienced more life than me. And I envy all the days that lie ahead for those who are younger, as I try to dole out maternal wisdom to sons, and play Yoda to the teenagers who I have opportunities to influence. Through it all, I continue to learn and grow, and in doing so feel amazed by how much we all have in common - regardless of chronological age.
We all yearn to be accepted and valued by those around us - we all want love and companionship.
We all struggle with decisions that we need to make, and we battle self-doubt and fear at every stage of life.
We all want to feel satisfaction and happiness.
We all want to free ourselves from our daily concerns; from the discouraging feelings that we might not be doing everything right, or making all of the right choices.
I think we'd all be happier if we spent more time dwelling on these commonalities, and snipping away - together - at that great ball of strife that keeps us all - young, old and in-between - from making the world a better place.
Thursday, 16 May 2019
Memory: An Amalgamation of Little Things - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Humans have a deep need to feel that they are connected with those they love most, and to try to make sense of how we form the bonds that unite us.
Sometimes when complimented, I want to understand why the other person would say something so nice to me. Usually I restrain myself from asking why I deserve praise (mostly because I don't want to be seen as emotionally needy, or as someone who is "fishing" for more praise), but occasionally I do give in to curiosity, if the giver is someone I feel close to. When I do this, I am often rewarded with greater insights about both myself and the other party. I catch a rare, soul satisfying glance at myself, through the eyes of another, and even if I can't entirely agree with their kind assessment of me, I feel encouraged by the fact that they saw me through charitable eyes. This boosts my morale, and makes me want to live up to the compliment that was offered.
This year I made an unusual request of my sons for Mother's Day. It was a difficult thing for me to ask for - I didn't want to seem insecure - but I mustered up the courage to ask each of them to simply send on a favorite memory of me, via Facebook messenger or email. It didn't need to be a full fledged, "Why I Love My Mom" essay, just a simple memory - a paragraph - describing a time we shared that really mattered to them.
Part of me worried that they would each find this hard to deliver; perhaps even hard enough to keep them from following through. (Yes, I did have to nag at one son, who would have rather just handed me a card and given me a pat on the back.) As a mother of sons, I know it can be hard it can be for the males of our species to express feelings, but as a woman, I know just how important it is to sometimes have sentiments expressed verbally.
What I really wanted this year was the gift of understanding how things I have done, or said, in the past, have made me an important fixture in my sons' lives. I wanted a written message I could look back on when I felt blue; an affirmation that I did a few things right as their mom. I also wanted to prove to myself that it isn't selfish or wrong to be assertive, and to ask for what you really want sometimes, which in this case was the gift of their words, expressing thoughts about me.
It didn't really come as a surprise to me that neither son could come up with one single, definitive moment or occasion that stood out in memory as "the best of my mother". As one son pointed out, being a good parent isn't about creating momentous occasions together, but about showing consistent love and support for your child continually, and giving them a string of small moments - maybe even playful and nonsensical moments - that bond in ways that might seem insignificant at the time, but create an impact on a lifetime once time has been taken to reflect on them. He cited an example of a silly thing we used to do - one that he says helped him understand what things he was passionate about. What was amazing to me, as a parent who knows what he truly loves to do, was making a simple connection that I hadn't made before. I finally saw that something I had done with him routinely had helped him discover what really feeds his soul.
The message from my other son was similar, and just as gratifying. He described his happiest memories of time together as an "amalgamation of blurred memories". Again, there was no momentous event that stood out for him. He simply expressed appreciation for the habit we formed of walking together. He talked about how much he especially remembers walks we took in places we both love; walks where we enjoyed the scenery Mother Nature provided for free. Once again I was deeply touched that a little, commonplace activity, that we still share, has become a series of happy memories for him.
My reflections on the messages both sons shared with me inspired the following poem:
Amalgamation
"The memories are blurred -
there isn't just one."
(The same explanation
from both my grown sons.)
No singular moment
stood out in spotlight -
just many small moments
we somehow did right.
Our long conversations
were pure goofiness;
to nonsense aplenty
I'm forced to confess!
The miles walked together
through forest and sand;
we'd find rock or feather
to carry in hand.
We took them for granted -
all those little things -
but memories planted
still pull at heartstrings.
by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, May 14, 2016
As parents, children, siblings, and friends, we may all fall into a mindset that tells us we need to be constantly "upping the game" as far as creating memories with loved ones is concerned. We snap more pictures to remind everyone concerned, and all of our "followers" on social media, that we are doing amazing, fun, important things. We become so busy memorializing our days that we forget to live in the moment and really enjoy them.
There are few, if any, photos in existence to prove that the best memories I made with my sons really happened. I didn't write about the walks and talks we had in my journal. Instead, we are all left with memory amalgamations of blurred images. We only remember how doing the things we enjoyed together made us feel happy, energized; satisfied in our souls. Would I trade those snippets of many moments for one big, momentous memory? Never!
Age is granting me just enough wisdom to understand that the "little things" add up. A memorable lifetime is perhaps nothing more than a huge ball of incomparably glorious minutia, and love perhaps nothing more than an amalgamation of small things.
Sometimes when complimented, I want to understand why the other person would say something so nice to me. Usually I restrain myself from asking why I deserve praise (mostly because I don't want to be seen as emotionally needy, or as someone who is "fishing" for more praise), but occasionally I do give in to curiosity, if the giver is someone I feel close to. When I do this, I am often rewarded with greater insights about both myself and the other party. I catch a rare, soul satisfying glance at myself, through the eyes of another, and even if I can't entirely agree with their kind assessment of me, I feel encouraged by the fact that they saw me through charitable eyes. This boosts my morale, and makes me want to live up to the compliment that was offered.
This year I made an unusual request of my sons for Mother's Day. It was a difficult thing for me to ask for - I didn't want to seem insecure - but I mustered up the courage to ask each of them to simply send on a favorite memory of me, via Facebook messenger or email. It didn't need to be a full fledged, "Why I Love My Mom" essay, just a simple memory - a paragraph - describing a time we shared that really mattered to them.
Part of me worried that they would each find this hard to deliver; perhaps even hard enough to keep them from following through. (Yes, I did have to nag at one son, who would have rather just handed me a card and given me a pat on the back.) As a mother of sons, I know it can be hard it can be for the males of our species to express feelings, but as a woman, I know just how important it is to sometimes have sentiments expressed verbally.
What I really wanted this year was the gift of understanding how things I have done, or said, in the past, have made me an important fixture in my sons' lives. I wanted a written message I could look back on when I felt blue; an affirmation that I did a few things right as their mom. I also wanted to prove to myself that it isn't selfish or wrong to be assertive, and to ask for what you really want sometimes, which in this case was the gift of their words, expressing thoughts about me.
It didn't really come as a surprise to me that neither son could come up with one single, definitive moment or occasion that stood out in memory as "the best of my mother". As one son pointed out, being a good parent isn't about creating momentous occasions together, but about showing consistent love and support for your child continually, and giving them a string of small moments - maybe even playful and nonsensical moments - that bond in ways that might seem insignificant at the time, but create an impact on a lifetime once time has been taken to reflect on them. He cited an example of a silly thing we used to do - one that he says helped him understand what things he was passionate about. What was amazing to me, as a parent who knows what he truly loves to do, was making a simple connection that I hadn't made before. I finally saw that something I had done with him routinely had helped him discover what really feeds his soul.
The message from my other son was similar, and just as gratifying. He described his happiest memories of time together as an "amalgamation of blurred memories". Again, there was no momentous event that stood out for him. He simply expressed appreciation for the habit we formed of walking together. He talked about how much he especially remembers walks we took in places we both love; walks where we enjoyed the scenery Mother Nature provided for free. Once again I was deeply touched that a little, commonplace activity, that we still share, has become a series of happy memories for him.
My reflections on the messages both sons shared with me inspired the following poem:
Amalgamation
"The memories are blurred -
there isn't just one."
(The same explanation
from both my grown sons.)
No singular moment
stood out in spotlight -
just many small moments
we somehow did right.
Our long conversations
were pure goofiness;
to nonsense aplenty
I'm forced to confess!
The miles walked together
through forest and sand;
we'd find rock or feather
to carry in hand.
We took them for granted -
all those little things -
but memories planted
still pull at heartstrings.
by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, May 14, 2016
As parents, children, siblings, and friends, we may all fall into a mindset that tells us we need to be constantly "upping the game" as far as creating memories with loved ones is concerned. We snap more pictures to remind everyone concerned, and all of our "followers" on social media, that we are doing amazing, fun, important things. We become so busy memorializing our days that we forget to live in the moment and really enjoy them.
There are few, if any, photos in existence to prove that the best memories I made with my sons really happened. I didn't write about the walks and talks we had in my journal. Instead, we are all left with memory amalgamations of blurred images. We only remember how doing the things we enjoyed together made us feel happy, energized; satisfied in our souls. Would I trade those snippets of many moments for one big, momentous memory? Never!
Age is granting me just enough wisdom to understand that the "little things" add up. A memorable lifetime is perhaps nothing more than a huge ball of incomparably glorious minutia, and love perhaps nothing more than an amalgamation of small things.
Sunday, 14 April 2019
Patience, Please! - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
A Little Patience
A little patience
gets me through the days
when all around me
seems a grayish haze.
A little patience
helps me disengage
when my frustrations
stir up latent rage.
That dab of patience
helps me resurrect
and savour goodness
that I recollect.
A little patience
when it's hard to cope
can keep me seeking
'oft elusive hope.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 18, 2019
In an age of instant gratification, patience is often undervalued.
Think about the things that make you lose patience on any given day - drivers going too fast, or moving too slowly, long waits in the check out line, husbands/children and friends who aren't quick enough to do our bidding, and a mountain of problems that needed to be solved yesterday.
Patience is a concept I've struggled with my entire life - this notion that we might need to wait, gracefully even, for problems to sort themselves out, for answers to our burning questions, for understanding of ourselves and the people around us, for bodies, minds and spirits to be healed... for life to become more fulfilling.
In a world that is rife with tribalism, racism, violence, depression, aggression, and general frustration, we need patience more than ever - and it seems to be becoming increasingly elusive if and/or when we bother to look for it. It seems safe to say that many no longer understand why patience is important; that for many, the idea that some things are worth the wait seems outdated. Why should any of us have to patiently figure out what the best solution to our most recent crisis might be when we can just act impulsively? Society reinforces that we should all be people of action - just willing to do something - is it really important that we take time to mull things over, consider our best course of action, and work out the whys, whens, and hows before we dive in? I often have to remind myself that achieving balance between excessive thinking, and impulsive action, is an exercise in patience. I need to bite my tongue and try not to respond in anger when I feel provoked, I need to stop and consider how my next tirade might affect the other party before I find myself speaking in haste, and then feeling guilty, and needing to make apologies.
Without a doubt the world needs more love and tolerance, but I'm coming to the conclusion that what it needs first is patience. We can wake up determined to do better and be kinder every day, but if patience eludes us, there isn't much chance that will happen. We will have a hard time filtering out the intolerance and thoughtlessness around us if we have no patience, and this can affect our physical and emotional health over time.
I've become convinced that patience is a prerequisite to resilience, hope and happiness. Experience has taught me that when my patience runs thin, those other things seem to be out of reach. Without patience I can't "bounce back" from disappointments in my life; I have trouble maintaining my equilibrium when faced with any minor setback. When patience wanes, so does hope - everything seems impossible when I can't tame my desire for instant solutions and immediate gratification. And, without a doubt, my unhappiest times always correspond to those when I simply couldn't muster any patience for anything, or anybody.
Patience is what the world really needs. A lot of days we'll face struggles that will seem almost insurmountable, but if we can believe there are better days to come, we can muddle through. However, when we're anxious, lonely or depressed, a whole day that's wonderful can be an unrealistic expectation. We might need to set our sights lower, and patiently wait for good moments and good hours before entire days can be enjoyed. When we're patient, those happy moments give us hope, and if we're waiting patiently, expecting to be pleasantly surprised by an unexpected bright spot in our day, we're less apt to miss it if it happens. Then, when we're surprised by those happy moments, we relish them, we feel gratitude for them, and we see that our patience, in and of itself, rewarded us with something good and hopeful.
There will always be difficult days, and tears enough to fill them, but patience teaches us when to reign in our emotions for the sake of others, and when we can safely be vulnerable around others. When we patiently learn to gauge the reactions of those around us, we learn who we can safely be ourselves with - who has the ability to see us at our worst and still find things to love, and who will be patient enough with us to stick around when our own patience is in short supply.
I've often thought that youth is wasted on the young - they have great reserves of physical stamina, but their patience has yet to be sufficiently tried; they lack emotional strength. When I was young everything felt like a calamity. It was hard to patiently build reserves of hope for better days when I felt completely miserable now - I hadn't yet learned that my better days would start with better moments and hours. I had trouble waiting patiently for better things to happen - in part because my worst experiences were all ahead of me. I didn't know, at that point in my life, that I could not only survive, but also thrive, despite plenty of disappointment, and some heartbreak and tragedy.
We grow older and experience all of those things. We grow wiser too - but some days wisdom is unreliable. It too, is affected by the constant ebb and flow of patience in our lives. We give in to anger, to hopelessness, to frustration - all because we're stymied by the one thing we need most - a little patience.
A little patience
gets me through the days
when all around me
seems a grayish haze.
A little patience
helps me disengage
when my frustrations
stir up latent rage.
That dab of patience
helps me resurrect
and savour goodness
that I recollect.
A little patience
when it's hard to cope
can keep me seeking
'oft elusive hope.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 18, 2019
In an age of instant gratification, patience is often undervalued.
Think about the things that make you lose patience on any given day - drivers going too fast, or moving too slowly, long waits in the check out line, husbands/children and friends who aren't quick enough to do our bidding, and a mountain of problems that needed to be solved yesterday.
Patience is a concept I've struggled with my entire life - this notion that we might need to wait, gracefully even, for problems to sort themselves out, for answers to our burning questions, for understanding of ourselves and the people around us, for bodies, minds and spirits to be healed... for life to become more fulfilling.
In a world that is rife with tribalism, racism, violence, depression, aggression, and general frustration, we need patience more than ever - and it seems to be becoming increasingly elusive if and/or when we bother to look for it. It seems safe to say that many no longer understand why patience is important; that for many, the idea that some things are worth the wait seems outdated. Why should any of us have to patiently figure out what the best solution to our most recent crisis might be when we can just act impulsively? Society reinforces that we should all be people of action - just willing to do something - is it really important that we take time to mull things over, consider our best course of action, and work out the whys, whens, and hows before we dive in? I often have to remind myself that achieving balance between excessive thinking, and impulsive action, is an exercise in patience. I need to bite my tongue and try not to respond in anger when I feel provoked, I need to stop and consider how my next tirade might affect the other party before I find myself speaking in haste, and then feeling guilty, and needing to make apologies.
Without a doubt the world needs more love and tolerance, but I'm coming to the conclusion that what it needs first is patience. We can wake up determined to do better and be kinder every day, but if patience eludes us, there isn't much chance that will happen. We will have a hard time filtering out the intolerance and thoughtlessness around us if we have no patience, and this can affect our physical and emotional health over time.
I've become convinced that patience is a prerequisite to resilience, hope and happiness. Experience has taught me that when my patience runs thin, those other things seem to be out of reach. Without patience I can't "bounce back" from disappointments in my life; I have trouble maintaining my equilibrium when faced with any minor setback. When patience wanes, so does hope - everything seems impossible when I can't tame my desire for instant solutions and immediate gratification. And, without a doubt, my unhappiest times always correspond to those when I simply couldn't muster any patience for anything, or anybody.
Patience is what the world really needs. A lot of days we'll face struggles that will seem almost insurmountable, but if we can believe there are better days to come, we can muddle through. However, when we're anxious, lonely or depressed, a whole day that's wonderful can be an unrealistic expectation. We might need to set our sights lower, and patiently wait for good moments and good hours before entire days can be enjoyed. When we're patient, those happy moments give us hope, and if we're waiting patiently, expecting to be pleasantly surprised by an unexpected bright spot in our day, we're less apt to miss it if it happens. Then, when we're surprised by those happy moments, we relish them, we feel gratitude for them, and we see that our patience, in and of itself, rewarded us with something good and hopeful.
There will always be difficult days, and tears enough to fill them, but patience teaches us when to reign in our emotions for the sake of others, and when we can safely be vulnerable around others. When we patiently learn to gauge the reactions of those around us, we learn who we can safely be ourselves with - who has the ability to see us at our worst and still find things to love, and who will be patient enough with us to stick around when our own patience is in short supply.
I've often thought that youth is wasted on the young - they have great reserves of physical stamina, but their patience has yet to be sufficiently tried; they lack emotional strength. When I was young everything felt like a calamity. It was hard to patiently build reserves of hope for better days when I felt completely miserable now - I hadn't yet learned that my better days would start with better moments and hours. I had trouble waiting patiently for better things to happen - in part because my worst experiences were all ahead of me. I didn't know, at that point in my life, that I could not only survive, but also thrive, despite plenty of disappointment, and some heartbreak and tragedy.
We grow older and experience all of those things. We grow wiser too - but some days wisdom is unreliable. It too, is affected by the constant ebb and flow of patience in our lives. We give in to anger, to hopelessness, to frustration - all because we're stymied by the one thing we need most - a little patience.
Thursday, 28 March 2019
Trajectory - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Timeline of a Virus:
Sunday: A tickle and a few sneezes.
Monday: It's on and I hope it soon eases!
Tuesday: My lungs are about to explode.
Wednesday: My nose is expelling a load.
Thursday: I'm guessing I'll prob'ly survive...
Friday: Perhaps I'll be glad I'm alive?
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 27, 2019
That's the condensed version of how this virus has unfolded - and the hopeful version too, because as I sit here typing it's still Wednesday and my sinuses are trying desperately to clear themselves. The comparatively gentle sneezes that initiated this cockroach of a virus have been replaced by their mutant offspring. My eyes twitch, and my nose alternates between itching like my tissues are infused with poison ivy, and running until said tissues leave them chapped as they try to contain the toxic ooze. I decided to aim for a drug-free sleep last night, which was probably a mistake. After all, I laid on my bed in a pseudo-napping state for two hours yesterday, which, in my experience, is never conducive to a decent block of sleep. Sure enough, the first three hours my body relaxed (between coughing spasms), but my mind spun like Vanna's Wheel. The next three hours I cycled between coughing, sneezing and nose-blowing. My bedside table is the place old tissues go to die. Finally, between five and eight am, I napped...
Now I backtrack; my husband came home from a two day workshop on Friday night, feeling run down and saying he had a slight tickle in his throat.
Smug Sharon, who considers herself largely impervious to most "bugs" felt confident that IF she were to come down with something it would be nothing more than a minor inconvenience for 48 hours. Oh - how the mighty have fallen!
Saturday husband said, "Yes, I'm definitely getting a cold..." And off we went to run errands and mattress shop and look at antiques. Oh yeah - quality bonding time with a man brewing straight up sludge. And I still said, "No big deal. I'll be fine!"
Sometimes I'm an idiot.
A suddenly felt "tickle" made its presence felt on Sunday, and I experienced those first subtle sneezes. By bedtime I was chilled to the bone and looked like I'd fallen asleep under a sunlamp. I slid my inflamed body between nice, cool sheets, only to discover that my internal and external thermostats were battling for the upper hand. The latter was victorious, and I reluctantly slid out of bed to find three more blankets and some Tylenol. I climbed back into bed, arranging a warmth-sealing nest of pillows around me and piling the extra bedding on top of it all. (Husband was downstairs in the "escape room", fighting his own germ-war.) Between the chills and the hacking, I managed to sleep five of the nine hours I laid in bed.
Monday the coughing and "aching everything" began in earnest, and the chills continued off and on for most of the day. I took my first serious afternoon nap in years, and awoke two hours later to a spinning head and a complete inability to concentrate. Gah! What an insensitive lout I felt like for thinking my poor spouse a ninny when he napped the day before! Karma, my friends, is one vicious female dog and she bit my butt on Monday! That evening, after ordering in pizza, my spouse dragged his germ-laden being out the door to his regularly scheduled meeting, while I stayed home to feel thoroughly disgusted by the fact that my virus timeline was following the exact trajectory that his was! At least I managed to channel my negative energy into a poetic Facebook update:
Virus
The virus made a sneak attack
and now I sneeze and ache and hack.
My head is heavy and I'm chilled;
I pray immunity will build.
I'm overtired, my muscles sore -
full of complaints I can't ignore.
I guzzle syrups, pills and teas
in hopes they'll cure this vile disease -
and moan until at last they do -
I'm quite affronted by this 'flu!
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 25, 2019
Having waxed poetic, I stayed up to make sure he made it home okay, and we toddled off to our respective beds. He barely slept, and I managed six of the ten I spent on the mattress.
Tuesday was cough 'til you drop day. And, much to my chagrin, sometimes cough 'til you "dribble" day too. (You know what I mean, ladies.) I took to carrying a paper towel with me to cough into because I was expecting to forcibly evict a lung at some point. Nevertheless I stoically walked to the post office to get the mail AND managed to clean three bathrooms. My spouse was understandably exhausted, but assured me the worst of it seemed to be passing, and he was fairly confident we'd survive to see another weekend. The chills were only intermittent for him now, and I was comfortable as long as I spent most of the day holed up in the Sahara region of our 125 year old house - my office. The kitchen is the Arctic Circle - but it couldn't be avoided altogether. I pulled a bandana over my nose and donned some disposable plastic gloves to throw together a pot of hamburger stroganoff and toss some dressing onto coleslaw from a bag. Husband went off to his choir practice like a trooper, and I laid low watching Netflix and drinking herbal teas.
That brings me to today. In spite of my varied sufferings, I managed a twenty minute walk - and the same amount of time in the basement tossing darts - almost as spectacularly badly as I did the day I took one of my mother's tranquilizers... Since drugstore medications and I have varying degrees of success together, I decided to go "cold turkey" in hopes of achieving more than three solid hours of sleep tonight. I am exhausted - but hopeful. So optimistic, in fact, that I'm about to vacuum the main floor of my abode without being utterly fearful of imminent collapse.
Update - It's now Thursday afternoon and I've been up for about an hour after tossing and turning until the wee sma's. Rest doesn't come easily for chronic insomniacs - even when they are literally "sick and tired". The coughing is back today but it feels less stressful on my musculature and my bladder. I'm a girl who does everything differently, so this is usually my day for socializing, but I've opted to do my fellow book clubbers and Toastmasters a service and stay home today. I may get ambitious enough to throw some clothes in the washer and finish the vacuuming that I ran out of steam doing last night. I still hold out hope that tomorrow will be the day I wake up well slept and feeling almost myself again.
What I've learned from this experience - or more accurately been reminded of - is that while my tolerance for pain is impressive, my tolerance for illness isn't. I'm more of a "man-baby" (and I agree that's a sexist term, by the way) than my husband is. (Which leads me to wonder if all those Facebook quizzes that identify me as male are tuned in to some part of my psyche that usually gets ignored.) Apparently I'm not invincible, and to make matters worse, I'm a complete whiner on those rare occasions when I do "catch something." It's been long enough that I'd forgotten that.
Perhaps it's illness, rather than drink, that sheds light on the parts of us that like to stay hidden - in my case the need to see myself as impervious to germ-warfare, and to be viewed - if only temporarily - as just another vulnerable human being. This concern that I'll be seen as "weak" if I admit to feeling badly is a truth that I struggle to accept with any degree of grace.
I'm grateful for the good health that I've always experienced, and that the reminder to be more mindful was a 'flu bug, and not a life-threatening illness. Many face trajectories that are dire, and months, years - sometimes a lifetime - of vulnerability.
I am not entitled to good health - and it's time for me to stop taking it for granted.
Sunday: A tickle and a few sneezes.
Monday: It's on and I hope it soon eases!
Tuesday: My lungs are about to explode.
Wednesday: My nose is expelling a load.
Thursday: I'm guessing I'll prob'ly survive...
Friday: Perhaps I'll be glad I'm alive?
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 27, 2019
That's the condensed version of how this virus has unfolded - and the hopeful version too, because as I sit here typing it's still Wednesday and my sinuses are trying desperately to clear themselves. The comparatively gentle sneezes that initiated this cockroach of a virus have been replaced by their mutant offspring. My eyes twitch, and my nose alternates between itching like my tissues are infused with poison ivy, and running until said tissues leave them chapped as they try to contain the toxic ooze. I decided to aim for a drug-free sleep last night, which was probably a mistake. After all, I laid on my bed in a pseudo-napping state for two hours yesterday, which, in my experience, is never conducive to a decent block of sleep. Sure enough, the first three hours my body relaxed (between coughing spasms), but my mind spun like Vanna's Wheel. The next three hours I cycled between coughing, sneezing and nose-blowing. My bedside table is the place old tissues go to die. Finally, between five and eight am, I napped...
Now I backtrack; my husband came home from a two day workshop on Friday night, feeling run down and saying he had a slight tickle in his throat.
Smug Sharon, who considers herself largely impervious to most "bugs" felt confident that IF she were to come down with something it would be nothing more than a minor inconvenience for 48 hours. Oh - how the mighty have fallen!
Saturday husband said, "Yes, I'm definitely getting a cold..." And off we went to run errands and mattress shop and look at antiques. Oh yeah - quality bonding time with a man brewing straight up sludge. And I still said, "No big deal. I'll be fine!"
Sometimes I'm an idiot.
A suddenly felt "tickle" made its presence felt on Sunday, and I experienced those first subtle sneezes. By bedtime I was chilled to the bone and looked like I'd fallen asleep under a sunlamp. I slid my inflamed body between nice, cool sheets, only to discover that my internal and external thermostats were battling for the upper hand. The latter was victorious, and I reluctantly slid out of bed to find three more blankets and some Tylenol. I climbed back into bed, arranging a warmth-sealing nest of pillows around me and piling the extra bedding on top of it all. (Husband was downstairs in the "escape room", fighting his own germ-war.) Between the chills and the hacking, I managed to sleep five of the nine hours I laid in bed.
Monday the coughing and "aching everything" began in earnest, and the chills continued off and on for most of the day. I took my first serious afternoon nap in years, and awoke two hours later to a spinning head and a complete inability to concentrate. Gah! What an insensitive lout I felt like for thinking my poor spouse a ninny when he napped the day before! Karma, my friends, is one vicious female dog and she bit my butt on Monday! That evening, after ordering in pizza, my spouse dragged his germ-laden being out the door to his regularly scheduled meeting, while I stayed home to feel thoroughly disgusted by the fact that my virus timeline was following the exact trajectory that his was! At least I managed to channel my negative energy into a poetic Facebook update:
Virus
The virus made a sneak attack
and now I sneeze and ache and hack.
My head is heavy and I'm chilled;
I pray immunity will build.
I'm overtired, my muscles sore -
full of complaints I can't ignore.
I guzzle syrups, pills and teas
in hopes they'll cure this vile disease -
and moan until at last they do -
I'm quite affronted by this 'flu!
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 25, 2019
Having waxed poetic, I stayed up to make sure he made it home okay, and we toddled off to our respective beds. He barely slept, and I managed six of the ten I spent on the mattress.
Tuesday was cough 'til you drop day. And, much to my chagrin, sometimes cough 'til you "dribble" day too. (You know what I mean, ladies.) I took to carrying a paper towel with me to cough into because I was expecting to forcibly evict a lung at some point. Nevertheless I stoically walked to the post office to get the mail AND managed to clean three bathrooms. My spouse was understandably exhausted, but assured me the worst of it seemed to be passing, and he was fairly confident we'd survive to see another weekend. The chills were only intermittent for him now, and I was comfortable as long as I spent most of the day holed up in the Sahara region of our 125 year old house - my office. The kitchen is the Arctic Circle - but it couldn't be avoided altogether. I pulled a bandana over my nose and donned some disposable plastic gloves to throw together a pot of hamburger stroganoff and toss some dressing onto coleslaw from a bag. Husband went off to his choir practice like a trooper, and I laid low watching Netflix and drinking herbal teas.
That brings me to today. In spite of my varied sufferings, I managed a twenty minute walk - and the same amount of time in the basement tossing darts - almost as spectacularly badly as I did the day I took one of my mother's tranquilizers... Since drugstore medications and I have varying degrees of success together, I decided to go "cold turkey" in hopes of achieving more than three solid hours of sleep tonight. I am exhausted - but hopeful. So optimistic, in fact, that I'm about to vacuum the main floor of my abode without being utterly fearful of imminent collapse.
Update - It's now Thursday afternoon and I've been up for about an hour after tossing and turning until the wee sma's. Rest doesn't come easily for chronic insomniacs - even when they are literally "sick and tired". The coughing is back today but it feels less stressful on my musculature and my bladder. I'm a girl who does everything differently, so this is usually my day for socializing, but I've opted to do my fellow book clubbers and Toastmasters a service and stay home today. I may get ambitious enough to throw some clothes in the washer and finish the vacuuming that I ran out of steam doing last night. I still hold out hope that tomorrow will be the day I wake up well slept and feeling almost myself again.
What I've learned from this experience - or more accurately been reminded of - is that while my tolerance for pain is impressive, my tolerance for illness isn't. I'm more of a "man-baby" (and I agree that's a sexist term, by the way) than my husband is. (Which leads me to wonder if all those Facebook quizzes that identify me as male are tuned in to some part of my psyche that usually gets ignored.) Apparently I'm not invincible, and to make matters worse, I'm a complete whiner on those rare occasions when I do "catch something." It's been long enough that I'd forgotten that.
Perhaps it's illness, rather than drink, that sheds light on the parts of us that like to stay hidden - in my case the need to see myself as impervious to germ-warfare, and to be viewed - if only temporarily - as just another vulnerable human being. This concern that I'll be seen as "weak" if I admit to feeling badly is a truth that I struggle to accept with any degree of grace.
I'm grateful for the good health that I've always experienced, and that the reminder to be more mindful was a 'flu bug, and not a life-threatening illness. Many face trajectories that are dire, and months, years - sometimes a lifetime - of vulnerability.
I am not entitled to good health - and it's time for me to stop taking it for granted.
Wednesday, 20 March 2019
Blowing Off Steam - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Blowing Off Steam
Simmer down or ease up,
compose or decompress;
take a weight off your mind -
relieve a little stress.
Cool your jets and chill out -
release bad energy -
rid yourself of anger
and negativity.
When you're feeling irate
frustrations you must vent,
shed tears if you need to
and cry until they're spent.
Work it through; discuss it -
converse with those you trust;
assuage with loud music
and dance your woes to dust.
Clean your house completely,
indulge a primal scream -
Find your chosen method
and go let off some steam!
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 19, 2019
Are you feeling stressed?
We all experience stress in our lives. Major life changes like the death of a loved one, a divorce, a major medical issue, unemployment, or a move will cause anxiety for everyone.
Each person reacts differently to stress; some can handle major calamities while appearing calm and collected, while others seem to fall to pieces over trifling concerns. Part of the problem lies in how we perceive our problems - some seem to see every single problem they encounter as an insurmountable obstacle, while others are better able to see where the really big problems lie, and focus on those problems without being too distracted by the minor irritants in their lives.
Oddly enough, I think I tend to get more bent out of shape over the niggling concerns than the bigger problems in my life. If I were to write a list of the things in my life that cause me the most stress, a whole lot of people with real problems would shake their heads in disbelief. However, I don't think I'm alone, I think this tendency to "sweat the small stuff" is an epidemic that will send far too many of us to early graves.
Stress affects every aspect of our lives; our bodies, our moods and ultimately our behaviors are all impacted by the way we respond to the stressors in our lives. We can't avoid stress - life inevitably serves up unpleasant surprises that may trigger symptoms of stress. Our heart will race when another driver passes too close and almost collides with us. Our hands will shake when we are asked to stand and address an unfamiliar crowd. We might feel nauseated when we're extremely frightened, or when confronted with terrible news. Emotions move to the forefront when stressors make their presence known - we may experience anger, frustration, sadness, or a feeling of being overwhelmed by our circumstances, and these feelings can cause us to react, behaving in ways that increase our own stress levels, and create feelings of discomfort in those around us.
The only thing about stress we can control is the way we react to it. I often handle it all wrong - I dwell on the situation until I feel like I'm going crazy, I lose sleep, I get angry and I create an unhealthy cycle - my mind is on high alert, I can't sleep, so the next day I'm more anxious and preoccupied with the problem so I can't sleep the next night either - or the next, or the next... Understanding your own negative behavioral patterns around stress can help you find better ways to cope.
I still fall into those patterns far too often, but I've learned that what really works best when I'm feeling stressed out is to get the negative feelings out quickly and productively. And when I say "productively", I mean in a way that helps me formulate a healthy plan for dealing with the circumstance at hand, without producing a lot of grief for the poor people around me.
Thus I've learned how I can best "blow off steam" and help myself get into the best mindset for problem solving. I can't promise these methods will work for everyone, but here are a few I can recommend:
1) Talk to someone you can trust - if possible, someone who can somehow relate to what is bothering you. It's helpful to verbally work out our thoughts and feelings while getting constructive input from people who know and care about us.
2) Practice self-care by laying down for a bit and "digesting" the problem silently. Some people love to unwind with a bath, but I'd rather spend quiet time in my room than sit in a tub and wrinkle up while my brain is de-wrinkling.
3) Exercise. I'm a big believer in taking a walk to de-stress. If the weather is foul or it's too late to go walking on my own, I'll probably clean my house or shoot darts - both wonderful ways to release pent up aggression! (And- as an added bonus - your aim improves and your house gets cleaner!)
4) Keep a "stress journal" - or simply learn how to vent reasonably in a regular journal. Reasonable venting includes being able to write your feelings down in a rational way. If it looks like chicken scratch and reads like the ranting of a lunatic (and will be a source of embarrassment later), then you might be better off keeping a separate book, or writing on a piece of paper you can discard later. Some of us find writing down our stressful feelings very cathartic.
5) Listen to some music. For me, loud music drowns out anger and frustration, and soft music soothes sadness. Add stress-busting bonus points if you dance along.
6) Go ahead and emote! Cry. Growl. Punch something you can't hurt. Scream (but only if it won't alarm your neighbours and prompt them to call 911). Do what makes you feel better, as long as it doesn't upset or hurt anyone around you.
Sometimes we all just need to let off a bit of steam.
Simmer down or ease up,
compose or decompress;
take a weight off your mind -
relieve a little stress.
Cool your jets and chill out -
release bad energy -
rid yourself of anger
and negativity.
When you're feeling irate
frustrations you must vent,
shed tears if you need to
and cry until they're spent.
Work it through; discuss it -
converse with those you trust;
assuage with loud music
and dance your woes to dust.
Clean your house completely,
indulge a primal scream -
Find your chosen method
and go let off some steam!
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March 19, 2019
Are you feeling stressed?
We all experience stress in our lives. Major life changes like the death of a loved one, a divorce, a major medical issue, unemployment, or a move will cause anxiety for everyone.
Each person reacts differently to stress; some can handle major calamities while appearing calm and collected, while others seem to fall to pieces over trifling concerns. Part of the problem lies in how we perceive our problems - some seem to see every single problem they encounter as an insurmountable obstacle, while others are better able to see where the really big problems lie, and focus on those problems without being too distracted by the minor irritants in their lives.
Oddly enough, I think I tend to get more bent out of shape over the niggling concerns than the bigger problems in my life. If I were to write a list of the things in my life that cause me the most stress, a whole lot of people with real problems would shake their heads in disbelief. However, I don't think I'm alone, I think this tendency to "sweat the small stuff" is an epidemic that will send far too many of us to early graves.
Stress affects every aspect of our lives; our bodies, our moods and ultimately our behaviors are all impacted by the way we respond to the stressors in our lives. We can't avoid stress - life inevitably serves up unpleasant surprises that may trigger symptoms of stress. Our heart will race when another driver passes too close and almost collides with us. Our hands will shake when we are asked to stand and address an unfamiliar crowd. We might feel nauseated when we're extremely frightened, or when confronted with terrible news. Emotions move to the forefront when stressors make their presence known - we may experience anger, frustration, sadness, or a feeling of being overwhelmed by our circumstances, and these feelings can cause us to react, behaving in ways that increase our own stress levels, and create feelings of discomfort in those around us.
The only thing about stress we can control is the way we react to it. I often handle it all wrong - I dwell on the situation until I feel like I'm going crazy, I lose sleep, I get angry and I create an unhealthy cycle - my mind is on high alert, I can't sleep, so the next day I'm more anxious and preoccupied with the problem so I can't sleep the next night either - or the next, or the next... Understanding your own negative behavioral patterns around stress can help you find better ways to cope.
I still fall into those patterns far too often, but I've learned that what really works best when I'm feeling stressed out is to get the negative feelings out quickly and productively. And when I say "productively", I mean in a way that helps me formulate a healthy plan for dealing with the circumstance at hand, without producing a lot of grief for the poor people around me.
Thus I've learned how I can best "blow off steam" and help myself get into the best mindset for problem solving. I can't promise these methods will work for everyone, but here are a few I can recommend:
1) Talk to someone you can trust - if possible, someone who can somehow relate to what is bothering you. It's helpful to verbally work out our thoughts and feelings while getting constructive input from people who know and care about us.
2) Practice self-care by laying down for a bit and "digesting" the problem silently. Some people love to unwind with a bath, but I'd rather spend quiet time in my room than sit in a tub and wrinkle up while my brain is de-wrinkling.
3) Exercise. I'm a big believer in taking a walk to de-stress. If the weather is foul or it's too late to go walking on my own, I'll probably clean my house or shoot darts - both wonderful ways to release pent up aggression! (And- as an added bonus - your aim improves and your house gets cleaner!)
4) Keep a "stress journal" - or simply learn how to vent reasonably in a regular journal. Reasonable venting includes being able to write your feelings down in a rational way. If it looks like chicken scratch and reads like the ranting of a lunatic (and will be a source of embarrassment later), then you might be better off keeping a separate book, or writing on a piece of paper you can discard later. Some of us find writing down our stressful feelings very cathartic.
5) Listen to some music. For me, loud music drowns out anger and frustration, and soft music soothes sadness. Add stress-busting bonus points if you dance along.
6) Go ahead and emote! Cry. Growl. Punch something you can't hurt. Scream (but only if it won't alarm your neighbours and prompt them to call 911). Do what makes you feel better, as long as it doesn't upset or hurt anyone around you.
Sometimes we all just need to let off a bit of steam.
Wednesday, 27 February 2019
Snow Days vs. So. Over. Snow. - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Snow Day!
Sitting at my window now,
sipping cider warm;
getting tired of snow - and how!
Waiting out the storm.
Every week a freeze and thaw -
ice on snow on ice -
on the bit I tend to gnaw;
Spring would be so nice!
Winter, I would not complain
if you would be kind -
but with all this freezing rain
I'm losing my mind!
Everything's a slip and slide,
everyone complains;
it's not safe to walk or ride -
cabin fever reigns!
- Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Feb 25, 2018 (aka - Snow Day #8!)
This is the winter of my discontent. Seriously.
I've always been a robust, northern-spirited kind of girl - not one to complain about winter, chilly temperatures, or snow - but this year I've thrown my hands in the air. Sharon cedes defeat - Mother Nature wins! Yee haw! (NOT!)
I grew up in Sault Ste. Marie - in what qualifies as "northern Ontario". (My exchange students, from Italy and Brazil, don't think it looks all that far north on the map. When I explain that it's about a nine hour drive from where we live now, that puts things into perspective.) A lot of us probably glamorize our youth. When I think back on winters in my hometown I see mostly blue skies and fluffy white snowflakes. I know the temperatures are colder there than they are here, but I don't remember feeling terribly cold on all those days my mother pushed us out the door to play in the snow. Let me emend that last sentence by adding the words - "except for my feet". My feet, as I recall, were perpetually frozen. I remember skating at the outdoor rink in my schoolyard, hobbling home, and gingerly taking off my boots - often convinced that my toes would fall out when I shook snow out of them. But frigid toes never stopped me, and the following night I'd be back at the rink.
Southern Ontario winters chill me to the bone. It always feels damp here. There's more wind here than I remember experiencing in my childhood...but this can all be explained away by a few unpleasant facts. My bones are getting old, and I've become crankier with age. (And that, friends, is saying something!) Every other winter, of the past sixteen that I've been back in this area, I've been stoic about bundling up daily and taking a walk - or two. This year, a glance outside my window elicits a "meh", and crazy as it sounds I usually opt to walk on my treadmill instead.
You could say it's a protest. Mother Nature and I have been arguing about the correct chronology of all things weather related for quite some time. I firmly believe that snow should fall in December and stick around until the beginning of March. She prefers a teasing approach to the white stuff - a good dump in November, when nobody's ready for it, and the merest smattering at Christmastime. I mean, why let the kiddies enjoy a toboggan ride or two, or some outdoor skating when they could just hang around the house all day playing computer games? No, argues Mother Nature, it's far better to let the snow fall - with gusto - once they're back in school! That way you can all enjoy...SNOW DAYS!
This winter we've had eight snow days in these parts. All the way through January, one of the students we had living here (from Brazil) wanted a snow day. He finally got one on the day he was supposed to write his final exam. And he got another on the day that he wanted to go into the school and say good-bye to his friends. Now that he's safely back in Brazil we've had six more snow days! (For the record, he feels ripped off.) Another student we're hosting is getting tired of snow days, which always seem to occur when he has assignments almost due and questions for his teacher.
I have mixed feelings about snow days. I am a creature of habit, and having extra bodies around the house through the day cramps my style. I like to get my "stuff" done in a nice, quiet house during daylight hours, and have my evenings free to chill with the menfolk. Snow days snafu my routine, and inevitably I end up having to be more social by day, and then spend more of the evening entertaining myself. It's usually a bothersome situation to endure. On the other hand, sometimes the stars align just right - I have no serious obligations that day - and the extra company is nice.
However, eight snow days is pushing it - even for the genuine snow day enthusiast. If these days resulted from a substantial overnight snowfall that forced us all to wait out the plow, that would be okay - we'd be able to cope. Walkers would climb over snowbanks and walk, drivers would shovel out their cars, wait for the plow to come by, shovel out the mess the plow inevitably left behind, and go about their business. But this year, nothing has been that straight forward.
For the past four weeks, this is our repeating weather pattern: First we get snow, then a nice warm front. Then the snow begins to melt, and the rain comes. Then we get a deep freeze to solidify all of the runoff snow and rain. After that, Mother Nature - while laughing maniacally - throws a nice blizzard our way. What could be more hilarious than a nice, fresh layer of the white stuff on top of the skating rink in your driveway?
Snowplows be darned - as a friend posted on Facebook a few days back, we need ice-choppers! We don't need good treads on our boots, we need cleats! We don't need snow tires, we need chains! Ugh! This tough, northern girl is throwing in the towel. Yes - the pastoral white scene outside looks beautiful through my window, but I can't get out and enjoy the view without feeling like I'm risking life and limb. I've had enough already! Cabin fever has set in, and if my "cabin" was smaller my mind would be entirely gone...(Note for those who know me well: Keep your commentary kind!)
I'm sending out an SOS - or four! Stop our snowfall! Save our sanity! Strengthen our shovels!
Please, Mother Nature - enough already! Send our Springtime!!
Sitting at my window now,
sipping cider warm;
getting tired of snow - and how!
Waiting out the storm.
Every week a freeze and thaw -
ice on snow on ice -
on the bit I tend to gnaw;
Spring would be so nice!
Winter, I would not complain
if you would be kind -
but with all this freezing rain
I'm losing my mind!
Everything's a slip and slide,
everyone complains;
it's not safe to walk or ride -
cabin fever reigns!
- Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Feb 25, 2018 (aka - Snow Day #8!)
This is the winter of my discontent. Seriously.
I've always been a robust, northern-spirited kind of girl - not one to complain about winter, chilly temperatures, or snow - but this year I've thrown my hands in the air. Sharon cedes defeat - Mother Nature wins! Yee haw! (NOT!)
I grew up in Sault Ste. Marie - in what qualifies as "northern Ontario". (My exchange students, from Italy and Brazil, don't think it looks all that far north on the map. When I explain that it's about a nine hour drive from where we live now, that puts things into perspective.) A lot of us probably glamorize our youth. When I think back on winters in my hometown I see mostly blue skies and fluffy white snowflakes. I know the temperatures are colder there than they are here, but I don't remember feeling terribly cold on all those days my mother pushed us out the door to play in the snow. Let me emend that last sentence by adding the words - "except for my feet". My feet, as I recall, were perpetually frozen. I remember skating at the outdoor rink in my schoolyard, hobbling home, and gingerly taking off my boots - often convinced that my toes would fall out when I shook snow out of them. But frigid toes never stopped me, and the following night I'd be back at the rink.
Southern Ontario winters chill me to the bone. It always feels damp here. There's more wind here than I remember experiencing in my childhood...but this can all be explained away by a few unpleasant facts. My bones are getting old, and I've become crankier with age. (And that, friends, is saying something!) Every other winter, of the past sixteen that I've been back in this area, I've been stoic about bundling up daily and taking a walk - or two. This year, a glance outside my window elicits a "meh", and crazy as it sounds I usually opt to walk on my treadmill instead.
You could say it's a protest. Mother Nature and I have been arguing about the correct chronology of all things weather related for quite some time. I firmly believe that snow should fall in December and stick around until the beginning of March. She prefers a teasing approach to the white stuff - a good dump in November, when nobody's ready for it, and the merest smattering at Christmastime. I mean, why let the kiddies enjoy a toboggan ride or two, or some outdoor skating when they could just hang around the house all day playing computer games? No, argues Mother Nature, it's far better to let the snow fall - with gusto - once they're back in school! That way you can all enjoy...SNOW DAYS!
This winter we've had eight snow days in these parts. All the way through January, one of the students we had living here (from Brazil) wanted a snow day. He finally got one on the day he was supposed to write his final exam. And he got another on the day that he wanted to go into the school and say good-bye to his friends. Now that he's safely back in Brazil we've had six more snow days! (For the record, he feels ripped off.) Another student we're hosting is getting tired of snow days, which always seem to occur when he has assignments almost due and questions for his teacher.
I have mixed feelings about snow days. I am a creature of habit, and having extra bodies around the house through the day cramps my style. I like to get my "stuff" done in a nice, quiet house during daylight hours, and have my evenings free to chill with the menfolk. Snow days snafu my routine, and inevitably I end up having to be more social by day, and then spend more of the evening entertaining myself. It's usually a bothersome situation to endure. On the other hand, sometimes the stars align just right - I have no serious obligations that day - and the extra company is nice.
However, eight snow days is pushing it - even for the genuine snow day enthusiast. If these days resulted from a substantial overnight snowfall that forced us all to wait out the plow, that would be okay - we'd be able to cope. Walkers would climb over snowbanks and walk, drivers would shovel out their cars, wait for the plow to come by, shovel out the mess the plow inevitably left behind, and go about their business. But this year, nothing has been that straight forward.
For the past four weeks, this is our repeating weather pattern: First we get snow, then a nice warm front. Then the snow begins to melt, and the rain comes. Then we get a deep freeze to solidify all of the runoff snow and rain. After that, Mother Nature - while laughing maniacally - throws a nice blizzard our way. What could be more hilarious than a nice, fresh layer of the white stuff on top of the skating rink in your driveway?
Snowplows be darned - as a friend posted on Facebook a few days back, we need ice-choppers! We don't need good treads on our boots, we need cleats! We don't need snow tires, we need chains! Ugh! This tough, northern girl is throwing in the towel. Yes - the pastoral white scene outside looks beautiful through my window, but I can't get out and enjoy the view without feeling like I'm risking life and limb. I've had enough already! Cabin fever has set in, and if my "cabin" was smaller my mind would be entirely gone...(Note for those who know me well: Keep your commentary kind!)
I'm sending out an SOS - or four! Stop our snowfall! Save our sanity! Strengthen our shovels!
Please, Mother Nature - enough already! Send our Springtime!!
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