I Oughta Have My Head Examined!

(This post is part of a series chronicling my Women on the Verge journey. Read all updates in the series.)

My first month of Women on the Verge found me pondering feelings of “wasted” time, seeking help with life’s challenges and the difference between “broken” and “growing.”

When last you heard from me, I was in the driver’s seat of my own bus, traveling down the Women on the Verge highway, headed for parts unknown. Unknown, yet compelling. Unknown, yet exciting. Unknown, and scary as shit.

The Woes of “Wasted” Time

Today, my travels transport me to thoughts of how many people my age are already “getting off the bus,” so to speak – retiring, downsizing, simplifying their lives… Yet here I am, in many respects, feeling like I’ve just recently boarded. And that begs the question: Shouldn’t I have done this years ago – “this” being to have found a sense of success or accomplishment in fulfilling – at least some of – my life’s purpose? That’s when an obligatory wave of inadequacy washes over me, as if on cue. My judgmental inner voice chides me about all the time I’ve wasted, “Yep, no doubt about it, girl, you’re a failure!” it whispers in my ear.

Photo by Vinicius Amano on Unsplash

Once the negative self talk quiets, however, I begin to think that it isn’t really surprising that I’m just now getting on board; I’ve always been a late bloomer. Slow to date a boy. Slow to determine that boy was an abusive monster. Slow to devise an exit strategy from my relationship with that boy. Afterwards, it took me years to rise from the rubble and begin to discover what I wanted from life and what gifts I might have to offer. Even more years passed before I arrived at the delightful revelation that I have a unique voice in the world, even though it remained my closely-guarded secret. There’s no shame associated with being a late bloomer when I’m not berating myself for it. I’m a firm believer that everyone has a time in which they can shine – mine just happens to still lie ahead of me. 

Desperately Seeking Help

The trouble I’m having with my “blooming” (late or otherwise) is that, while I can sense that it’s imminent, I can’t envision it clearly – or at all… I feel the pull – but where is it leading me? How do I define it, see it, lean into it? I need support, a nudge, a big ol’ kick in the ass – to figure out what it is I’m longing for. I can already feel this course unlocking the doors behind which the answers lie. I’m starting to glimpse how my present habits shoot my progress in the foot and simultaneously marvel that untapped powers/potentials lurk within me. 

Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash

Shored up by some of these revelations, I’ve come to realize that I’ve come a long way and overcome a lot in my life. But I didn’t do it without help. While for the most part I’m an independent sort who’s diligent about trying to figure shit out for myself, I have, on occasion, reached out to professionals for guidance and fresh perspective. I’ve gone to therapy for depression; later, for insomnia. I’ve undergone some career counseling as I transitioned from one field to another. Most recently, I saw a social worker with a very specific goal in mind: To help me retain my strength and sense of self while living with and loving a husband dealing with anxiety and depression. Obviously, I’m not hesitant to seek help when I need a supportive, empowering sounding board. Yet I can’t escape the question, “With all the work I’ve done on myself, why am I still such a work in progress? Why am I not ‘fixed’ yet?” I’ve had all these opportunities to heal, evaluate, re-evaluate, adjust course… Why – or what – am I still seeking?

“Any man who goes to a psychiatrist ought to have his head examined.”~ Samuel Goldwyn

Growing Pains

My husband Scott’s permanent reminder of his own wholeness.

I think I’m beginning to sense the answer: I’m not incomplete, so there’s nothing missing; I’m not broken, so I don’t need to be fixed. These are completely normal, even healthy, yearnings of someone in transition. Like growing pains, they’re uncomfortable and confusing; I have a sneaking suspicion there may even be some powerful life lessons lurking within that place of mystery. What I am is a woman who has arrived at a time and place in her life where she is ready for the next thing. Neither family nor culture teaches us how to navigate this part of our lives, so I needn’t feel the lesser for being a little – or a lot –  lost. I’m not some late-blooming freak who finally has her shit together enough to want to figure out what she wants from her life. I simply have reached the realization that there is more for me, in me. I experience it as a desire – and a strong one at that – to utilize, to leverage all that I have already experienced into something grand, something precious, for myself.

And to go through this metamorphosis, I need a new approach – new tools in my arsenal to help me grow into my maturity with confidence, grace and zero bullshit!  I’m already learning that Women on the Verge isn’t just more therapy, self-help, or regurgitated platitudes. I’m challenged by this course; it’s already asking me new questions, making me look under different rocks deep in my psyche. What would happen if I DID THIS?… STOPPED DOING THAT? And despite being an introspective therapy veteran, I’m frequently stymied. I don’t have a pat answer – or a glib response. I’m actually put on the spot and look at things – consider new possibilities – that I’ve never encountered before. This is scary, new, challenging and deep work. And I love it!

And when I think of the concept of “wasted time,” I think of this gorgeous version of this song:

And maybe someday we will find
That it wasn’t really wasted time

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The Fifty-Seven Year Itch

Part I: The symptoms

I wrote this reflection on my 57th birthday, May 12, 2019. It seemed like an appropriate day to think about my life so far, and what I want to it to look like moving forward. Fifty seven doesn’t fit comfortably yet. I’ll stumble over it for a few months before the right number immediately comes to mind – like writing last year on my checks throughout the month of January… 

I don’t mind being 57; I don’t feel “old.” I’m grateful to have good health, vitality and a genuine curiosity about what my life holds for me in the years ahead. At a time when many of my peers are experiencing significant endings, like retirement and empty nests, I find myself “itching” to experience beginnings – some new, adventurous chapters in my life story. Nearing 60 and thinking about an exit strategy from the “purposeful, driven, passionate” part of my life? HELL NO! In fact, I finally feel like I have something to say and some experience and wisdom to back it up. Rather than fading into irrelevance, I’m ready, willing and able to finally BE relevant – to myself and to the world.

Yet here I sit, feeling adrift in my life. This is where the itch strikes. It’s been rising in me for many years. I’ve experienced it as a sensation of being stuck; restlessness; a yearning to be a bigger, better, bolder me; a longing to feel I’m living my authentic life, comfortably in my own skin – finally. I’m afflicted with this deeply-felt desire to change, grow, break out – and am uncertain what to do about it. How would I scratch that itch? How could I satisfy that irritating, nagging sense of dissatisfaction with my life?

Part II: The cure

I believe that when you approach a situation with a seeking mind, solutions become apparent to you. In my “itchy” state of personal despair, I happened upon Women on the Verge coaching with Kelly Carlin. Of course I didn’t jump right into the program sight unseen. I did considerable stalki… I mean, research, on my would-be teacher. I followed her on social media, combed through her website and began attending her Sunday Unplug meditation. It soon became apparent that indeed, she’s the real deal, with the education, experience and teacher mentality it takes to lead with competence and grace. Match those qualifications with the warmest, most sincere personality, and you have a trusted guide – and cheerleader – you feel you’ve known your whole life. This year-long course she designed to help women feeling as I did resonated clearly, completely, immediately with me – as if it were an elixir I needed to cure my ailment. Yes, it was time for me to stop feeling stuck and resigned to a state of vague longing for something more. Time to take a next step – or perhaps a leap – on the journey that is my life.

Pouring my guts into the application was intense. I just had to convey all these feelings to Kelly so she’d know how ideal a match I was for this program – and how desperately I needed her help scratching my itch! And if filling out the application was intense, clicking the “Submit” button was nearly heart-stopping. Gina isn’t a person who asks for help (read: Gina is a rugged individualist). Gina isn’t a person who bravely puts herself (and her sometimes fragile ego) on the line. Gina isn’t one to voluntarily take on a huge project (that will undoubtedly take time and energy away from more “pressing” issues). Yet Submit I did. When Kelly told me we’d be a good fit, I was nothing short of ecstatic! It felt like I’d been hired for my dream job!

On the cusp of digging into the Women on the Verge material, I am prepared to bare my soul and do this thing with all my heart. I’m not sure of where my bus is headed; just that I’m in the driver’s seat, ready to pull away from the station. Like being 57, this feeling is new; this process is new; this undertaking is new. I’ll grow into it – absorb it – and it won’t be new for long.

Come to think of it, new isn’t new to me. I’ve gotten through significant challenges in my roles of daughter and wife. I’ve navigated/orchestrated successful transformations in my personal and professional life. Currently my husband of 25 years is undergoing chemotherapy; our world is officially rocked, upended, unrecognizable as our own. Somehow, despite that, I’m continuing to put one foot in front of the other, step into caretaker/medical advocate role, keep my business and household running, practice self-care, and still dare to dream that there’s more to my life than my past and present tense. Regardless of how much is already on my plate, I absolutely know that this is the right time to commit to self-discovery, personal growth and meaningful change.

Here’s to – at long last – scratching that damned itch!

And here’s the official soundtrack to my Women on the Verge experience:

Please follow along on my journey of self-discovery!

Read subsequent posts chronicling my Women on the Verge experience.

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A Love Letter to My Birthday Guy!

Scott, my sweetie,

This particular day is a perfect opportunity to tell you what you mean to me and how much I love you – every single day! A more warm-hearted man doesn’t exist. Your unique personality combines a sense of curiosity with an abiding desire to be understood. As a fellow seeker of authenticity, I admire your spirit, your integrity and your sweet, sensitive soul. It’s what drew me to you from the beginning and continues to make me adore you.

Your unconditional acceptance of and appreciation for me lets me know that it’s really, completely, honestly me you love. The way you look at me, the way to go out of your way to make me smile, the way you encourage me, all express the depth of your caring and sense of connection to me. Your dedication to “us” is my unquestionable rock.

My wish on your birthday is the same as for every day: That you find meaning, peace and contentment in your life; that you know in your bones what a special man you are and how much you are loved – by me and so many others; and that you recognize that you have many gifts to give that the world desperately needs.

I’m thrilled to begin another year of your life with you – by your side every step of the way! Together we are a tender-with-one-another, humor-fueled, finishing-each-other’s-thoughts force to be reckoned with.

Every day with you is a cause for celebration. You make the world a better place with your kindness, talent and intellect. You are precious to me and I couldn’t be happier that my life is intertwined with yours. I love you, Sweetie.

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From Housedress to Heroine: The Evolution of the Mature Woman

I adored my grandmother, and she adored me. In my youngest years, she was as much a mother to me as my mom, who needed to return to a full-time job once I started school. Grandma Bessie lived with us; she’d moved in after Grandpa passed away. We formed a bond from the very beginning. The story goes, one night at the age of two, I crawled out of my crib and into Grandma’s bed. We were roommates from that day on for the next eight years – until her stroke which, within several months, took her from my life.

Not only were we roomies, but she was my emotional lifeline. Sad Gina? Angry Gina? Disappointed Gina? I knew exactly who would help me feel better. It’s not that Mom and Dad were neglectful, but there were five older sisters and a brother to take up their time and emotional resources. And my siblings were 12 – 21 years older than me, so the household into which I was born was decidedly no longer child-centric.

Easter morning in front of the azaleas, ready for church with Grandma Bessie.

Thank goodness for Grandma who took the time for me and my childhood neediness while the rest of the household swirled with the activity and drama of young adulthood. I can honestly say that Grandma was my first friend; attentive, nurturing, patient and good-hearted. She comforted me when I was scared to go off to kindergarten and she delighted in hearing me sing the songs I’d learned there when I got home. She taught me to pray before bed, coaxed me to eat the crust of my breakfast toast and played with me when everyone else was otherwise occupied. We watched her “stories” and afternoon game shows together; and the westerns she was so fond of in the evenings.

By the time I came along, Grandma was 72 but it never occurred to me that she was old. She looked like an older lady (white hair, dentures that she rarely wore and raised veins in the backs of her hands that I innocently – and adorably – referred to as her “worms”). She dressed like an older lady (housedress, support hose, a hair net and sensible shoes). She acted like an an older lady (moving slowly, not engaging in physical activities and having a standing house call from Dr Eiseman every Tuesday morning). But nope, little Gina never considered her to be old. I now realize that by the time I’d come to know her, she was living life as a “senior lady.” Looking back, I now see how she was regarded, even by her family. She was all that she’d ever be; a cherished piece of the past. No one begged her opinion on current events, no one asked if she had more to contribute beyond baking amazing bread and cleaning the house every Friday. By all accounts, it seemed she was fulfilling her destiny, becoming more dear to us, yet less relevant to the world at large. And that fate was fine with her, and with us.

But here’s the thing… As much as I idolize her, I know to my core that I’m destined to go farther than Grandma Bessie did in her life. As the first woman of mature years I knew, Grandma Bessie is my mind’s archetype of a woman in her seventies. Intelligent, warm and capable, yet with her fruitful years behind her, fading into the cabbage roses on the wallpaper of life. My mature years are going to be full of personal growth, self fulfillment and brave, energetic steps toward finding deeper meaning in my life. I will not go gentle into that good night because my light is far from finished shining. There’s a lot more that I want to do. The way I see it, there’s no time like the present to get to it.

On the brink of 57 years old, I often consider how alarmingly close to my seventies I am myself. Looking forward into the next couple decades of my life, I’m terrified of the prospect of slowly, silently slipping into irrelevance with nothing more to offer. 

Grandma Bessie as I remember her

I believe Grandma reached the limits of what a woman could be in her era – all to which she could aspire and was allowed. It seemed Grandma accepted her elder status with grace (or perhaps she had little choice to do otherwise…) but I do not accept the inevitability of that reality for myself – because I DO have choices!

So what do I believe I have to offer myself and the world? In recent years, I’ve reached a significant juncture in my life where I acknowledge my wisdom and revel in my maturity. I’ve achieved an awareness I wasn’t expecting; it’s empowering and delightfully surprising! I don’t think I could know it until I knew it. One day, out of the blue, I realized it with every fiber of my being: There is something more that I have to be and contribute. The myriad of experiences throughout my life have led me to this revelation.

I will NOT sit back and let my accumulated knowledge and wisdom remain untapped. Likewise, I will not squish the big, meaningful life I want to live into a small box with narrow parameters and shallow depth. Although I don’t know what that will look like in action, I know that the next section of my life needs to fulfill an inner longing I have to serve myself – and thereby the world. And I know I’m not alone. Women of maturity today are nowhere near the end of our usefulness to ourselves, our families, our communities and the world. For many of us, this time in life marks a time to refocus our energies and discover our “next,” transforming into the reality of today’s female maturity.

Grandmothers then, grandmothers now.

The photo to the right says it all. The same age does not mean the same degree of vitality (or lack thereof). We are so much more evolved as mature women of the 21st century! All those years of feminism and increased opportunities are finally yielding us a world where we have many role models of female empowerment and accomplishment. While the playing field still isn’t close to level regarding men in relation to women, I’m of the opinion that, rather than bemoan that which we don’t yet have, that we celebrate the opportunities we do have, which will in turn open more and more of those previously closed doors. We women are world leaders, scientists, business executives, artists, activists, warriors… We are now highly engaged in government, education, leadership, finance and in positions of authority and influence. We’re on a path bathed in sunlight and possibility, rather than shrouded in darkness and constructed of brick walls. And that’s where we differ dramatically from my Grandma Bessie and her contemporaries… there is a path, there is precedent, there is possibility to continue to be valuable, valid, powerful and influential, even after some arbitrary age is achieved. We don’t have to be “done” until we choose to be done (if ever). 

The thing I love most about women’s empowerment is that we didn’t need to turn ourselves into men to attain it. We embraced our whole selves, which includes our perspective, empathy, so-called “soft skills,” diplomatic nature, nurturing proclivities… all of it. That’s what we bring to the party, in all our complex, multi-dimensionality. Intelligence, drive, raw instinct being equal between the sexes, these feminine attributes have proven to be our strengths, not our shortcomings (as some men would have us think). Traditionally female characteristics give us a unique way of moving through and operating in the world. Now that ours’ is accepted as an equally valid way, women can step up, use our empowered voices and make the world a place that uplifts all people – that’s our strength. That’s our power as women.

Grandma Bessie helped lay a strong foundation for the woman I’ve become by nurturing my emotional life and demonstrating the the importance of love, inclusion and patience (as well as eating all the toast). I’m fortunate that I have the opportunity to live this next stage of adulthood with more choices and empowerment than she had in her time. I can remain vital, engaged and powerful as I mature. Not only am I not nearing an end of relevance; I’m entering an age of new-found relevance. I believe that as a woman who chooses to embrace my maturity, rather than settle into invisibility, I can make a profound impact in my life – and upon the world.

Grandma Bessie poured her heart and soul into me. I hope the life I lead would make her proud.

Posted in Inspiration, Memories, The personal development of Gina | 4 Comments

I Dream of Houses

I’m rather a fan of the way my mind works; in waking hours and sleeping hours alike. Awake (especially in the shower for some reason) I’ve been known to be an introspective, profound, problem-solving whiz. I bring a raw intelligence, sharp wit and unique perspective to the days of my life. I don’t claim these qualities out of hubris or inflated self-image; the insight comes from years of observation and the wisdom gained through living this life with my emotional eyes open.

My sleep is equally interesting (at least to me). My dream life is rich and memorable. I’ve remembered particular dreams for many years, incorporating them into the fabric of my identity. I’m prone to experiencing recurring dreams that portray very particular themes all too familiar in my waking life: feeling invisible, being lost, and failing to escape someone/something pursuing me.

Another category of my recurring dreams I call my “house dreams.” These take place in very particular houses in which I may or may not have ever lived. The dreams always take place in the same houses and usually follow a very similar storyline. I’ve wanted to write about these dreams for a long time, in hopes I’ll stumble upon some revelation in the process of committing them to the written word.

My house dreams touch me on a spiritual level because of a deeply felt desire in my waking life to someday find and reside in my “forever home.” It’s an elusive (as yet) place I aspire to one day know and live in for, well, the rest of my days. My forever home isn’t a grand place; it’s comfortable and fresh and just spacious enough to stretch my imagination and support my creativity. It’s a place that cradles my Sweetie and our kitties and I in a sense of security and belonging. It’s our ideal place where we take pride in every square inch because it reflects and displays the things we hold most dear. If I have one desire above all others in my life, it is to experience the dream of living in our forever home become reality.

It’s only natural to try to make some sense of dreams – especially those that revisit us (or we revisit…) periodically. It’s human nature to attach meaning to phenomena, such as dreams, that we don’t thoroughly comprehend. But I’m a skeptic when it comes to dream analysis. I mean, I have a vivid imagination, a strong grasp of allegory and creative interpretation and, as my mom once observed, a particularly analytical mind. These factors combined could easily lead me to “conclusions” as to the meaning and significance of my dreams. But I in no way believe that I can apply those mental proclivities to magically unlock my dreams’ hidden meaning. Why would my mind communicate with me through metaphor? And even if it did, how do I know that I’m interpreting correctly? It’s just all too subjective for this analytical brain to buy without some science to back it up.

Now, about those houses… They fascinate me to my core; so I’m  going to write about them and the dreams that unfold within them. I’ll tackle them one at a time in as much detail as my waking mind can elaborate upon that which happens during the decidedly non-word accessible state that is REM sleep. It’s going to be an journey of deep introspection and, hopefully, self-discovery.

So watch this blog for those posts about my dream houses, coming soon.

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