tamarjacobson

Okay. I get it. 

My relationship with food is indicative of my relationship with me. 

Most of the time I use food to numb myself out of feeling the tough stuff. 

In other words – I bolt! 

Yes indeed. 

Food is my drug of choice. 

What intrigues me the most lately is that after I have identified an emotion, difficult or otherwise, and if I allow myself to hold still with it, my hunger dissipates. 

It seems like for the first time, I am learning the difference [or is it the connection?] between physical hunger and emotional discomfort.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Pleasure in the small stuff

Sitting in Starbucks thinking while eating the croissant I just ordered:
Soft and warm half way through body not hungry thoughts stray to ultrasound and up upcoming biopsy must live life to the fullest right now and what about my relationships with men? Always complicated and full of longing Charlie was the first time I realized my immortality and that I was lovable …
No need for the croissant now … Throw half of it away as tears fill my eyes.
Fear, longing good feelings worth exploring further – no need to numb them with food – just want to feel them some more … full up now … my soul I mean … With feelings – not food.

Blog posted here.

The other day, I stumbled upon Geneen Roth's latest book quite
by accident. In the past I read her books and was intrigued with the idea of
giving up diets and taking responsibility for my eating habits. However, I
never quite trusted myself enough, and used her writings as an excuse to eat
what I liked, when I liked, and how much I wanted!

Recently after a 5-year hiatus from decades of therapy, I
decided to seek out a therapist in my area. I find myself, at age 61 realizing,
as if for the first time, that I always bolted from facing my feelings. This is
amazing and frustrating for me to discover. For, during the past 8 years I have
authored two books for teachers of young children specifically to help them
confront their emotions in order to interact with children and families more
effectively. Indeed, one of my books is even titled, “Confronting Our
Discomfort.” I taught young children for many years before becoming a teacher
educator, and know first-hand that my earliest emotional memories affect how I
behave today. I am convinced that unless we become aware of how we feel, we
could unintentionally emotionally harm young children in our care. I realized
in therapy that I write, and teach others about this topic all over the country
because it brings me closer to facing my own issues.

“Women, Food, and God” resonates with me. Timing is
everything! And I discovered it right in the thick of working to confront my
emotions brain, head and heart on. Reading each page I felt as if Geneen was
speaking to me directly. Indeed, her whole book is an “aha” moment! But
especially this quote:

But the person who would be
killed, the “I” in the “pain is big and I am small” belief, is an idea, a
memory, an image of yourself left over from childhood. You already felt
destroyed. That was then. You will never be that small again. You are not
dependent on someone else to hold you, to love you so that you continue
breathing. (Page 42)

I want to stay and be curious about me. Not as a collection
of memories. Not from replaying what happened to me. I want to be the me who is
not my past, not my habits, not my compulsions (page 43).

For at age 61 I
realize that I have already survived extraordinary pain. There is no more time
to lose. From now on, I would like to experience joy as well! 

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Infants on my mind

It feels as if I am living in a strange land this summer. My usual routines have still to be developed. I cannot get over what a creature of habit I had become in the old apartment. And now, everything has changed. All turned around and upside down. Focus, focus, focus. Or just let it flow into what it needs to become? Mostly I take my cues from little Ada. For example, she taught me to use the steep little staircase that winds its way down to the kitchen from the second floor. She and I bound up and down that one. It cuts off half the number of steps we need from the larger staircase, which goes between the foyer and upstairs. We choose the back steps to pick up a short nibble, cup of coffee, or return to the kitchen for odds and ends I might have forgotten on my way upstairs. Ada follows me around, her paws pitter-pattering on the hard wood floors. Sometimes she climbs up to the third floor, where recently I created a yoga room. She sits on the landing and calls out with short, sharp meows that become mini yowls if I do not respond immediately. She sighs in satisfaction, and rolls around with coy glances and very slight wags of her bushy tail when I make my way up to her. As I perform my yoga asanas or sit in breathing meditation to the sounds of cars roaring past outside the window, Ada lies quietly nearby. I think at some level she and I miss the large old oak tree that used to stand so tall and strong outside the living room window in the old apartment. And we both still need to find that one spot we can call our own, as we did in my tiny little study back there … back when?

And yet, mostly I do not look back. The house is fun and beautiful to be
within. This summer, slowly but surely, bit by bit, I will develop new
habits and routines. There is something about the structure and form of
this home that invites me to become more creative. Something about this
time in my life that urges me to expand my sense of who I am, discover
my power, or what I deserve. It feels daunting to sit before a blank page. The urge to write comes
and goes and slips away again. But I realize as I write this short piece, that more than anything, writing is what grounds and empowers me – indeed, even saves me.

… or thinking forward …

I realize that blogging was a crucial component of self understanding and alteration these past five and a half years. A way for me to publicly examine my emotional confusion and pain from way back when. Indeed, blogging helped me author two books during that time as well – giving me practical writing experience day in and day out, as well as renewed confidence in the validity of my feelings and experiences.

The recent house move, and past eight months of therapy, bring with them a new era. Awareness and, thus, expression of Self - the likes of which I have not experienced before. Somehow, this has taken away the feeling of urgency, or my need for blogging that I used to have. I am able to hold still with uncomfortable emotions, and feel them within me. Bit by bit, self expression reveals itself in more meaningful conversations with people I care about, or colleagues at work. I become more authentic without fear of repercussion or retaliation.

These past couple of weeks, as I wander alone through our new home, there is a shift in my sense of self-worth. Finally, after decades of hard work, long hours of study, and terrifying financial and emotional struggle and pain, there arises in me an exhilarating feeling that I truly deserve the wide open spaces of this most exquisite house. 

As my wonderful father-in-law described it recently – it befits our [emotional] station. 

Each blog post now becomes for me a sentence or phrase that sums up a moment in time.

It seems that I prefer to share deeper feelings face-to-face …

… perhaps it is because …

… I fear …

… intimacy … 

… less 

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Memoir-abilia

Quote of the day:

A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions. Oliver Wendell Holmes – from CCIE

Going back to the old apartment that I loved so well, to clean, lock up, and bid farewell, I see an older, different time. Only a few days have passed since living there, but I realize that I have outgrown that place and time in my life. Probably by a year or more. Well overdue to move on. Gentle sounds of the birds of the Wissahickon and the large oak tree that had become my friend during some lonely days. Even those seem part of a different time. Only a few days have passed since living there, and I realize, I cannot go back.

The move has felt like a celebration for me. Stressful moments and many heavy boxes to lift up flights of stairs. Some nights I flop into bed with exhaustion. Muscles ache in places I did not know I had muscles! And yet, it feels like a celebration.A new phase in life. I especially love our new porch, which is large enough to accommodate all my plants. I sense the plants singing to me in the mornings. Their leaves seem to glow and shine as they lift up toward the light all around them.

There are new sounds for Ada and I to get used to. Cars driving up and down the busy street outside the window. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend the cars are like waves on a shore, and then the sound becomes soothing – even friendly.

And then there is the dilemma of where to settle my study space. Up on the third floor, which has also become a yoga room for me, or down on the second floor in our spacious library area. I follow Ada's lead. She bounds up and down the stairs calling out to me as she goes. Some days I sit by the computer way up high in the rafters! Others, down in the library, whose books are yet to be distributed on the shelves not yet put in place. Both rooms have their charm. How fortunate I am to have the choice!

I sense new and happy days ahead … for now, I want to invite all the people I love to come over for a visit – we could dance and sing, and break bread together … that is what I would like more than anything … to share these moments … no time to lose … who cares about anything else …

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: On the road again

Quote of the day: 

now u can start writing all about your new adventures, writing them down, while on your new porch, in a rocker…with a cup of tea by your side, as the sun sets…after a hard day of moving…" 

From my friend Patti on Facebook last night.

 … Go … 

The new house.

Closing day on our new house is drawing near, and during meditation thoughts come up to greet me, even as I concentrate on the morning cacophony of the birds of the Wissahickon, or the mantras given me over the years by Swami Ji, or the transcendental folks. I wanted so badly to learn how to meditate in those days. I was in my early twenties, and my more affluent friend, Melinda, loaned me the $120 I needed at the time for the course. 

I think of moments after the closing – the settlement with lawyers and technicalities. The handing over of down-payment checks, and the signing of signatures, the full name here, just initials there. Will we go for a celebratory brunch with our sweetheart of an estate agent – Craig? He has been with us for the past eighteen months in and out of house after house as none seemed to suit our station (as Dick called it, that day back in April during the house inspection), or phase of life. And then, one day, we found it, and Craig became as excited as us, understanding that we had found it – there and then, in the moment. 

Or will I go straight to the new house and bring with me just two or three items – maybe a few more – just to plant them there? Just to show that we will be moving in soon, very soon. Within the next few days. Two or three items flow into my brain as I meditate in the dawn light. Hamsa for the front door, and the harp-hamsa Elise gave us during our March visit, perhaps for the back door, because that is the most popular entry point most probably, driving into the back, down the stone steps and into the breakfast room. That way we will hear the gentle, harmonious clanging of the harp as the door opens and closes with future entries and exits. And what about the hand-painted pottery sign that reads, Peace to all who enter here? Where will I hang that during those first moments after the closing? 

I wonder, and then mantras return to my brain flow, tweets and calls of the birds in the morning as I feel the light seeping through. I sigh deeply and open my eyes slowly. When I turn my head I notice little Ada lying close by, like a small, furry Sphinx waiting silently, patiently. She greets me with a tiny gasping "peep, peep." 

The day has begun.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Post quel to turning 60

Revelation of the day: (discovered on my morning walk)

It occurs to me that I go to therapy as if it was supervision for me as a therapist. 

Not as if it was therapy for me as me. 

Indeed, I go through life observing, listening, trying to understand the other person's point of view, and feeling numb and detached most of the time – as if I was practicing being a therapist for humankind! 

These are not intimate interactions. 

This is the way I keep myself safe. 
This is how I delude myself into thinking I am in control, 
or keep from letting my guard down.
This way I keep me away from being an authentic me.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Being me

Found this at Savtadotty on Facebook this morning. A perfect birthday treat! Enjoy everyone!