tamarjacobson

Quote of the day:

Life is like an onion. You peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep. Carl Sandburg

About a week ago in the late afternoon, I was standing  in my kitchen wondering what to eat with my tea. Should it be a banana, slice of bread and cheese, small bowl of cereal, bunch of grapes, yogurt … the list seemed endless, and I could not make up my mind. What did I feel like eating? Was I even physically hungry at that moment? Just as I stood there by the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil for my tea, I said to myself: "I have such a love-hate relationship with food." And then, just as soon as I spoke the words out loud, I realized:

"Not with food. With myself."

For a moment I felt like I had just stopped myself in my tracks. "An epiphany!"I exclaimed out loud. So now what was I going to do with this revelation? I made the cup of tea forgetting about wanting anything to snack on with it, and ran, as fast as a 70-year-old woman can, upstairs to my study. Once there I rummaged through a pile of notebooks that lay waiting for me to someday use as a journal. I pulled out a small red leather bound diary that I had bought several years before at the time thinking it would serve well as a vehicle for stray thoughts or feelings that needed processing. This would do, I thought. Now I can journal about what makes me spiral down into self-loathing, or when I am feeling good about myself. After all, any food diet (or anti-food diet) I had done in the past always required me to log the calorie intake every day.

So, why not journal about my feelings instead?

That way I might uncover how the love/hate relationship with my Self might be connected to how I experience hunger. For example, I remembered that I once blogged about hunger being directly connected to being angry. So, in fact, for some time now, I have been thinking of the emotional connection with eating. And yet, this "epiphany" last week felt different. Perhaps because lately I have more courage to confront my feelings than I had in the past.  

I understand that I feel uncomfortable when I experience feelings that as a child I was taught were bad.

These lessons run deep.

But, still, they are from the past and are ancient messages that I no longer need for my survival, now that I am an adult. I am willing to face them head on and shove them aside as the old bags of garbage they are! No more time to schlep them around with me any longer. So, am looking forward to sharing this process with my little red leather-bound diary, or friendly blog o'mine, Mining Nuggets.

Just another layer to uncover  … 

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Countdown to Thanksgiving, 2018

There is change in the air: Not just because it is the beginning of fall, and evenings and early mornings are cooler – even brisk at times; Not just because leaves are staring to turn and the wind whispers of wintry days ahead; Not just because I turned 70 and retired from college teaching this year; And, not just because it is Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, a time of self evaluation and hope for spiritual transformation. For me, change is in the air most especially, because two months ago I became a grandmother for the first time. While it is hard to express the joy and love I feel for and with my sweet, infant granddaughter, I have found myself more introspective than usual.

Indeed, as I age, I realize more and more that advice is not what people need. They need a listening ear and support for working out things on their own. For, why would I know what is the right way to be? Sure, I have learned along the way, especially from the mistakes I have made. Mainly I processed my life and learned what worked or did not work for me according to my memories, early childhood and life experiences. Each person learns in their own way. We are influenced by our genes, family configurations, and different ways of solving problems or developing a world view or mind set.

Rather than give advice, I can rather share stories about my life and the things I have learned as I processed the experiences. These might be useful for others. It might help them reflect about their own lives as they hear my stories. I think about why we want to give advice. It is hard to see other people suffering or facing life challenges especially if we care about them. We want to fix it or make it easier. But in reality, each person faces challenges within themselves alone. We can be supportive by listening or sometimes helping out technically or physically, should people desire that. But we can never know what it feels like to be someone else. We can only imagine what they are going through filtered through our own unique life experiences. I also think we want everyone to be like us – advice comes from a place that says – hey! Be like me, do it like me. The way you are isn’t okay. You should … should … should … Leading me to question: Why do we fear differences in others? What difference does it make if they dress, eat, walk, talk, raise their children, furnish their homes etc. the way that they do? Who says my way is the best? What gives me the right to judge others? What makes one better than the other?

Since I have become a grandmother recently, these feelings and thoughts have become more acute. At times I feel I know better than my son and his wife. But, in reality, the way I parented was not always the best. I learned from my mother, but looking back, these were not the best ways to raise a child. I was filled with uncertainty and anxieties – fears and feelings of low self-worth. I have knowledge of child development and when I look back, I think of ways that would have been better for my child and me. But I cannot know what is best for my son, his wife and their daughter. They are different from me – each because of their own memories, early childhood, genes, parents, life experiences. We are generations apart, and the way we live our lives is different from generation to generation. Human emotions, needs and desires are similar, but so much else is different.

So, during this season of New Year and reflection, I realize it's time for me to hold still and be supportive and loving in silent, non-judgmental ways. Am not quite sure I know what this will feel like. I am bound to make mistakes navigating new emotional territory as I accompany my son and his wife on their new parenting journey, while at the same time, learning to become a grandparent.

Quote of the day:

The more healthy relationships a child has, the more likely he will be to recover from trauma and thrive. Relationships are the agents of change and the most powerful therapy is human love. Bruce Perry

How do I know when to give up my emotional script? What are the signs? Is it the end of summer breeze that sweeps through my hair early in the morning as I sit out on my front porch waiting for the world around me to wake up? Is it a stirring in my brain and limbs that excites and exhilarates me? Is it a realization? An epiphany? How do I know? I sense that it is now or never to change up the old familiar script in my brain: I am full of shame and guilt, no good, of no worth … on and on …

Indeed, it simply does not fit for me to feel that way any longer. Too many objective reality signs around me. Too many interactions and relationships that reinforce the opposite for me. I see a different kind of view of my self from within. A settled, peaceful self that rejects those old wounded images of me. In fact, bit by bit I have been giving up the ancient script learned in my earliest childhood these past five to seven years or so. Each day a tiny piece of new perspective and reality has shifted ever so slightly within me until this morning I realized that indeed – it is time to give it up completely. 

Lately, I feel like I have been enveloped by enormous beauty and light. Holding my newborn granddaughter in my arms and watching her innocent, angelic sleep, while sensing her warmth throbbing close to my heart, was overwhelmingly emotional for me. I couldn't help but forgive myself for every single bad decision made throughout my life. It was as if all my ancient wounds were healed, bathed in love and anointed with soothing oils. There were moments that I wept deeply from the sheer joy of the experience. 

So:

No more hesitancy or fear about who I am or what I need. No more believing that I am inherently bad. It has become pathetic, ridiculous, superfluous to feel that way – obsolete.

Indeed – it is irrelevant. 

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: We get what we get and don't get upset!

[The New Yorker: "Mother's Day," by Ana Juan.]

This Fourth of July I really wanted to celebrate. I mean, I really did. I've always loved the idea of : "Independence" Day. The idea that we are all rejoicing our freedom from tyranny. I have enjoyed celebrating Fourth of July since I immigrated to the United States thirty one years ago. I always found it sweet and festive to be sitting out on some lawn some where eating hot dogs, corn, and apple pie, hanging out and waiting for hours for the thirty minutes of fireworks to begin exploding in brilliant colors high in the sky. It was charming and created feelings of community and pride for our nation.

And so on Thursday this past week, I really wanted to celebrate.

And yet, instead, tears of rage, sorrow and shame rolled down my cheeks as I awoke. How could I feel pride in a nation that cages children, separates families, and rolls tanks into the nation's capital so that the new American royal family can give a show of "force?" My stomach hurt all day, and I tried not to look at postings on social media. No, indeed, I felt as if I was in deep mourning. The day felt dark and ominous to me. People smiling and continuing as if all these things are now normal. A nation without a moral compass and compassion. I wanted to drape myself in black and storm the tanks in Washington DC. A lone, 70-year-old gray haired woman. When I did check in with friends on Facebook and Twitter, I saw protests all over the country – people standing in bright colors with huge signs decrying the ugly cruelty that has become the new normal. People standing proudly and smiling as they showed their stance against our own tyranny growing and blooming before our eyes.

"But why aren't we wearing black and mourning en masse all over this land?" I thought to myself. "Why aren't we singing softly, chanting prayerfully and somberly, fasting and sobbing in despair all over this land?"

This is not a game. Children are suffering terribly – lying in terror in cages, feeling unwelcome and in fear of who knows what will befall them. Families torn apart. What has become of us all? Imprisoning and causing pain to thousands of vulnerable people just because they are Other. Will early childhood teachers waltz into schools the next day teaching children a unit on sharing? How can we do that when we are too stingy to open our arms, hearts, and homes for those in need? How do we continue to model compassion for our young children, when our leaders are cruel and heartless?

I always remember Bruce Perry saying that it was a great day when we wrote the Declaration of Independence. But now we need to amend that and write a new Declaration of INTERdependence. Creating community needs people, who are compassionate, caring, generous, and understand the importance of quality relationships especially for the very young.

And so, this year, on this Fourth of July, as tanks rolled into Washington DC, and so many people in this nation ignored the suffering of thousands in detention camps at our borders denying succor and relief to children and families – the most vulnerable and needy – I was in mourning.

Indeed, my heart is sombre and I am weeping in despair and shame for our nation.

What a month this has been. Reflecting, celebrating, donating, walking, crocheting, singing, exercising, talking, gardening, writing, laughing, crying, eating all kinds of great food – all the while retiring and turning 70. And throughout each day, family and friends far and wide have accompanied me with love, support, and sharing of great wisdoms.

This morning I awake after a crescendo of a birthday yesterday, beginning bright and early with cake, cards, candles and gifts in bed early in the morning, lovingly brought to me by my husband. His card for me was all about “courage,” appreciating the courage for becoming who I am today. It moved me to my core. 

This morning I am full to the brim of joy, gratitude, and enormous appreciation for the abundance of love that has been showered on me. 

It happened, folks! I turned 70! I allowed myself to feel the full extent of all the emotions that went with each and every moment. Indeed, as I have officially become a septuagenarian, I believe more and more in the power of now, and am looking forward to this next stage of development with hope and acceptance.

As we exited the hotel on our way to dinner last night, I exclaimed, “Wow, I am 70 today!” My daughter-in-law laughed and said, “You don’t have to say it out loud!” I responded, “Why not, sweetheart, I worked hard to get here.” My son nodded quietly in agreement, and my heart was full to overflowing to be sharing it with the both of them.

Learning from my elders

This morning I received a comment to yesterday's blog post. It was from a colleague, who I am more than grateful to acknowledge has become a friend. She wrote:

I remember having similar feelings more than a decade ago. I still had some opportunities to help teachers during my seventies but they became fewer. I came to realise that I had done my bit, contributed my 2 cents worth, and encouraged younger colleagues to keep up the good work and develop their ideas and their work to carry on mine along the way. Each generation must be succeeded by the next. It was my time to step down graciously. I no longer shed tears at cruelty, I no longer wish I had longer to work. I have come to recognise the finite nature of all individual human endeavour and yet, at the same time, the interconnectedness of all human efforts for good. There will be opportunities for others to pick up the thread where you left off, they will be just as dedicated. And for sure, they will be influenced and heartened by the work that you achieved before them.

Sylvia Chard (The Project Approach)

I was encouraged and strengthened by what can only be described as words of wisdom. For after I had written my piece yesterday, I had a melancholy day. I felt sad realizing that this is it – becoming seventy and retired is a loss of my youth and past forever. Writing about my reflections and emotions these past few days, have helped me face the reality of entering this phase of life, and one of the feelings along with excitement and anxiety is loss. Yesterday I ruminated that on Friday the 24th of May even as I will celebrate with darling family in my beloved New York City, that feeling of loss would inevitably accompany me. 

And then, early this morning, Sylvia's words arrived and bolstered my heart and soul, reminding me that "each generation  must be succeeded by the next." So true, humbling me and helping me to let go in peace. Reminding me of all the times, all my life, that I have learned from people older and wiser than me. The list of people I could thank is endless, and in the past I mentioned many of them in the acknowledgements of the three books I authored. Both my sisters have taught me all the basic essentials of becoming a woman, being healthy and strong, and how to always be supportive of our children. I remember attending my first early childhood conference in Israel in 1987, listening to leaders in our field, and learning that a whole, new world could be opened up for me, which directly influenced my decision to immigrate to America and return to college for my doctorate. From people older than me, I have learned to find my voice, and time and time again, their words of wisdom have graciously given light and hope for the future.

So, this morning, I am looking forward feeling blessed, and filled with light and love from all my friends these past few weeks, who have lunched, walked, and breakfasted with me. I turn and look at a large poster I have on my wall next to me as I write. I bought it over a decade ago from the Syracuse Cultural Workers. It reads:

And she is going to dance, dance hungry, dance full, dance each cold astonishing moment, now when she is young and again when she is old.

Legacy

It probably is too early to be thinking about one's legacy. But as I inch closer to the age of 70, and since I am retiring at the end of June, I have been wondering what, if anything I have contributed to my professional field. At the same time, I think about what I can do going forward without formal employment. I wrote a bit about that in one of my recent blog posts. I am truly concerned about how young children are being treated in early childhood settings and programs. Yesterday, I was running to my car in a hurry to meet a friend for a walk, when a line of about five young children walked by me with their two teachers. The children were very small, I figured about 16 months or so, and were each holding onto a ring attached to a strap. One or two were stumbling a little as they walked, so I guessed they were new to walking. At the back, the smallest one was crying bitterly, gasping sobs. The teachers were talking to each other almost as if the children weren't there, and not once did they turn to look or bend down to relate to the sobbing child. I stood and watched for about two minutes hoping that if they saw me they might stop and attend to her. But they didn't notice me either. So, finally, I walked up to them and greeted them with a smile. "Lovely day, isn't it?" I said hoping to interrupt their conversation. "Yes," one retorted grumpily. I asked where they were from and they pointed to the building where they work. "Have a nice day!" I said and continued toward my car. As I looked back, the child was still sobbing, and the teachers returned to their conversation with each other.

I assume that they believe the child will receive too much positive reinforcement if they pick her up when she is crying. After all, they probably think, she needs to self-regulate and learn how to deal with life. After all: You get what you get and shouldn't get upset! And who knows, probably this is the way that these woman were treated when they were young children themselves, and they are only passing on what they learned, thinking that it worked for them. But I wonder how a young toddler learns self-regulation without compassion and relationship. I wonder about that a lot. Have even written two books about it. I think that mostly she learns that the world is harsh and uncaring, and she has to go it alone, and repress her feelings when she is distressed, tired, afraid, angry – whatever. 

My heart was breaking as I drove off to meet my friend. I shed a few tears for that little girl. Or perhaps my tears were for when I was a little girl. Once again I realize that I still have so much work to do. Perhaps write another book? But will anyone read it? Or offer my services for professional development wherever people with young children need me. But how do I get my name out there? And when I die? I think about that as I get older. Who will remember this important work? Young children grow into future citizens of the world. Will they learn that the world is a harsh, repressive place, or will they understand that love and relationships, guidance and support is what will protect and bind us together as a human race? 

I want children to learn compassion and empathy, from compassionate and empathic adults. So, what can I say? I have still so much more work to do, and every moment has become ever more precious – even urgent as I forge forward.

Journey to the unknown

Thirty one years ago I immigrated to America to take myself back to school. It was a journey into the unknown: new country, new continent, new academia, new cultures. Planning, packing, traveling, arriving were all filled back and forth with both parts of excitement and anxiety, even trepidation. Nervous knots in the stomach, and at times difficulty breathing with exhilaration. I had no idea what was in store.

This morning when I awoke, I sensed those same emotions, as I think of turning 70 on Friday. In a way, I have been packing and preparing for this stage all my life.

I have a friend who says that "Turning 70 only takes a day, and then the next day we return to being who we are, and it's all over." And, of course, I understand what she means. And true it is. Nothing changes just by having a birthday. And yet … birthdays do represent milestones along the developmental stages, and turning 70 means entering the phase of elder years. The body and mind changes in significant ways whether we like it or not. Just part of being human – just as at every level we feel changes in maturation. While I have accompanied many people as they became older especially and including my father, who was 55 when I was born, and I have observed first hand how we develop into older age, I have never experienced it myself.

Hence: a journey into the unknown for me. Certainly there is some trepidation about physical changes, including at times a lack of energy just when I seem to need it the most. But, mostly, I feel excited. I no longer need acknowledgement and validation as much as I used to. What a release of emotional pressure that is. I enjoy learning new things almost like a child – it feels fresh and invigorating not to know it all. And, finally, I have always loved a good journey with new friendships and different cultures. 

As I have been phasing into retirement these past three years, I have been welcomed by a warm, loving and supportive community, and have made some really good friends. Life has been enhanced in ways I could not have imagined even five years ago. These past few weeks many of them have been celebrating with me making this an entire birthday month. So, going forward, I feel sure I won't be journeying alone. 

Patience

This morning a bouquet of flowers greeted me as I wandered around my garden to see what was new. I thought to myself, "What a great time to be turning 70." In four days' time, actually. It is an exciting season to be sure. Flowers everywhere, birds singing – an awakening and rebirth of nature all around. These past few weeks I have overcome some of my fears about the unknown journey ahead – getting older. Instead of regret, I am sensing a type of excitement about making connections with my past in ways that open up new emotional opportunities for the future. Self awareness becomes clearer, and I am discovering that it is a brand new developmental stage to be explored. 

Over the weekend, I attended a baseball game, and as I was standing in line to buy some water, a group of men and women were chatting excitedly in front of me. One of the women wore a cape that had the name of the baseball team toward the bottom. At the top of the cape it read: It's my birthday! Her friends were wishing her well and telling her not to fret: "Thirty is the best time of your life!" They exclaimed. I smiled to myself thinking, "Wow! I am forty years older than her, and I feel as if 70 is the best time of my life. How lucky I am." 

With older age, I find myself more patient than ever before. I enjoy time alone as never before. And, I don't feel the need to talk so much. Just the opposite: I enjoy listening and observing. I am relearning how to crotchet, and learning how to read the Torah. Both these skills take patience, and I find myself happily repeating and relearning every crotchet stitch, or each note for the sweet and cleverly complex Torah melodies. 

So, as I count down to turning 70 and entering the silver years for real, I gather up colors and scents of flowers all around, and patiently hold still to enjoy every moment with each one.

Can I be more compassionate with myself? For if I am not, am I able to have compassion for others?  These are questions I have been asking since reading about self compassion by Kristin Neff. For example, what critical voices have I developed in my brain? Becoming aware of how I talk to me about me in my head is half the battle toward becoming more compassionate with myself. This is different to narcissism and constant self praise. This is about learning to accept my flaws as part of being human. Becoming aware of my humanity helps me become more compassionate toward me.  For example, I carry many plates from the table to the kitchen, and a voice (probably from my step-father, when I was a child) harshly admonishes me: "Be careful, you are going to drop those!" And, in that moment I find myself walking with fear of my ability – probably causing me to drop a plate after all! Instead, I become aware of why I want to carry so many all at once. Do I want to please everyone and show them how good I am at clearing the table? Am I tired and want to finish my chores quickly? Am I angry that I am left with doing this work all alone? In other words, why do I need to carry too many plates all at once? And, on the other hand, perhaps I am capable of doing that without dropping any if I feel secure in my abilities. Self compassion helps me become more aware of why I do what I do authentically and intentionally. It also helps me accept and validate my feelings. After all, feelings are part of being human. Everyone has feelings whether we like them or not – whether they cause us discomfort or not. I might deny them or pretend I don't feel them … but nevertheless, consciously or unconsciously I feel them … simply because I am human. Feelings are complex. They arise when I least expect them, often when they are in the way of me having a good time, or pretending they aren't there.

Lately, I am finding it a relief to experience a feeling cognitively, physically, viscerally, and then choosing how, when, or even if to express it. As I become more conscious of the critical voices in my brain acquired since I was a child, I am able to develop self compassion. For example, after having lost 30 pounds weight this past year, I still find myself standing by the mirror and seeing a larger me. A critical voice murmurs in my head (Tamar, you look terrible! You need to lose weight!). I steady my gaze and think, "Would I ever talk like that to a friend, or my child?" And then as I focus again I see a more realistic version of me. Not skinny and tall – of course not! But not overweight or ugly as before. Just the me of here and now.

As I learn acceptance and self compassion, I find it easier to transfer these feelings onto others. It helps me become even more compassionate with children, who struggle to understand their emotions. Adults, who are hard on themselves seem to take out these critical self-expectations on young, sensitive children, who need their help and guidance. 

But am feeling short of time! There is still so much work to be done … will I have the time? Do I need to write another book perhaps? Hm, I guess I am feeling wistful as age 70 creeps up on me. It will be upon me in less than six weeks. I won't be teaching anymore, and I wonder even how long people will seek me out for presentations. And so, as  I am clearly entering the autumn of my life, I have become more than usually reflective. Especially about self compassion, and validation of children's feelings. I think I have had a good run up till now, and hopefully have influenced some people to become kinder with children. However, I am starting to feel an urgency to help adults who work with young children in becoming more compassionate with themselves in order to help them better accept children's development and humanity. And I wonder … how do I go about that?

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Opossum