Hypnotherapy | MY JOURNEY'S INSIGHT

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I CRY INSIDE

June 10, 2013

Songwriting is both mysterious and magical for me. A song is born when it reveals itself to me and the process is fantastic!

Songwriting is both mysterious and magical. A song is born when it reveals itself to me and the process is fantastic!

My post title is another line of lyrics from my song “The Unknown.” It is no coincidence that currently my song plays through my life because I have been working on editing a vocal for a beautiful new arrangement. When I wrote my song in 2011, I was horrified by my lyrics. It was because they were so revealing and honest.

When I first composed my song “The Unknown,” I wasn’t sure if I would ever perform it. I already have, and recently I arranged my song for the second time. Eventually, I will share it on my blog when I feel ready.

Below I share an instrumental version of my song. Clicking the blue link plays audio:

The lyrics of my song that I used for my title go: “My tears I hide when you are near me, I cry inside where you can’t hear me.”

Not long ago, I had a post with the lyric title of “my tears I hide.” Crying inside accurately describes what happens when I hide my tears.

I operate on that level more than I’d like to admit. I hide my pain, while inside I am screaming and crying. It has been quite difficult for me to release my feelings and very unhealthy. In order to numb myself, it is far easier to indulge in overeating and the result has been awful for me. I am certain that the reason my music heals me is because it is the one place where I can freely express myself.

Writing for my blog is also wonderful, but unfortunately there are so many things I cannot share. For sure, I try to be careful not to say anything that might be upsetting to my teenage children or soon-to-be ex-husband.

Below, I share more about my life discussing music with my voice teacher, Kimberly Haynes. On the first clip, I share a portion of my song “The Unknown” and discuss with Kimberly a performance, which I shared on my blog two weeks ago. On the second clip, it is notable again that singing is a metaphor for my life. Singing breathy and unconnected is something I am trying to steer away from; I far prefer a connection with my vocal chords. In my life, I also want to be more connected with my true voice!

Clicking the blue links plays audio:

Lesson Clip with Kimberly Haynes 5/26/13

Lesson Clip with Kimberly Haynes 6/3/13

“Can you function?”

The retinologist’s words were crisp and firm. “Can you function? Can you do your work in order to sustain an income?”

I looked at him and hesitated. Softly, I said, “Yes, but it’s pretty tough. I get headaches and it’s frustrating.”

He spoke kindly and said, “It’s very important that you understand why I’m asking you this. If you tell me you cannot work or function, I will schedule you for a Vitrectomy tomorrow.”

I had read about this procedure. It was rather drastic. The gel in the eye is replaced with vegetable oil. Walla! I’d have crystal clear vision again. But of course, nothing is that simple. The procedure is quite risky.

He explained that it was a routine surgery for him; and he did it often. He said it would take less than an hour; then I would go home and live with the result. With seriousness he told me that there were rare instances of failure and he remembered each and every case.

Due to my nearsightedness and elongated eyeball, the procedure definitely carried more risk for me than the average person. His recommendation was that I wait at least a year to be sure. As I left, he told me that it was more than likely that I would adjust with time.

I walked to my car. The sunlight was painful and my vision was swirling with feathers and lines. I put on sunglasses and tried not to cry.

I decided I liked this doctor. Mostly, I appreciated his compassion.

I had made this appointment because I was so discouraged by my eyesight; I wanted reassurance that my retinas were still intact and felt it might not be a bad idea to see another eye specialist. I had already read a lot about PVD (posterior vitreous detachment) on the Internet and knew there wasn’t a simple cure for me.

I had actually been given a referral to this doctor a month earlier after I informed my HMO that I wanted reimbursement for a second opinion. My request for reimbursement was denied, even though I had given prior notice. I was given a referral to see this retina specialist from my HMO instead. I made an appointment, but it was several weeks away and I was miserable.

I did not have the energy to appeal the denial of my $250 expenditure.

The doctor that dispensed my second opinion recommended a laser treatment to help treat a common complication that resulted from my cataract surgeries.

Finally after complaining, I was given a sooner appointment where a doctor at my HMO performed the laser treatment. I was told I could cancel my appointment with this retinologist.

After the laser treatment, I was hopeful that my eyes would improve. But it was not the case. A few weeks later, I had a second PVD when my vitreous gel separated in my “good” eye.

On top of that, I had painful dryness in both eyes that was excruciating. All the while, I was busy working on an illustration assignment. Thankfully, my computer had a large screen that was helpful for my eyes.

It was my music that continued to keep me going and helped me the most.

In those wrinkles, I see a heart shape.

“A compassionate pillow”

I was under hypnosis. I heard Connie’s voice and she said, “Allow an image to form that represents compassion for you.”

An image came to me quickly. I easily pictured the pillow on my bed. I waited because I wanted to be certain about it. After a moment, I couldn’t see another image and I could see it was going to be interesting to talk about.

I said to Connie, “Okay, I’m looking at my pillow. You know, not too long ago I wrote some song lyrics about my pillow. It has tearstains on it.”

Connie asked me to describe it further and I began to chuckle. There was an analogy already forming in my mind when I remembered the feathers. Occasionally, they slipped out and delicately floated within my vision; just like my floaters. But my pillow represented compassion because it was soft and I felt safe with it. I wasn’t sure where I had gotten it – it might have even been an old one from my parents. For sure, it was pretty old.

I talked more about pillows and how new ones weren’t soft enough. They were usually too firm and ended up being ones that I put under my legs. As I remembered my former life and bed – I felt sadness creeping in.

My eyes were closed and I heard Connie’s voice gently ask me, “Allow yourself to become that compassionate pillow. What words would you tell Judy?”

All the while, I kept wondering why I had picked my pillow. I often wrote about grief with deep compassion for others, but I decided I had picked this image because I needed more compassion for myself at this juncture.

I said to Connie, “This pillow thinks it might be a good idea if she rested more.”

That was no surprise. I came to my appointment very tired and told Connie I had gone to bed after editing a song until 1:30 a.m. Then at 6:00 a.m., I woke up to listen to music.

I searched to imagine what I would tell myself beyond that. The words from my subconscious began to slowly form.

Softly, I said, “The pillow wants Judy to know that it will always be there for her – she can take it wherever she goes. With all the uncertainty in her life, she knows that it will hold her head softly and support her.”

Tears lightly streamed down my cheeks as I added, “This pillow has gone traveled so far from where it started. It used to be on a larger bed that she once shared. This new destination is something she never imagined. She has come so far!”

This is a photo I enhanced to use for my song cover for “The Unknown.” I cropped in on the one baby hummingbird that would soon fly away to face a new life outside the nest.

I enhanced this photo for my song cover for “The Unknown.”
I cropped in on a baby hummingbird that would soon fly away to face a new life outside the nest. This picture was taken outside of Connie’s guesthouse.

“I simply did not want to look at what bothered me”

I came to my hypnotherapy session in a dark state. I had been that way ever since my good eye experienced a vitreous detachment a few weeks earlier.

I looked forward to my weekly sessions because I loved to share my music that I was currently working on with Connie. Other than my voice teacher, Kimberly or arranger, George, I had no one else to share my passion with. My children hated if I talked about my music, so I seldom mentioned it.

I told Connie that just before our session I had an idea about something I wanted to write about. I seldom had time to write and preferred to work on songs instead whenever possible.

My idea was for a metaphorical story about how I was a gardener that was cultivating a song garden. It was such a beautiful concept for me. There was irony, though.

I had written a poem during my deep grief and named it “My Garden.” In my poem, my children were plants that were watered with my tears after my first plant died. Because I’ve sometimes felt like my songs were “babies,” my metaphor also tied into my former poem.

I told Connie that I wondered when I would feel better. If it were not for my eyesight issues, things were going fairly well in my life. I tried to stay grateful for the many good things that had happened to me.

But the reality was that my mood was very down. I told her how living with cloudy eyesight was a constant source of sadness. But amazingly, I had acuity – I could accurately see an eye chart, despite the large black floaters and curtains on the edges of my eyes. The dryness wasn’t as acute; I still had sensations of feathers in my eyes many times during the day.

I was encouraged though by brief moments when the cloudiness seemed to dissipate – sometimes it happened while I was driving. I was sure that it was because I was focused on something else. I’d notice the clarity and get elated, but with one blink, the curtains and blurs returned. Then my heart would sink.

I always reminded myself of the statement, “The more you look for something, the more that you will find it.” Was I looking for clarity or my muddy eyesight? It was difficult to decipher and frustrating. I was desperately hoping that hypnosis might help me. I wanted to find insight about my choice of a pillow to represent compassion.

Although there were analogies to my life, I still felt frustrated that there seemed to be no answers that could help me deal with my eyesight.

I knew I needed more compassion for myself. I told Connie that I didn’t want to wallow in self-pity. I was grateful that I could still see and function. Clearly, I wasn’t a candidate for an immediate Vitrectomy.

There was so much pain erupting inside of me. It was raw and stabbing. I pushed it down. I wanted to say how unfair it was, but stopped myself. Life was not fair and I already knew that.

I told her how I was trying to deal with it.

I simply did not want to look at what bothered me – I just looked through the floaters. But it was like wearing dirty glasses that couldn’t be wiped.

Connie gently said, “Can you see any parallels to your own life with those words?”

It dawned on me that there were definitely parallels. For decades, I lived in Zombieland. I suppressed my feelings by ignoring the things that bothered me. It was important for me to please my children, my parents and my husband. That was my existence.

With my healing, I began to dream again and I looked forward to things. So now I had a new coping mechanism; I looked ahead to avoid the pain I felt in the present. It was far preferable than looking at the pain right in front of me.

All of this was very familiar indeed.

As I coped with this situation, I realized that I wasn’t allowing myself to feel. I was numb as I pushed down the emotions that were too painful to deal with.

By suppressing my emotions, my pain rose up directly in front of me to force me to acknowledge it!

I looked at that trail ahead of me and was hopeful I could do it!

“Her words were like music to me”

The next morning, I awoke and did not rush to get up. My pillow was soft and I grinned surveying my bedroom. My parents might have slept in that room for over forty years, but it was my room now.

I loved the peacefulness and freedom.

It was a Sunday. Earlier in the week, I had completed my illustration assignment. It was no easy feat. To celebrate, I had worked endless hours on my music. I really did want to feel better about life. With everything I had gone through, I didn’t want to suffer and become a Zombie again.

A few days earlier, a friend had asked me if I might consider dating and I burst into tears. I emphatically said I savored being on my own and couldn’t imagine spending my precious time with anyone. As I spoke those words, I realized how sad they were and that caused even more tears to flow.

I knew my eye situation wasn’t the only thing I was dealing with. My mother was withering away; she had lost seven pounds over the last two months. And although my children were adjusting to separation and divorce, I felt heartache at every turn. I was relieved that our home had finally sold, but as my husband and oldest son were moving I felt sadness for what they were going through.

There was a metaphor for me when my oldest son put the mounted puzzles that once adorned his bedroom into the trash. I felt many pangs when he told me that he had no desire or space to save them. Those puzzles required endless hours. Together we had worked on almost a dozen; most had over 1,000 pieces and held memories of the time we spent together.

My son had been so proud of them that one time he brought them to his elementary school to share for an assembly.

I had already taken as much memorabilia as I could and had little room to store anything else in my coop.

I countered my pangs knowing I could hold onto the memories, rather than the objects.

There were many pangs as I remembered what I went through while throwing out most of my children’s school records and reports. I decided I needed fewer reminders of all my years of advocacy to fight for services that would help them.

I thought about my hypnotherapy session and suppressing my feelings. So often I have said, “Thoughts equal feelings.” I desperately wanted to harness the power of my mind to help myself.

The truth came to me that as upsetting as my eyesight was, my weight bothered me even more. I usually tried to be gentle with myself about it. I felt I would diet when I was ready.

But that wasn’t happening, and I was feeling worse and worse. I kept gaining weight and it made life much more difficult. I realized that I couldn’t “fix” my eyes – but this was something I did have control over.

I remembered how when I began my journey, I had lost weight and as a result felt wonderful. Perhaps this alone could make a difference for me. Only I could do this, though.

It was Sunday, and I had to drive my son to visit a friend. I remembered it wasn’t far from a place that my teenage daughter had mentioned she wanted to take me.

I knocked on her door and said, “Are you in the mood to hike today? I have to drop your brother off and it’s not far from that hiking area you once told me about.”

I fully expected her to say no, especially because I had to leave in five minutes. I was shocked when she said yes. My daughter always needed at least half an hour notice to get ready. But she said she was willing if I’d give her ten minutes.

We left the house and as I drove, both my teenagers bantered in the car. My daughter said, “This is great about your being willing to exercise, Mom! I have a saying about exercise.”

My daughter said, “If you’re too comfortable, then you’re not improving.”

I knew she was relating that to her workouts, but I thought about how that also applied to sitting still in life!

We walked on a trail overlooking the city for an hour. I noticed we weren’t arguing like we usually did. But we did argue about how long the hike was. She said it was only 40 minutes. She said that the walk from our car to the trailhead didn’t count.

For me, every minute counted!

I did pant in a few spots. My clothes were completely soaked. I had an opportunity to listen to music briefly, when she chose to jog ahead of me and run back.

As she zipped by me, her words were like music.

“Mom, I’m so proud of you!”

I watched her continue to jog ahead of me – she was gorgeous and fit. I remembered when my daughter ate only fried food and her favorite vegetable was a French fry. Now she was so health conscious; I wish I hadn’t worried about her as much as I had.

We came home and I felt much better.

The afternoon was ahead of me. I was excited to write and to sing. I rested and showered.

For three months now, I had not written any new music. I did have a melody and chords for a new song. Slowly, I was writing the lyrics.

I picked up my guitar. The verses were done, but my song needed a chorus. I began to work on the lyrics to complete my song.

THE PRINCESS AND HER WORDS

Sometimes, the Princess remembered the dragon. It made her sad when she imagined he was once her Prince. Perhaps it was only in her imagination and he had always been a dragon. But what caused her great pain was the knowledge that forever the dragon knew her intimately in ways that no one else could. It was a bond that was difficult to simply sever and ignore.

But she realized she knew the dragon intimately, too. Those thoughts were also painful and she chose to push them away.

It was interesting how a few simple words changed their lives. She struggled to release those words for a long time. They tore at her tongue and were acid in her soul. When her father died she could not continue to hold those words anymore. She accidently released them to her oldest son.

Immediately, she was horrified. She had spoken those words to the wrong person. Her son’s anguish was more than she could bear. But her son was so wise. Despite his own shock and pain, he insisted that this was a secret she was not allowed to keep any longer. The Princess shook and shook with terror – she wondered how she would ever find the courage.

Her son told her, “Just do it. Kick the bucket!”

She surveyed the castle and all that she knew would disappear like magic with those words. She climbed the stairs. Over and over she heard his words, “Kick the bucket, kick the bucket.”

The dragon wondered what the Princess was going to say. He looked surprised. Rarely did she ever tell him she had something to say to him directly. He stopped what he was doing and waited.

Time was frozen for the Princess. She wanted to vomit, but instead she threw out the words. “Our marriage is over.”

The dragon was calm and cool. They spoke for a few moments about letting their children know and discussed how to tell them. Suddenly, time began to move quickly.

The Princess waited for the relief to come, but it eluded her.

It was only the beginning . . .

© 2013 by Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tags:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, cataract surgery complications, Cataracts when in fifties, changing your life, compassion, composing, composing music, creativity, eye issues, eyesight adjustment, eyesight issues, facing divorce, gray divorce, grief, GRIEF RELATED, guitar, hike in the city, hypnosis, Hypnotherapy, improvement, inspiration, instrumental music, loss, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother daughter relationship, Music, music healing, music therapy, musical inspiration, original songs, pillow and comfort, Posterior Vitreous Detachment, releasing pain, self improvement, separation, singing, songwriting, stuff feelings, supressing emotiion, the unknown, vitrectomy, writing
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SO LITTLE WAS REQUIRED

February 4, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

Continuing correspondence on a grief forum: (My words are in bold)

I just thought of you, yesterday. I wrote on my blog about an eye condition I have been dealing with. I didn’t feel I was as empathetic as I could have been. Now I realize that simply knowing something might improve doesn’t extinguish each agonizing moment of the day while grieving.

I’m having a hard time accepting that my eyesight is gray in one eye. Every minute bothers me. That was nothing like the loss of my child, of course. But it was a reminder to me of your misery.

I am so sorry that you are suffering every day. It truly is a life sentence. I wish there were some way it could be easier for you. But that would only be if I could bring your son came back to life.

Judy, having gone through this, I know you understand my pain. You are indeed empathetic. How could you not be? You have been dealing with your pain for a much longer time so you see it from a different perspective and sometimes others don’t understand that.

This is a journey that must be taken alone. I look at you as a house along the way that started out as a shack. Over the years it has grown into a mansion that can accommodate many to give them a safe place of understanding along the way. I believe Jason and your dad are standing at your side helping you to help others. Thank you for caring.

AN EXCERPT FROM TERSIA’S BLOG:

I so desperately need to articulate my pain and yet I cannot. Words are inadequate and empty. There are not enough adjectives in the English language to describe my indescribable pain and longing for my precious child. Yet, my cyber friend, Judy Unger has articulated my emotions pretty accurately. So in the absence of my own words I am posting Judy’s email to me.

Thank you Judy. Your words do help. What a horrible area to be experienced in – the world of grief….

Post where my message of support can be seen: I Miss Being Mommy

Jason sitting on the floor of the coop where I’m now living.
He loved visiting his grandparents.

Below, I am sharing some lesson clips with my new voice teacher, Kimberly Haynes. I cannot find the words to adequately share how thrilled I am with Kimberly. The progress I’ve already made since taking lessons with her is spectacular. I record my lessons because it gives me tremendous pleasure listening to them and I absorb even more later on.

Kimberly has pointed out to me something that my post also articulates; she has noticed that I have a great deal of judgment while singing. I definitely want to say goodbye to my “inner critic.”

It might be interesting to hear that my habit of singing solely with “blue voice,” was something that Kimberly also did. She said I was the first student she had that did this. Now she tells me that Julie Andrews also used only her “blue voice!”

Clicking the blue link will play audio:

–

LESSON KIMBERLY 1/19/13 BLOG EXCERPT A

LESSON KIMBERLY 1/19/13 BLOG EXCERPT B

It was a beautiful Saturday morning as I entered Connie’s guesthouse for our hypnotherapy session. I hugged Connie before I sat down. Although it was sunny outside, I was in a dark place. It was difficult not to cry. My eyes were teary as I told her that once again I felt beaten down by life. It was harder for me to smile because my eyesight was bothering me terribly.

As I explained my challenges to her, I noticed that I didn’t have much compassion for myself; I was even a bit harsh. I told her that I had even written on my blog that my eye problem was an opportunity for me to find more empathy. I wondered why I had not viewed my struggles in a gentler way.

I told Connie, “I’m seeing things in black in white, while ironically my vision is gray!” I wished I could bring joy and color back into my life somehow. But at that moment, my eye problem seemed insurmountable.

Connie wanted to help me while under hypnosis. I moved over to the reclining chair for that part of our session. She counted and I closed my eyes. I could feel tears seeping out of the corners and running down my cheeks. Within seconds though, I was drifting and floating somewhere else and my tears stopped.

I heard her voice clearly. She said, “Allow for an image to form that represents black and white thinking.”

There was no hesitation for me. As she asked me that question, I already saw a checkerboard of black and white squares directly in my vision. I described them to her.

“My image is of the black and white linoleum floor in the coop apartment where I am now living. I look at that floor every day. Although I replaced most of the flooring elsewhere, I kept the checkerboard linoleum in the dining room. I wanted to replace it, but was reluctant for some reason.”

Connie asked me to explain more about that.

I explained that it had scratches, bumps and was worn out. I tried not to look at the flaws. It was part of my new life, but keeping it reminded me of the familiarity of my childhood home and helped me to feel better. I had lived in that coop from infancy until I was married at the age of 21.

I said, “I grew up and played upon that floor. My mother still visits and it comforts her to see that familiar pattern. That floor is almost the same age I am, I was a year old when the coop was built.”

As I described more memories to Connie, I realized how amazing it was that I could see that floor from my childhood in my present life. It was something that “grounded me.”

Yet it represented not only the stable memories of childhood but also the very rigid ideas from my upbringing. My mother was very certain about what was “right and wrong.” She definitely saw things in black and white. My father was not as rigid, but he was fairly critical and I still hear his voice correcting grammar throughout my day.

Now Connie asked me go outside of myself and imagine that I was that black and white floor. She wanted to know if there was something that the floor would like to tell Judy. In the peacefulness of hypnosis, I allowed for whatever words came into my mind. I said:

“Judy’s appreciation for past memories translated into keeping me, and it was beautiful that she knew it would be comforting when her mother visited, as well. After five decades, I’ve been stepped on a lot and I have some wear and tear, but I am just like her. I understand her sadness. It isn’t always easy to replace old things, because holding onto something familiar lends comfort.”

There were a few moments of silence as I digested my own words. In speaking about black and white, I thought that even though my parents might not have approved of my divorce, they still would have been supportive of me. Before my father died, he told me that my happiness was very important to him.

I continued to drift peacefully in space until I heard Connie’s voice again. She asked me to find another image, a replacement image that would be an antidote to seeing things in black and white.

As I waited for an image to pop into my mind, I saw some flat two-dimensional images. They felt contrived and weren’t real for me. A few minutes went by and I hadn’t found anything I could latch onto. Connie patiently waited for me.

I felt judgment creeping in. Perhaps I wasn’t finding an image because I didn’t want to feel better. I started to panic. I wanted something colorful, but there was simply a black void within my brain.

Then it came to me.

I said loudly, “My image is the comforter set in my bedroom – Wow, I can see it clearly!”

Sure enough, I had a three-dimensional view now. There was my bed. Whether it was made or unmade, the colorful comforter with two large pillow shams made my room come alive for me. I carefully described them to Connie and was relieved that I had found an image.

I said, “I wanted a new bedspread when I moved in. I was very cold at night because the heater wasn’t working. A did have a few blankets, but I didn’t rush to buy a new comforter set because I wanted to find one that was special. I went to many stores, even expensive ones and nothing was really colorful enough for me. I waited two months.”

I continued, “Then one day while I was shopping at Costco, it caught my eye. When I saw it; I knew it was just perfect. Every day, I celebrate my new life and find pleasure with my colorful comforter!”

Just telling Connie about it had me smiling. It was the perfect image to counter the black and white in my life. This new purchase definitely represented adding color and sparkle to my life.

Connie wanted me to tell her more about those feelings.

I felt waves of sadness pushing upward as I described my old bed in my former house; I had kept the same bedspread for over fifteen years. Like many parts of my old life, I didn’t feel it was worth spending money to change it – there was matching drapery and I didn’t want to replace that either.

I explained how my old bedroom was larger than half of my coop. There was a huge walk-in closet connected to the master bedroom, as well as a second closet. The large bathroom area had two separate sinks. The windows overlooked a spacious backyard and a large swimming pool.

But my old bedroom was the place I hated to be. The TV was usually on while my husband was at his computer. Our dog would be yapping at me whenever I opened my mouth or came through the door. I usually drowned out the noise by wearing ear buds. Sometimes, I came to bed very late when my husband was asleep in order to avoid the noise.

But the rising pain in my heart diminished when I began describing my new bedroom.

“Oh, it’s tiny compared to my old bedroom. I hear footsteps coming from the apartment above me. When I make vocal recordings, there’s a lot of traffic noise, helicopters and fire engines – it’s almost funny sometimes. But I don’t care – because it’s my oasis. I feel safe and secure in it. It is truly peaceful and one of the best parts of my new life. My new bedspread is heavenly!”

I had thought my marriage provided security, but I felt far more secure in my new life. I didn’t have to suppress and stuff my feelings anymore. I was free to express myself now.

Connie asked me if I could become that colorful comforter and speak to Judy, what wisdom would I impart to her? I channeled myself into the bedspread.

Suddenly my voice squeaked like a mouse and I could not speak. I could hardly get any words out as I felt my throat tighten. I gasped, caught my breath and said, “I would tell Judy, how beautiful it is that so little was required to give her happiness!”

I let out a sob. I couldn’t believe what I had just said. That a comforter had brought me happiness!

Then Connie gently asked me to continue.

My voice was still husky as I said, “I would tell her that if a comforter brought her happiness, then imagine how many other things in her life will also. She has so many new things to look forward to!”

It was time to awaken from hypnosis.

As I opened my teary eyes, I was emotionally drained. But Connie was beaming at me. It was clear that she was very excited for all the revelations that my subconscious had uncovered. I was excited, too.

Before I left our session, I sat back down next to her desk. Connie shuffled through some notes she had written. I listened carefully as she read back to me my own sentences. My thoughts about those sentences are in italics below them:

Black and white is a familiar way of looking at things for me.

That is because I grew up with a lot of judgment about “right and wrong.”

It isn’t always easy to replace old things, because holding onto something familiar lends comfort.

I have fallen back into old patterns, such as overeating and biting my nails.

I was very thoughtful about adding color to my life with my new bedspread. I didn’t rush and knew exactly what I wanted. I had good judgment.

I did not change my life impulsively. Navigating my new life involved making thoughtful decisions to soothe my sadness; such as beginning voice lessons with a teacher I discovered a year and a half earlier.

So little was required to make me happy.

This statement is my favorite. It brings me to tears each and every time I read it because it is absolutely true.

Imagine how many other new things in my life will also bring me happiness. This statement definitely leads to better feelings. All my sadness dissipates when I am able to dream again . . .

I have so much to look forward to!

© 2013 Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tags:black and white linolium, blue voice and red voice, child's death, coping with divorce, creativity, death of a child, dementia, finding happiness, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, hope, hopefulness, hypnosis, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, judgmental, loss, seeing things in black and white, separation, separation after a long marriage, separation and divorce, singing, songwriting, vocal techniques, voice lessons, writing
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YOU’RE WITH ME

July 31, 2012

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

Clicking the blue links below will my song:

Clicking the green link below will play an excerpt from my voice lesson about this song:

WITH ME – LESSON CLIP WITH PEACHES CHRENKO

Clicking the red link below will play an excerpt from my audio book, which is soon to be released:

WITH ME

I look at the clouds and see your face

You’re watching me; smiling from space

Not sure where I’m going or when I’ll get there

But you are with me; you’re everywhere

When I’m discouraged, sometimes I crawl

You hold me up so I won’t fall

Not sure what will happen or where I will go

But you are with me; that much I know

With me, when I was born

With me as I mourn

With me in every song

With me to keep me strong

With me every day

With me in every way

With me and always near

You take away all of my fear

Not sure of my future, but I’ve always known

That you are with me; I’m not alone

Though I can’t see; you’re not in sight

In the darkness you are my light

Not sure of my life now or how things will be

Yet I am certain, you are with me

With me, when I was born

With me as I mourn

With me in every song

You’re with me to keep me strong

With me every day

With me in every way

With me and always near

You take away my fear

With me when I cry

With me when I die

Watching my life unfold

You’re with me, as I grow old

You’re with me . . . as I grow old

A still taken from an old video. My father is kissing me and I’m probably six-years-old.

Even though I had a lot of songs about loss to choose from, I knew from the very beginning that I would name my book “Beside Me Always.” It was originally written as a break-up song, but after Jason died I simply changed a few words to express grief over his death.

My book’s theme was how my rediscovery of music ultimately healed me. Happiness was something I never expected after countless years of grieving and feeling numb. It was ironic that just before I finished my book, my father died and I faced grief again.

Despite my father’s death and mother’s progressing dementia, I had the insight to know that I would overcome my challenges and sorrow. The memory of feeling happy was something I held onto, because I tasted a wonderful lightness of being and was certain that feeling would return some day in the future. Until it did, I used many concepts from hypnotherapy to help me maintain my positive outlook. I continued to feel grateful for all the goodness in my life.

I wrote the sentence “you’ve left my sight” in my song “Set You Free” to imply departure, not necessarily death. I wanted my song “With Me” to also relate to God, so I changed the line to “you’re not in sight.” That way it simply meant he was “unseen.”

Only a few weeks after my father’s death, I composed a new song, which I named “With Me.” My new song was truly another version of “Beside Me Always” and I felt compelled to include it in my book. Not only did the lyrics “always with me” mean the same thing as “beside me always,” I used the same lyric line from my older song of “not sure where I’m going.” That meant that both songs carried two identical elements: finding comfort by feeling love without a physical presence, and facing fear and uncertainty with courage, as a direct result of that love.

When I wrote “With Me,” I needed my father’s support more than ever – his love for me didn’t end with his death. He was watching my life unfold and comforting me. The feeling of him watching me from above was something I had also imagined when Jason died. Looking into clouds or into a night sky always gave me a feeling of awe, and caused me to ponder the mystery of life and death. Witnessing his death caused me to write the line “with me when I die.” Death has frightening elements for most humans, and although we die alone, I believe love eases our departure from this world.

One of the few pictures of my father with my deceased son, Jason.

In the past, I was often unsure about the existence of God. I was amazed how I wrote a song remembering my father’s love, but later on, I realized that my song could also be related to God’s love. When my father took his last breath, I felt the presence of both God and Jason in the room at that moment. I believe that God blessed me with my music; it has soothed me and given me strength.

Two days before my father went into a coma, I had a profound hypnotherapy session. Hypnosis often helped me to discover valuable information held by my subconscious that I might have overlooked.

I arrived for that session after a week filled with health concerns. Stress was causing me to have stomach-aches. In addition, my vision had rapidly changed and while I was having an eye test, a technician noticed that my heartbeat was irregular. Although a doctor determined it was not a dangerous rhythm, I stopped drinking coffee. Prior to hypnosis, I always discussed what I wanted to work on with my hypnotherapist, Connie. I shared with her my stress, and before long I was crying. I told her, “My body exhibits what my mind does not allow.” She was deeply concerned about me.

I love this picture of my parents with me. They look so young and healthy. I want to always remember them this way.

During hypnosis, I easily drifted off. Connie asked me to find an image that represented courage. Something was definitely in my vision, but I ignored it. I wanted to find a better image, but every possibility was blocked by a gray mass in front of me. Finally, I relented and said, “I don’t see anything really. OK, I do see something – it’s a rock.”

As soon as I said it, I knew why I had hesitated. Six months earlier, I wrote a story about two ways I viewed each day of my life. A rock represented a day burdened by stress and without meaning; a gold coin represented a precious day, a day lived with the knowledge that time on earth was finite.

Connie asked me to describe my rock. I said, “It’s gray and appears to be a piece of granite.” All of a sudden, I became animated. As a child, I loved geology and had rock collections galore. I explained to Connie that granite was a metamorphic rock, created by tremendous pressure. A metamorphic rock remains hidden, and over time it eventually comes to the surface of the Earth. It is much stronger than the overlying layers because of all the pressure. The analogies to my life were unbelievable.

When my father went into a coma two days later, I found even more meaning about the gray rock I had visualized. Gray was often a metaphor I used for grief. I once wrote that during my bereavement, “I did not see any color in the world; everything was in shades of gray.” So now, I decided that my rock was also the image of impending grief that I needed the courage to face.

Why was I looking for courage at that hypnotherapy session? I wasn’t seeking courage to face the impending death of a parent. The reason I was looking for bravery was that I needed to move forward in my life and end my marriage of 31 years. My pain and loneliness were something I wasn’t able to share. My situation was very unhealthy, and it became more and more difficult for me to function.

After composing “Set You Free,” which was about freeing everyone around me, including myself, I moved on to writing song after song and felt as if my life were a musical. My emerging songs erupted from me with gut-wrenching and honest lyrics. The lyrics were actually my subconscious speaking to me – and I listened. It was my music that saved me. Throughout my day, I heard songs playing in my mind. In the midst of intense stress, I was peaceful because music became my true companion.

My song “Clear” emphasized “it’s never too late to turn your life around; no reason to wait.” From the moment I composed “Clear” and wrote those words, I suffered deeply. Even though I announced in my song that I had let go of fear, I struggled to find the courage to go through a door that would completely change the direction of my life. Clarity had brought me to a place where I needed to follow my very own song lyrics that poured out from my heart. As I gathered my strength, my heart was constantly pounding; my fear was destroying the preciousness of my life.

Once I announced my decision to divorce, I had to contend with the tremendous pain of my husband and children. The image of my rock sustained me during many difficult days. But what truly kept me going the most was my song “With Me.” I felt my father with me every step of the way. As scary as it was for me to face the unknown, the known was too sad and lonely for me to accept anymore. I was ready to face a new life that held challenges, as well as exciting possibilities. Sometimes, it does take risk and courage to follow something that is clearly in front of your eyes. I believe that God sent me my songs not only to help me, but also to share them. I can inspire others to find their own courage to make changes and improve their life.

I didn’t enjoy tennis too much until I played women’s doubles. Those old rackets weren’t easy to play with and I spent more time chasing the balls than hitting them. Maybe that’s why I was so much thinner!

This card reminds me how much I depended upon my dad to help me with paperwork. He loved it, too. I can’t remember what operation he had in 1996.

These are my actual lyrics – exactly as I wrote them.

I snapped these pictures on the way to the recording studio where I work several nights a week on my audio book and songs. I simply used my cell phone camera and was in awe of the gorgeous sky. It changed from a sunset on the left to the sky on the right very quickly.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tags:acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, bravery, Caregiving, composing, courage, creativity, dad, death, death of a father, death of a parent, end of a marriage, father daughter relationship, father's illness, GRIEF RELATED, guitar, inspiration, losing a father, loss, loss of a dad, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, memories of dad, memories of father, Music, original songs, separation, singing, songwriting, spirituality, voice lessons, writing
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I CRY AS YOU LEAVE

July 17, 2011

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“The cactus and the rose”

I love metaphors and imagery. Both are very useful for me while under hypnosis.

It was a beautiful morning as I entered Connie’s backyard for our hypnotherapy session. The summer’s warmth had not yet penetrated; I appreciated the coolness and noticed the lovely flowers in the garden as I entered her guesthouse.

Before coming to our appointment, I had visited my father who was in a separate nursing facility from my mother. He had only recently been discharged from the hospital. I drove to my appointment listening to my new song. My song was more beautiful than anything I could have ever imagined.

The past week had been busy for me; I was very excited to share with Connie so many things. I looked forward to sharing my new song with her and planned to sing it the moment I arrived. I brought a CD player so I could play the karaoke version of my song’s arrangement and sing along with it. In the quiet of her guesthouse, the sounds of a flute interweaving with a violin lifted my heart as I began to sing my song aloud.

The act of singing was such an intense form of emotional expression for me. My breathing felt effortless as I produced soft, delicate tones for the many high notes in my song. The beautiful melody enveloped my heart and soul with comfort. As I sang the last lyric line of “I need to set you free,” I truly felt peaceful. I allowed myself to appreciate the release that singing had brought me.

Now the room was silent. I could see that Connie was touched. After all, she knew I had not sung for three decades. Sharing my transformation with her was always very moving for me. I had been attending hypnotherapy sessions with her for at least three years. When I first began seeing her, I was a completely different person. I did not hear or play music and my guitar had been mostly in its case for the last thirty years. I was also plagued by many stress-related ailments. My parents were living with me and I was overwhelmed with their care. For many years, I had been fighting with the school district and advocating for all three of my children. My career had dissipated. I was beaten down and very withdrawn from life.

A recent snapshot of a performance at the open mic night held in North Hollywood at Kulak’s Woodshed.

I babbled happily for a few minutes, and told Connie how amazed I was that I had composed a song that was so expressive of my feelings. The week before I had played my “developing” song for her on my guitar. In only a short week, I finalized my song and even had it arranged.

Our session began with me discussing the many aspects of my life that had improved. Even though my children and my husband were adjusting to the new person I had become, I still had elements in my life that were extremely stressful. I was struggling with weight issues again. Connie said she could help me while under hypnosis. As always, I was open to anything she suggested.

It was time for hypnosis. I quickly descended into a deep, hypnotic state. Her voice was very far away. I could barely hear her and I wanted to drift off to sleep. I asked her to repeat what she had said so I could process it. She asked me to allow for an image to form that would represent my stress. I waited for something to appear and suddenly, I was transported into a desert landscape.

I told her I envisioned a cactus. She asked me to describe it. I replied that it was a large, Saguaro cactus; the spines were prominent and close to my face. She told me to allow the image to move from the center of my vision to one side. Gradually it faded into the background as she asked me to replace the cactus image with something else. My next image needed to be beautiful and comforting.

I remembered how when I entered her garden that morning, I definitely noticed all the flowers. I chose the image of roses. I found that interesting because there weren’t any roses in Connie’s garden. When she asked me to describe them. I didn’t see roses that were of one color. The ones I envisioned were exquisite with subtle gradations of white, yellow, pink, and orange.

I told her that there were noticeable thorns. My mind noted how I chose two, separate images that had similarities with sharp spines and thorns. I was surprised when Connie’s voice told me that it was now time to awaken. I was so relaxed and it felt like it was too soon. However, I heard her command and I needed to open my eyes. I squinted and grinned at her as I always did when I awakened from hypnosis.

We hugged goodbye as I was leaving. She said, “Over this next week, I’m hoping that the images you chose will be helpful for you.”

As I left our session I wondered about the significance of my image choices.

I took this picture of my parents to be used on an invitation for their 40th anniversary party, which was held at my home.

“Allowing for beauty to overshadow pain”

It was evening. I closed my eyes and replayed the images from my hypnotherapy session. I wanted to interpret the meanings behind them.

All I had noticed about the cactus were the spines. I easily imagined the pain of touching them. That was certainly a perfect metaphor for the stress in my life. I was always trying so hard to avoid being wounded. I had become excellent at dodging pain because I would definitely be stabbed, if I weren’t careful.

The roses were similar because they also carried painful thorns. However, the part that was much more prominent for me were the beautiful flowers. I realized that the difference was that I allowed myself instead to bask in the aroma and appreciate the delicate colors of the roses. I did not focus at all on the thorns.

My interpretation was that the image of roses was far more beautiful for me than the cactus and was another way I could conceptualize my stress.

It was far better to allow myself to look for beauty instead of dancing around the pain.

That was why my song was such a comfort for me. It expressed my sadness and pain, while at the same time allowing me to express my love. The beauty of the guitar chords and lyrics erased all of my sadness.

With this interesting realization, I wrote about some of the stressful moments I experienced over the past two days and utilized the metaphors of a cactus and a rose.

I will categorize the stressful moments first as “The Cactus.” I will follow those with my observations that allow for beauty to overshadow pain. Those will be categorized as “The Rose.”

THE CACTUS:

On Friday afternoon, my oldest son agreed to help me empty out my father’s unoccupied room. It was unlikely that he would ever be able to live independently again. I sent a letter giving thirty days notice, and my father was anxious. He did not want me to wait until the last moment to remove his belongings.

It was hot and I had been shuffling through debris and papers for hours. It was sad to sift through the items of my father’s life that he had deemed important. I tossed piles of old and yellowed newspaper and magazine clippings into the trash. I knew he envisioned sharing many of them with me, but I did not have the time or patience to save them.

I noticed he had saved piles of cards; there were many I had given him. I could not discard those, and put them aside to sort later on. I paused to read one that was written to him by my mother. I could feel the tears well up inside my throat. It was harder to imagine now that they had once been so close. My mother’s dementia had reduced her to a completely different childlike person. My father was incapable of caring for her now and he did not want to even talk to her.

I drove home with my van completely full of trash bags, boxes and bulky items. I had no idea what I’d do with everything, but decided I could think about it later. For the moment, I had promised my father I would save most everything for him. It gave him hope and that was important.

My son and I emptied my father’s car and my van. Soon everything filled up my living room. I did not allow myself to be stabbed by the pain.

THE ROSE:

I went back to the moment when I read a few of those special cards my father had saved. I closed my eyes and pictured images of my parents when they were younger and stronger. They had once loved each other deeply. I always felt secure and safe with their love. My pain subsided.

THE CACTUS:

I was careful in the morning when I visited my father. I made sure the floor was dry because the last time I had visited his catheter had leaked onto the floor. I almost slipped on a puddle of urine and could have hurt myself.

My father told me he was miserable. All my life he never used profanity, so when he told me, “I feel like shit,” I believed him. He said he had not slept the prior evening. The fact that he was woken up for an ultrasound late at night infuriated him. And then there was his cancer-stricken roommate. My father said, “His moans and cries upset me terribly. I suggested earplugs and he became angry as he snapped at me and said he could not handle them.

From across the room I heard a loud, hacking cough followed by a grown man’s plaintive cries. Then, my father began to cry, too. Two men crying in harmony – It was so tragic!

My father wailed, “You see what I’m talking about?” His distress was overwhelming. It reminded me of how a year earlier my mother had also had a dying roommate. She did not sleep well either for several weeks.

I looked at my father. His eyes bulged and he had shrunken so much. He appeared to have a perpetual grimace. He moaned, “Where the hell is my breakfast?” His irritation was intense, even though the nurse that quickly came to his bedside was patient and kind with him.

THE ROSE:

I watched my father eat his breakfast, and was glad to see he still had some appetite. I told him that it was nice to see him enjoying his breakfast. He replied, “I’m not enjoying my breakfast, but I am enjoying your visit. At that moment, I saw the barest glimpse of a smile on his face.

My tears subsided with that thought.

My father did not want his picture taken and put his head down on purpose. Both my parents have become very thin.

I am amazed that as I quickly snapped this, I captured my father reaching his hand over to say goodbye to my mother.

THE CACTUS:

After my hypnotherapy session I headed over to a restaurant where my family was gathering for lunch. It had become a weekly ritual, taking my mother out to lunch on Saturdays. Her caregiver, Miriam, came along to help. My two brothers and sometimes a grandchild or two also joined in. My father’s favorite restaurant was “The International House of Pancakes.” My brothers disliked the restaurant, but I didn’t care because I was so grateful that it made my father happy.

I was shocked that my father said he would go this week. He had hardly gotten out of bed since being hospitalized the week before with pneumonia and a blood infection. He had even mentioned how he missed going the week before, while he was in the hospital. I took this as a sign that he still wanted to live.

I arrived at the restaurant; Miriam and my mother had gotten there first. I noticed that Miriam looked distraught. She privately spoke to my older brother and I and explained that my mother’s dementia had progressed to the point where it was best not to tell her in advance of any impending activities. The anticipation caused my mother to become anxious and unravel. Miriam was exhausted from trying to hold my mother together.

A few moments later, my middle brother wheeled my father inside the restaurant. My father was shaking and said he was freezing cold. It was actually warm in the restaurant and I noticed that his sweater was full of holes. My father said hello to my mother without any eye contact; mostly they ignored each other.

My mother looked tired. Her difficult morning had worn her out. It was clear now that she did not make any sense at all. I was aware of how many of her words were not words at all. As she babbled nonsensically, I felt sad. The other family members conversed around her and she would make statements no one understood. I looked at her directly and nodded while smiling at her. I didn’t want her to feel ignored.

During the meal, my father began to cry and said he was upset because everyone was talking too fast. After that, I tried hard to speak slowly. Although my parents sat next to each other, they were miles away from each other. The aging process had reduced my parents to pitiful shells of their former selves.

I remembered how my paternal grandmother never allowed for pictures to be taken of her. Now my father was the same way. When he saw a camera, he shielded his face and put his head down. As my parents said goodbye to each outside in their wheelchairs, I quickly snapped a few pictures.

THE ROSE:

I heard my song playing in my heart and head as I sat in that restaurant. I felt so blessed to see my parents together. This was a precious lunch; I realized there weren’t going to be too many more like this. There was intuition between my brothers and I with that knowledge. We eyed each other and my oldest brother squeezed my hand.

My parents were surrounded by all three of their children and two grandchildren. Despite the pain of their predicament, they radiated happiness to be alive with loving family surrounding them. I admired their courage.

My smile was broad throughout that special luncheon. I reminded both my father and my mother that I was very happy with my life; that was what they had both wanted for me most.

I tried not to notice their pain.

Although there were many thorns in my life, I allowed for beauty to overshadow the pain.

A transcription of my mother’s words on the card below:

Dearest Lee,

So much has happened and mostly because of me. I am so sorry. Thank god for such wonderful children we nurtured. They are all so wonderful.

All my love,

Your wife, Shirley

Tags:"sandwich generation", Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, creativity, Daily Life, father's illness, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, loss, lyric development, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Ordinary Life, original songs, parents dying, performing, singing, songwriting, writing
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THERE’S SO MUCH FEAR

March 22, 2011

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Memories are truly one of the greatest gifts in my life. I didn’t always feel that way, since I held onto many traumatic and sad memories.

As a memory in my life replays, it can be so clear for me sometimes. The smells, lighting, sounds; all of it is there as I am transported back to a certain moment in time.

Of course, not every moment of an ordinary day becomes a memory. Only extraordinary moments are “captured,” and I am not always aware that they are special while they are happening.

Recently, I had a moment while I was visiting my mother where I definitely felt I had a memory I would access later in my life.

It was on a rainy morning over this past weekend. I decided to stop by my mother’s nursing facility before going to an appointment with my hypnotherapist, Connie. As I walked into my mother’s room, I felt like a star walking onto a stage garnering tremendous applause. My mother’s face lit up like the sun and her caregiver, Miriam, clapped with joy to see me.

It was hard for me to know how much my mother was aware of. Certainly, she was often frustrated with her inability to find words. As usual, I simply smiled and told my mom how wonderful I was doing and how much I loved her. She babbled nonsensical statements, so I simply sidestepped and ignored her confusion.

My mother had attempted physical therapy last week. Because I am very aware of attitudes and outcomes, I found it very interesting to hear Miriam describe how it went to me.

My mother walked several steps, but then she collapsed in terror. She was not in pain, but she was panicked and fearful. Miriam said, “The physical therapist kept emphasizing to your mother that it might hurt – so she was very afraid.”

It turns out that my mother’s pain in her life is not her hip, her shoulder, or her back anymore. It is terror over her intense fear of the unknown.

I had brought with me some old, picture albums. It was suggested to me that with dementia it might be helpful for my mother to spend time looking at old pictures and explaining them to her caregiver.

Miriam shuffled through some of the albums I had brought while I was gently chatting with my mother. As Miriam looked at some of the pictures, she commented softly, “Look at your mother and how beautiful she looks! When was this picture taken?”

I turned to Miriam and said, “That one was four years ago.” I flipped through and pointed to one that was taken the day before my mother broke her shoulder and ended up on a respirator for two months. I glanced at the picture. My mother was dressed so nicely and her eyes were sharp. I said, “This picture is from only a little over a year ago.”

Miriam let out an almost inaudible gasp.

That gasp spoke endlessly to me. The unspoken words and story that spun from it was:

“Oh my goodness, how she has changed (deteriorated) from her image in that picture!”

My mother looked tired. I noticed how the skin on her arm was so different now. It looked like a paper that had been crunched into a small ball and then unrolled again. Tiny webs of lines crisscrossed her skin so that it looked almost like a piece of crumpled, tissue paper.

Miriam said, “I know I’m not allowed to do this, but sometimes we have to wait fifteen minutes for someone to come and put her in her bed. I am not going to wait – I will just do it now.”

I replied, “Miriam, I found out that as long as I am here you are allowed. So go ahead!”

Miriam gently lifted my mother from her wheelchair onto her bed. My mother would nap in her clothes and later on wake up to go to lunch. After lunch she might nap again. That was her life now. She woke up, ate breakfast, napped, ate lunch, napped, ate dinner, and went to sleep for the night at 6:30 p.m.

The room was dim. I leaned close to my mom and kissed her. “Have a nice nap, mom,” I told her.

Her dull eyes brightened for a moment. She was devouring my face with love. Then she became downcast and said, “I feel so bad for her. You know she got lost!”

As usual, I quickly jumped to redirect my mom from any bad feelings. So I said, “Mom, there’s no reason to feel bad for anyone else. You’re doing well and that’s what is important!”

As the words left my mouth, I realized how hollow and insincere they sounded. I decided to ask her, “Mom, whom do you feel bad for – who was lost?”

My mom said, “You know, you lost her – your friend. The one you used to go shopping with and whom you were so close to.”

My eyes filled with tears. My mom knew. She was speaking about herself.

Click the blue link below to play audio:

MEMORY OF LOVE – LIVE PERFORMANCE AT KULAK’S WOODSHED 3/21/11

THE MEMORY OF LOVE

How can I tell you, I’m sad you’re leaving me?

I miss the way you used to be

I lost you somewhere

I’m lonely and I can’t share

I cannot tell you, so instead I just pretend

it’s easier, than to face the end

I’ve tried so hard to accept

as you fade away, I’ve slowly wept

I feel, I sense, there’s so much fear

I try to be brave, as you disappear from here

I cannot see you,

you’ve become transparent

I ache and wonder where you went

you can’t hear my cries

with deaf ears and vacant eyes

I pray, I wish, you were aware

but when I feel despair

the memory of love

is there

so even if you’re not aware

the memory of love is always there

“Instead of black and white, a palette of emotion”

The rain steadily pounded upon the guesthouse. I could hear the tapping sounds and splashes in the garden outside.

I told Connie that I was using my hypnotherapy tools and needed a lot of “self-talk” to help me deal with all the stress I had been facing the past week. Connie said it sounded as if I felt a lot of pressure.

As I was talking, I began to realize how frequently I used the statement, “I don’t know.” Here was a list from my memory of many of my statements with “I don’t know:”

“I don’t know if my teenage daughter and I will ever have a close relationship.”

“I don’t know if I’ve been patient enough with my youngest son.”

“I don’t know if my dreams are a distraction from the reality of all the overwhelming bills there are to pay.”

“I don’t know if my husband will continue to support my efforts. I haven’t paid much attention to him, lately.”

“I don’t know if I have a good enough title for my book.”

“I don’t know when I’ll finish the lyrics to my new song.”

One of the hypnotherapy concepts I learned was, “The more I looked for something, the more I’d find it.” With the statement of, “I don’t know,” I was simply leaving myself in a place of never knowing. The unknown was a place for me that seemed fearful.

I needed a replacement statement for, “I don’t know.”

Out came my favorite word. It was the word “wonder.” Replacing the doubt with “wonder” had the implication of “wonderment” and also far less doubt.

I loved wondering instead of doubting.

I had a tendency to also see things in “black and white.” I explained to Connie how that was probably “a habit” and a result of my childhood. My own mother and father still see things that way, and my awareness of it has helped me change a lot in that regard.

However, there is never an end to self-improvement!

The artist in me came alive when thinking of an alternative to viewing things in my life as “black and white.” Seeing things in “shades of gray” wasn’t even good enough for me.

I decided my “palette of emotion” would be far better displayed with infinite, colorful tones. It wasn’t about the pressure of failure or success anymore, because I began to wonder about all the colorful possibilities in between.

It dawned on me also that a lot of my energy was spent “wondering” about how to make all the other people in my life happy. I was very good at that, and had done it for a long time.

However, I celebrated the knowledge that my transformation was a result of my learning to make myself happy.

Nothing was going to deter me from appreciating that fact and continuing to find ways to improve my life and myself.

Tags:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, creativity, Daily Life, dementia, Friendship, grief, guitar, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, loss, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Ordinary Life, original songs, performing, singing, songwriting, writing
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I’VE ALWAYS KNOWN I’M NOT ALONE

January 22, 2011

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

This picture of my mother with a rainbow is amazing for me.

Soon it will be the one-year anniversary of “My Journey’s Insight.” I have been thinking about whether I will continue this blog.

I want my blog to stand as testimony of my amazing year. To continue it might trivialize what it represents for me. My accomplishment in one year was my transformation, as I released all of the stories and music from within my heart.

Perhaps there will be new stories and songs for me. I like to wonder about that! I love writing and sharing, so I might pursue another type of venture; I might even start a new blog.

The title for this post comes from my new and upcoming song, You Were There. This new song carries the melody of my instrumental song, Farewell. This past week, the lyrics for my upcoming song flowed out from me.

Although I did write my song “Alone” before experiencing grief, the absolute truth is that I have never been alone. The love from my mother always enveloped me in safety and comfort.

I most certainly had issues with her as many mothers and daughters do. However, I never doubted that my mother loved me deeply; her essence was completely about loving all of her children.

I truly became close to my mother when I became a mother.

Any past enmity that I had toward my mother in my mid-twenties evaporated when I saw how she devoted herself to helping me with Jason. With his death, she echoed my grief. She loved Jason, and still carries his memory.

Below is a recent, message excerpt from my cousin, Dorothy. Messages like this help me continue to stay positive.

Dear Judy,

Thank you for the photos. The picture of the artwork on the table reminded me of your mother and all the art projects she did for you. As a result you are a great artist.

All the things your mother did for you have not only made you a good artist but gave you the persistence to do all the things you did with each and every one of your children.

It sounds as though your mother is slowly gaining her strength back. Judy, you are helping to give her moments of peace. Thank you for all you do. The pictures you send bring back so many wonderful memories. She is such a fighter and has always had so much to give to others with all the love she had inside her.

And now you are giving back to your mother.

Love, Dorothy

There are things I notice about this picture. My father’s face is full; he is so much heavier. My mother has reading glasses and is about the age I am now in this picture. I do not carry any, and I probably should!

The unknown can be scary. For me, there is a lot of unknown about my mother’s condition right now.

It has been difficult for me to counteract medical personnel that view my mother as a rare oddity – someone who has refused surgery. That was why she became a candidate for hospice. Although I am told she is dying, I believe she would be dying in the same way even if she had surgery – only sooner and with significantly more pain.

Certainly, no one has solved for me the riddle of my mother’s dementia!

If I wanted to be angry, I could go to a place of wondering why those same medical personnel were not more helpful about preventing my mother’s accident – or even a future accident!

I don’t go there, although I have a meeting on Monday with the hospice team to discuss my mother’s situation. I hope I won’t express anger when I am faced with an attitude that I have hastened my mother’s demise.

Sadly, my mother has disappeared into a fog of confusion the last few days. It appeared not be related to any medication changes, although she did begin an antidepressant, yesterday.

I try to remain positive. I am able to handle this phase, because she is comfortable and happy. She is not suffering!

Most of the time my mother is sleeping. The other night, I tiptoed in and gently woke her. Her face beamed at me with happiness. I listened to her nonsensical babble and didn’t correct her. I knew she was happy that I was there; even though it was sad that she was so “out of touch.”

Because it was in the back of my mind the slim hope she could take an “anti-dementia” drug, I decided to ask my mom if she still wanted a pacemaker. I gently reminded her that with a pacemaker she would have more energy; I could arrange for it.

Suddenly, my mother’s fog lifted. She told me she did not want any measures done like that. She said to me sternly, “No more hospitals!”

I knew she understood.

I had to ask her something else. I asked again her if she wanted to have surgery to repair her broken hip. She looked at me directly and said, “No way!”

Tears rolled down my cheeks, because my mother suddenly seemed so alert and aware.

She must have known that I needed to hear that.

I left in the twilight. I listened to my new song and cried while I was driving.

Nine months ago, I wrote a story that I called “The other daughter.” In summary, it was about another daughter whose mother was dying while my mother was on a respirator a little over a year ago. A PERFECT DAUGHTER, I’M NOT

“The other daughter” is also a Judy, and she is a good friend of my friend, Janis. Tomorrow night when I perform, Janis and Judy will be coming to watch. Judy has been observing strict, mourning customs since her mother died last December. She did not attend any musical performances for a year. Now she is coming to hear me sing!

After I perform, we are all planning to go out to dinner. I am looking forward to it.

Judy did not have the opportunity to say goodbye to her mother as I have with mine.

I have chosen to look at this time with my mother as a wonderful gift!

I love memories of my parents when they were able to dance.

This morning, I sat in a lovely garden after breakfast with my mother and Miriam, her caregiver. Miriam carried a book with her. She shared with me that this book was helping her. It was a book about faith. She said to me, “Judy, sometimes so many things happen to us and it is those very things that allow us to understand the meaning of life.”

I haven’t read any books in a long time; her book sounded interesting. I remember very well, being very angry with God for the loss of my child. Her simple statement made a lot of sense to me.

I truly understand now how much I have learned from all the challenges in my life!

All of the things I used to fear are not scary anymore. I understand about losing my mother and my father. I even understand that the time will come when I will die.

When that time comes, I will let God know how thankful I am for all the gifts I was given.

I took this picture the other night.

DEMENTIA, IS A DEMON

Dementia is a demon.

This demon is evil and capricious, wily and cunning. Like a poisonous snake, it slowly slithers into the soul. It tightens its evil grip upon the brain. At first, its victim struggles with the ever-tightening awareness. Soon, it becomes too difficult to escape from the demon’s tentacles of torture.

The demon of dementia likes to tease its victim. The demon knows it will ultimately win, so it takes its time.

My mother is now a victim of this demon!

I wish I could pull out that demonic snake and rip it into pieces to prevent it from further destroying my mother’s soul!

This demon taunts me! My mother is still warm, but too weak to fight. I want to understand why this demon invaded someone who is such a kind and loving human!

I do realize there is so much pain and evil in the world!

The demon of dementia might win, but only in the physical sense.

My mother’s soul may have been incrementally stolen, however, love and goodness can still triumph.

The demon of dementia can never take away love and

goodness, because I can carry it on.

My youngest son made this completely on his own and gave it to me. When I asked him why he chose the word “hope,” he said it was for his grandma.

“Lyric adjustment”

Last night when I performed at Border’s I played my new song.

My song felt “finished.” I looked forward to recording it. I did have one, lyric line that I wasn’t 100% sure of. Although, it was honest – it felt “needy” and sad. It was:

“And when you’re not there, I’ll look for your love everywhere.”

I know there is no one on this planet who could love me as much as my mother did. Although I know I am fortunate to have experienced that kind of love, to lose it felt very sad.

This morning, I brought my guitar into my hypnotherapy session. Since music expressed my feelings better than anything, I was eager to share my new song with Connie.

I had changed my strings the night before; the sound was gorgeous. I was glad I was able to play my song without crying. As my last note echoed, I felt peaceful.

Connie gently asked me for an explanation about the lyric line I wasn’t certain of. I was fascinated that she had picked up on my sadness with those words!

We talked about it.

I left her guesthouse knowing my song was truly finished. I was now 100% sure about my lyric line. It became:

“And when you’re not there, I’ll still see your love everywhere.”

PEACHES LESSON EXCERPT – 1/20/11

PEACHES LESSON – YOU WERE THERE – 1/20/11

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tags:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Advocacy, Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, creativity, Daily Life, dementia, guitar, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, Ordinary Life, original songs, performing, singing, songwriting, voice lessons, writing
Posted in Hip fracture-no surgery, Hypnotherapy | 2 Comments »

THE BEAUTY REMAINS

November 24, 2010

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Joni and I as young girls. We rarely could play together because she was always working at her parents’ dry cleaning shop.

This post celebrates my joy during this Thanksgiving holiday. My appreciation is boundless. I am thankful for every aspect of my life.

Every year at this time, I am reminded of my “friend in grief” – Lori (Post #2). Her young son, Matthew, died a few days before Thanksgiving. The holiday was never the same for me since knowing Lori. She and Matthew are always in my heart.

Today, I feel the desire to write about memory and love. Maybe it was no coincidence that this theme has repeated for me.

“My Journey’s Insight” began with me picking up my guitar again after thirty years. It was completely due to my childhood friend, Joni’s encouragement and her offer to introduce me to a music producer.

I am fairly certain that I would not be playing my guitar at this moment otherwise.

Although we weren’t close for many years, Joni and I have “reconnected” again. She has come to see me perform at Kulak’s Woodshed many times. Her support has fueled me. Soon, we are planning to meet with that same producer again. I certainly have a lot of improvement to share!

Two weeks ago while I was going through my memorabilia box, I found a letter from Joni written in 1982. She gave me permission to share it, and I told her I would try and answer her letter on my blog.

For several weeks I was trying to find a way to write something to her.

As I read Joni’s letter, it led me to a perplexing dilemma. Did I have enough empathy required to answer her letter thoughtfully? Recently I was trying to answer a question on one of my grief posts about empathy. It would be impossible for Joni to completely empathize with my losing a child – as it is for most people.

Therefore, since I did not experience trauma while growing up – how could I truly know what she felt and went through? I was aware of her sadness as a child, but not of her abusive situation. Some of it was remedied by the support my family extended to her.

I might not understand what she went through, but I did understand about trauma. My trauma simply occurred later in my life.

Time was needed for me to process those traumatic events.

I will never tell anyone grieving that they can expect happiness and peace later in their life. Those words were certainly not helpful for me when I was suffering.

However, my realization was that over the years – holding onto my memories of trauma prevented happiness.

The theme of memory and love has been very important for me, because it is precisely what has replaced my traumatic memories.

(Clicking on these pages makes them larger)

Dear Joni,

Here we are – grownups! I still cannot believe that I’ve known you since we were toddlers!

We have watched each other grow up. We have both faced different trials in our lives. Both of us have always said, “Someday when we’re old, we’ll play Monopoly together like we used to!”

You wrote that letter in 1982, and you asked me if you would be able to fulfill your potential. How does anyone know what his or her potential is? At that time, I wonder if you could have imagined you would graduate from UCLA with an English degree (as you did last year).

We’ve joked before about the possibilities for me. With all those bugs, I could have been a biologist! With the advocacy I have accomplished for my children, I could have been lawyer.

However, those things are simply degrees and professions. I prefer to consider “human potential” as a measurement of how kind or loving we become, despite our circumstances. With trauma it is so much easier to become bitter!

You have raised four children with your husband, and your home has been permeated with strong, religious values. You are such a kind and loving human being! You have risen to great heights, therefore, after experiencing a childhood that was fearful and sad.

I know that my memories define me. With age, I have found I have so many to choose from!

While I was grieving, I did not have a choice about my thoughts. Sometimes still, my subconscious carries more than I want to remember. Perhaps that is why hypnotherapy has helped me so much.

The term, “thoughts equal feelings” allowed for me to hold positive thoughts, which in turn made me feel better. I have let go of the “opera of Jason’s death” and have instead chosen memories of his love.

When you remember your parents, perhaps it would be helpful for you to remember their love. I am certain they loved you, even with their flaws and those “scary moments.”

Remembering those memories of their love, and surrounding yourself with that leads to feeling uplifted, rather than despondent.

I love and appreciate you very much,

Friends forever,

Judy

This was taken at my computer two years ago.

The day Joni arranged for me to meet with Jud, a music producer was very special. (Post #4)

Feeling surrounded by the love of someone that is not physically with me, has always given me comfort. I have often wished at this stage in my life, that Cheryl could have witnessed my songwriting triumphs. Even though she is dead, I often hear her voice encouraging me. Cheryl particularly liked my song “Saying Goodbye.”

I’m never alone when I surround myself with loving memories. I can still hear my mom telling me things, even though she no longer remembers any of what she used to tell me!

I remember there was a popular song from the 70’s entitled, “You Light Up My Life.” When the song first came out, I never thought of it as religious. However, it became a big hit and was considered very inspirational about feeling support from god.

My arranger, George, was finishing up with me on Sunday. We had accomplished a lot in our few hours together. I had brought a list of my songs with minor flaws that I hoped we could fix together.

As I listened to song after song over his speakers, I was amazed to think they were my songs and I had actually recorded them. It was very inspiring for me.

We were both listening to my most recent recording of “Beside Me Always.” The sound of ethereal notes that accompanied my vocal filled the room; the guitar strings ascended so sweetly.

George said in a hushed voice, “This song has me feeling like you’re speaking to god. It is god that surrounds you – in the breeze that’s blowing.”

I looked at him. I pondered the lyrics for a moment. Then, I mentioned certain lines such as “unfinished start.” These were lyrics I had written that were about my dead son. I asked him if he still felt that way – if it still felt like my song was about god.

He said, “Most definitely, yes!”

Tags:acoustic guitar, child's death, childhood friendship, composing, creativity, death of a child, Friendship, god and music, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, high school memories, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Music, original songs, performing, singing, songwriting, spiritual, voice lessons, writing
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THE PAIN YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO BEAR

September 28, 2010

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This was a picture taken in May at one of my first lessons.

My song was evolving. As much as I wanted to record it with George, I had the clarity to know that improvements cannot be rushed. My song most definitely improved with some adjustments.

I decided that I could play it at Kulak’s – I might not be 100% sure on all the lyrics, but it was close.

Just to be honest; my mother still has the acuity and certainly is aware of our love. I also know the memory of it is not far off. That is because I tend to anticipate and project where things are heading. I know my words touch on something that many people can relate to.

Last night while performing at Border’s, I celebrated that I was able to play my guitar the entire hour without numbness.

I could play for my audience or for myself. My audience looked to be mostly people in the store reading; I didn’t have the feeling that anyone was there specifically to hear my music. I treated myself to playing all of my own songs. I only played two cover songs at the very end. I decided to indulge myself since I’d missed playing my guitar this week.

Then it happened again at 4 a.m. I woke up and my hands had that familiar tingling sensation.

It would start with that, and then my fingers would feel like bursting balloons, throbbing with intense pain.

I could hear Connie’s voice in my head, “Acknowledging that your subconscious is telling you something through a symptom in your body is not enough to make it go away.” There was work that needed to be done around that

I had not yet begun to do the work, for sure. It wasn’t easy for me to accept the concept that my body was afflicting me through subconscious thoughts. I always liked the idea that I am totally in control and “captain of my ship!”

As my fingers tingled, I remembered that I needed to treat my hands lovingly – that much I remembered from my last session. I was ready to jump up if the pain got worse. However, I started a dialog with my own hands – it was bizarre!

I said, “Hands – I love you; I need you! I am sorry if I’ve overworked you at times. Please know how much I appreciate you. I know that numbness is familiar and I accept that.” I stroked my own arms.

The tingling continued, however, there was no pain. I became even more relaxed. I repeated all of this many times throughout my morning. Without the braces on at night, I didn’t feel the crippling, stiffness in the morning. That symptom worried me the most. I wore the braces to cope with the pain – I was elated that the pain was kept at bay!

Tingling was manageable and pain was not.

Imagery is a powerful tool. I have learned that through hypnotherapy.

It started with the lion in the cage (the braces) as a way to describe the manifestation of my pain.

The other day I, I imagined myself with a whip while I squeezed my wrists with extreme pressure to combat the excruciating pain. It was helpful to do that, but still it was painful. I see this image as my way of needing to be in control

Today my image changed. The lion became a kitten. The tingling was like purring. And this time I listened.

I stroked my hands and understood.

9/27/10 PEACHES LESSON A

9/27/10 PEACHES LESSON B

Below are my scrawled ideas for lyric development that went into creating my new song. I am sharing a window into my soul as a songwriter.

Tags:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, carpal tunnel syndrome, composing, creativity, dementia, GRIEF RELATED, guitar, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, loss, lovesong, lyric composing, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, original songs, performing, singing, songwriting, voice lessons, writing
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I’VE SLOWLY WEPT

September 25, 2010

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I am holding Jason. He is probably about three-years-old there.

I described my symptoms to Connie. There was the tingling and numbness – I could manage with that. There was the stiffness, especially in the morning. That was very upsetting, because I couldn’t use my hands. But worst of all were the spasms. The pain was unbelievable, and it was always the same. It would awaken me in the early morning hours – just as I finally fell into a deep sleep. My fingers were hot, throbbing, and intensely aching. I would have to jump out of bed and dance around in the bathroom to search for any position that would alleviate the pain.

I had some relief after my visit with the physical therapist yesterday. However, the important part was that I had a different perspective. I was determined I could overcome this sudden condition that has afflicted me.

When I played my guitar in the evening at Border’s, my numbness returned.

Then late at night, the painful spasms returned again. This time I massaged my own hand and gritted my teeth. I didn’t mention to Connie that I had a powerful image. The pain was once again a “lion,” except I pictured myself holding a whip to it!

Last week, I had to answer a question for Connie. Did I believe that my subconscious mind might be able to manifest numbness in a physical way?

I wanted to believe that. However, as much as I wanted to, it wasn’t something I readily grasped. It just didn’t seem possible that I could have stress that would cause these symptoms. My life was joyful, even with my current challenges. These symptoms were causing me stress!

Today, I told Connie about something interesting that happened to me last week. I had lunch with three women. While I was engaged in conversation with one of the women, she told me she had experienced numbing pain that was similar to mine. It had happened suddenly also. She had all the same tests done and everything came up negative. I listened raptly to her story. She said, “My doctor told me that it was stress related. After I knew that, I relaxed and my symptoms went away.”

After hearing that, I was able to acknowledge that perhaps I was open to the possibility that this pain was a manifestation of thoughts. The explanation of how our body forces us to “pay attention,” did make sense for me.

Gently, Connie mentioned she knew this a difficult time of year for me.

I told her, “Yes, on top of my seasonal sadness, I’ve had a lot of responsibility.” Lately, dealing with both my parent’s care was reminiscent of steering Jason’s medical course. I’ve felt especially responsible for my mother’s destiny.

I want to remember my parents this way.

My hand pain had me feeling discouraged and angry. Connie encouraged me to feel more loving toward them. “Look at your painful arms and think loving thoughts about them,” she suggested.

The last revelation was the most painful.

Connie said, “I remember you telling me something about that certain phone call at night – the one where you knew Jason had died. What time did that happen?”

It wasn’t hard for me to make the connection. I wave of sadness hit me as the realization came. It actually was around the same time as my spasms.

Perhaps it was that when I was sleeping, my subconscious forced me to pay attention.

Now there was work that I needed to do. I had too many negative thoughts affecting me; my thoughts were definitely not helpful. I tried to simplify the negative dialog into simple statements that were positive and uplifting.

I started with my thoughts regarding my mother’s situation. I decided that when dealing with my mother’s dementia I would think of the “abundant love” she showered me with throughout my life. My mother always made me feel like I was the most important person in the universe.

I said, “Yes, thinking of my mother’s love would help me to cope; to deal with the different person she’s become.”

All of this brought to mind the new song I wanted to share with Connie. I had brought my guitar. I asked her if I could share it with her now.

I sang my new lyrics in the quiet of the guesthouse. I was able to manage it without crying, though I choked on the very last line, “the memory of love is always there.”

It was time for hypnosis. I was very emotional. My eyes were closed, but tears managed to seep out under the closed lids. As I was awakening, I thought I heard her voice gently saying, “The memory of love is always there.” It was the last line from my new song’s lyrics.

I opened my eyes; my cheeks were still wet. I said in a soft voice, “That would be a great song title, you know. The memory of love – I like that! Song titles are very important. I must go home and see if that one is taken.”

I went home and reworked my song a little more to incorporate those words better. I did a song title search and nothing came up.

I had found my song title.

I was preparing to record an old song tomorrow, and to post this before going to bed. I wasn’t sure what pictures I could add to this post. I always add pictures. Recently I had scanned a lot of pictures of Jason. I anticipated I would want them in the coming weeks.

Today, I allowed myself to accept that perhaps my joy was tempered considerably by the approaching anniversary of his death. I decided to add a few of his pictures.

I chose two pictures that really showed how tiny and skeletal he was. He vomited every day. There was lot of trauma there seeing those pictures. So many times I’ve had thoughts surrounding this.

But then I remembered. The simplest thought came to me. It was always there.

The memory of love . . .

Tags:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Caregiving, child's death, composing, creativity, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, original songs, song title, songwriting, writing
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HOW WE DON’T CARE

April 12, 2010

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Forty years ago, I was ten. I have learned so much about friendship since then!

As I was driving to my appointment with Connie, I felt so much melancholy! I had such a heavy realization that my memory simplified something that was not that simple.

Friendship and relationships are complicated!

I have often wondered why it was that certain songs felt so much a part of me.

One of my favorite songs was entitled, “How We Don’t Care.” It actually wasn’t written about my high school friend, Elena – but it could have been. It was written a few years later. I was struggling with the same feelings of being hurt with a later “best friend” named Cheryl.

When my session with Connie began, I told her there was a lot going on in my life for me to talk about. I really wanted to discuss my revelation about past hurt in my life.

I had noticed that I had moved beyond my childrens’ issues and the stress of caregiving for my parents. My recovery now included my own, personal realizations, which I’d shoved to my psychic “back burner” for the last thirty years.

I mentioned that I felt like my writing had become my reality and my daily household tasks were rather unreal.

I explained to Connie that since my family wasn’t really aware of what I had written, that I felt remote from them in a way. Writing my feelings on the Internet felt like disrobing.

There were two ways that I viewed people I ran into. There were those that had read my writing, and those that had not.

Those that had read what I’d written could really see me. When they said hello and hugged me, I felt totally comfortable and open. I’d never felt that way before, and it was very different from how I used to feel.

I always appreciate any readers, and the time they devote to reading what I’ve written.

The other people had no idea what “lurked within.”

The young girl in my diary was a version of me that seemed familiar. I was hurt and carried it for a very, long time. I spent a lot of energy trying to deny my hurt, and I pretended I didn’t care as much as I really did. How sad it was that my friend and I both suffered from pride and such a severe lack of communication!

This pattern repeated itself many more times in my life.

For so many years, I’d felt emotionally deadened. I remembered the excitement of my deep friendships and especially of first love! I’d just thought that was part of growing up, and accepted that it was over.

The sadness was that with the “smoothness” or lack of highs and lows, there was numbness. Without pain, there could be no joy. The period of bereavement actually allowed for me to appreciate joy again in my life – when I accepted every tear as my penance. Holding those tears in was what caused me to feel like a zombie.

Perhaps with maturity I had far less lows and highs with all the challenges I had faced. Instead of creating my own emotional tumult, I was thrown onto the tumult of trying to stay afloat amid responsibilities and circumstances!

After I shared many of those insights with Connie I was drained. It was interesting for me that I could verbalize so much. Lately, I’d felt I could only write my feelings, not articulate them.

Her response was, “How do you want me to help you?”

I told her, “I have no idea. I guess I understand that I’ve been married a long time. I am not really looking to have a joyous friendship like I had with Elena so long ago. Right now, I barely have time for friends in my life!”

While I was under hypnosis, Connie asked me, “Do you have some area of your body that is hurting – where you feel your stress?”

I did. I felt my stomach was churning. It seemed that area was my weak link with stress. I developed colitis when my mother first became ill several years ago. It resolved when my stress diminished. I could feel the calmness radiating throughout my body. I didn’t want to think too much, but I was searching to understand what my hurt was actually about.

I decided to see if I could find any word to describe it. The word that came to my mind was “lonely.”

“Life is basically lonely,” I explained. “Even sharing through my writing is a solitary venture. Perhaps I am so passionate about it because I’ve finally found a way to connect with people!”

Suddenly, a realization came to me.

When I left her guesthouse, I felt lighter again. It had finally dawned on me.

I had found my new best friend.

I had found myself.

HOW WE DON’T CARE

What’s new with you?

It’s been awhile since you’ve told me

I have nothing left to say

It might be too late to give it a try

For now you can’t look me in the eye

I’m doing fine

Although I’m smiling

Inside it isn’t quite the same

I can’t take much more of hiding these tears

it seems my disguise is not what it appears

We try to show how we don’t care

How we don’t feel, how we don’t share

And it’s really nothing new

It just gets harder every time

to say I love you

Sometimes I feel

like this time it’s over

Will this be just a passing storm?

Somehow I wonder if after the rain

can our love survive this pain?

So what’s on your mind?

Will you cry when you leave me?

Or is it that I’m just crying alone?

I thought that our love I could always count on

Did we wake up to find that love has gone?

We try and show how we don’t care

How we don’t feel, how we’re not there

And it’s really nothing new

It just gets harder every time

to say I love you

Arranged recordings done after this post was written; click the blue links to play audio:

Tags:acoustic guitar, childhood friendship, communication, composing, creativity, distance in a relationship, Friendship, guitar, hiding feelings, inspiration, loss, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Music, Ordinary Life, original songs, poor communication, singing, songwriting, writing
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THE SAND AND THE SEA, TEN YEARS LATER

March 27, 2010

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The sand and the sea. . . conjures up the driftwood prints I did when I first began my art career.

Clicking the blue link below, will play the song:

ELI ELI – HOME RECORDING OF A SONG BY HANNA SENESH – 1/9/11

The title for this story is taken from the lyrics to an Israeli song that I used to sing called Eli, Eli.

The words “The sand and the sea” create wonderful imagery for me. At the end of this story, those images actually appeared for me while under hypnosis.

My good and bad list:

Bad: My mother who almost died from surgery for a broken shoulder doesn’t trust the surgeon who did the surgery. He is now telling her she needs the screws out. She needs a second opinion, so I tried to “delegate.”

Here’s my list:

1. I told her to ask my brother to set it up. She asked him.

2. I asked her primary doctor if he knew of anyone and could arrange it. He said, “I don’t know of any other shoulder specialists around. I asked her surgeon, and he doesn’t know of anyone either.”

3. I thought magically it might happen, without everyone just “dropping the ball.”

4. I thought her shoulder might be fine and her pain would go away while I was waiting.

Good: This morning, I made a phone call to a shoulder specialist, who was recommended to me by a friend of my mothers. The appointment is set!

Bad: My mother just called. She said, “Honey, I think there’s something wrong with my telephone. It didn’t work at all when I brought it with me to an appointment.” I explained to her that a cordless phone is not a cell phone. It won’t work when it’s taken miles away. I am sad that she doesn’t understand telephones anymore.

Good: My mother is alive and she loves me very much.

I am the youngest. I have two, older brothers but the responsibility for my parents fell upon me. I am the daughter, and that’s why.

Email correspondence with my childhood friend, Steve:

I saw you wrote about Diane Warren in your blog. My mom was acquainted with her during mom’s time at KKBT radio. I don’t remember how they knew each other; maybe Diane was a friend with someone at the station. I think Diane’s offices were up on Sunset near the station.

Anyways I read a lot about her at the time, I think she is quite unique in the music business, for a woman, to be such a highly, coveted songwriter and yet not a public performer and pretty much unknown to the average music listener.

Music publishing is definitely where it is at money-wise and she had her own company since the beginning and must be loaded. I can remember Mom saying how astounded she was way back then, with these immense royalty checks coming in from all over the world. This was an interview I ran across a year or so ago about her. It appealed to me, as it was very technically oriented, as to how she works.

http://www.soundonsound.com/sos/aug08/articles/warren.htm

By the way, am I the only guy here? :) Steve

Hi Steve,

Last night I googled the name Diane Warren and followed through with learning more about her. I read the part about her controlling her own “songbook” and having her own company.

I love her! Her music and lyrics are complex and simple at the same time. She is very human, and works in a very old-fashioned way. She doesn’t use a computer or anything. I have to pat myself on the back for adjusting to the digital age. It wasn’t easy for me to get on board!

I was fascinated to read about her song writing process. It was very similar to mine. You don’t have to argue about her “not being contemporary.” I think she is still very popular. She does a lot of songwriting for movies, television, and even American Idol!

As far as you being the only guy on my email list, you must know that I have been a very isolated person by being an artist. I never had to get “dressed up” to go to work. I only go food shopping. Most of my contact with other people has simply been women that I’ve played tennis with. It’s been a while since I was an art teacher.

Anyway, I’m glad you’re on my email list. Your questions are insightful. Maybe I can get more feedback from you when I’m putting my book together. I appreciate both you and your mom supporting me all the way back to the beginning!

“My blog title is I’M TAKING OFF”

I have cleaned up messes today from all three animals: puppy doo doo, kitty vomit, and parrot splat. How in the world did my life end up like this?

My daughter came into my studio and when she glanced at my screen she started laughing hysterically! I asked her what it was that was so funny.

She said, “Mom, I thought your blog title was, “I’M TAKING IT ALL OFF!! You had me thinking you were a stripper!”

Well that’s me; stripping off my trauma!

“Hypnotherapy”

At my recent hypnotherapy session, I had a lot of mind “wheel spinning” going on. I shared with Connie all the challenges I was going through with my teenage daughter.

The current situation felt too complicated for me to possibly solve. Trying to discuss the problem solving aspect wasn’t helpful for me. It led to frustration and anguish. As usual, when I was with Connie I talked a lot. She listened well. I tried to hear whatever she told me, because it was always helpful.

Eventually, all the wheel spinning became tiring. I decided I could just “hold off” on finding a solution to the situation. Sometimes, time did reveal things to me that I couldn’t understand presently.

I felt a lot of conflict because I had opened up and wrote a lot about all of the many challenges I’ve faced with my children. Especially for my daughter, she was shy and would not have wanted me to write about her. Even though I had changed her name, people would still know she was my daughter. How could I possibly solve this problem?

Initially I believed I wanted to reveal what was so challenging in my life. I had the thought that perhaps it might help others. The fact that I shared so much had me feel like I was selfish. I had taken care of so many people for such a long time. By writing all of my feelings, it was a way of doing something for myself.

After I said that, I realized that the word selfish was not really a helpful word.

I told Connie, “Okay, I am trying to heal myself; perhaps at my childrens’ expense. I hope the result will still be positive someday. I hope someday all of my children will understand that I was healing and will forgive me for sharing so many personal things.”

During hypnosis, I relaxed and floated off. Somewhere in the clouds her voice said to me, “Can you see anything that is comforting in your situation right now?” Is there some image that you can find to help you get through all this?”

An image came to me. It was so clear. It was amazing. I felt like I was there. Here was what I told her.

“I am sitting facing my daughter. We are on a patio overlooking the ocean at a villa, somewhere in Italy perhaps. It is ten years from now. I am very, very rich. We are traveling through Europe. Did you know I’ve hardly gone anywhere? I have never had a vacation that’s relaxing. It’s a beautiful day. There is an aqua ocean in the distance. It is sunny, and she and I are enjoying our trip together.”

I continued to describe my vision to Connie.

“My daughter looks confident and beautiful,” I said. “She is laughing and enjoying her life. She is amazed that my promise that I’d be successful actually happened. She didn’t believe it!”

Tags:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, creativity, Daily Life, dementia, dreams, Eli Eli, guitar, Humor, humor daily life, Hypnotherapy, imagining, inspiration, Israeli song, loss, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, Ordinary Life, parenting, singing, songwriting, visions of the futre, writing
Posted in Hypnotherapy | Leave a Comment »

UP AND OUT!

February 27, 2010

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Morpho Butterfly – metamorphosis in my life?

I am finding out what it means to be a writer. Sometimes, I have been concerned that something could be wrong with me. Since I am trying to incorporate positive thinking into every phase of my life, I don’t really want to go there. However, since I’ve seen so many psychiatrists for my children, I am no stranger to the symptoms for many disorders.

Mania does come to mind. One of the most frequent questions the psychiatrist always asks is, “How are you sleeping?” Right now, I am not sleeping well; I don’t know if that’s a bad thing, because I don’t feel tired. I have more energy than I’ve ever had in a very long time.

My mother-in-law died recently, and I realize that I have not yet begun to mourn her absence. I’m sure I will as time goes on. When I was suffering so much with Jason, she described the “mania” she experienced in her life with me. She told me, “You feel like you are invincible, and you are bursting with creativity that has you feeling like you are unstoppable.”

Unfortunately, at that time I was not creative; I was on autopilot. I was searching constantly for answers to help my son. I was certainly not invincible. She described the depression part to me during the deep bereavement, when we were all unable to focus on anything, such as going to the movies. We (her, Michael, and myself) would just sit in the theatre with blank faces, thinking only of our grief.

But as I remember her words, I think I am truly suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. That isn’t necessarily negative, because addressing my trauma by sharing so much has left me happier and healthier than I’ve felt in a long time.

My hypnotherapist, Connie, always uses the phrase Up and Out. That means that it is so much better to gets things out, rather than let them fester. I had no idea that I had so much inside of me!

This morning is already so much better than only a few short months ago. It was difficult to wake up and face going to see my mother in the hospital. I had difficulty sleeping then, too, but it wasn’t fun like this.

When I started doing all this writing, I sent many emails out to my friends from all walks of life. I received an amazing reply from Riva, who had truly suffered alongside of me in my grief.

Although this might not be a time for humor, I have to add that Michael used to call her “Grieva and Bereava.” But then, since he was not open to talking about his grief, that is understandable!

On Feb 2, 2010, Riva wrote:

Dear Judy,

I have wanted to get to the computer all day to answer the heartfelt emails you have been sending. Obviously you are going through tremendous pain these days. It is palpable, even through the electronics that are now the mainstay of our daily lives. Trying to convey these feelings on the telephone would be impossible…without losing your voice and or your mind.

Firstly, let me say that I am so sorry to hear that your Mom is still so ill. She was and is for you, a rock. Please wish her, for us, a speedier recovery in the weeks to come.

I am finding as I move forward in this life, that for some of us, there is little refuge from the tests in life. Many of us cannot meet those challenges…you are not counted among those numbers. The problem is for those who rise up to meet the most difficult tests, each time there is a little more damage to contend with (in the future). Still, people with your kind of strength move ahead and accomplish amazing fetes.

The fact that you are so strong does not mean that you cannot have meltdowns! In fact, they serve to teach us new lessons…lessons that don’t get noticed when we are so busy…and coping.

Grief delayed is grief denied. And then posttraumatic stress sets in wherever it can (whenever we take a breath and let it). It sounds like you are smack in the middle of a PTSS. Fortunately, you are doing all the right things (as usual) to alleviate the pressure. Therapy and most importantly, reaching out.

I remember how you and I reached out to each other in those early days after Jason and Debby left the world…as we knew it? Our breakfasts at the Pancake House fed us the sustenance of friendship. Who else could have known what we felt?

Please know that I am and always will be here for you. Just ask.

Let’s get together for one of those “pancake breakfasts”.

Sending love, Riva

While going through bereavement, we not only mourn our own child, but we also mourn the children of our friends and partners in grief. I know all those children so well, as they know mine. I may not remember a parent’s name, but I always remember their child’s name.

Part of how I survived my pain was to know I was not alone. For a short time, I was the leader of a chapter of Compassionate Friends. It was quite difficult answering phone calls from newly bereaved parents. But I have always believed in “giving back,” because someone was there to take my phone call long ago.

I know I don’t mention my husband that much, but especially with grief men and women are quite different in regards to how they grieve. And so it was that after the trauma of having a sick child for five years, I began my grief journey alone. My husband was not open to talking about his feelings, and both of us were fairly “shell shocked” from our son’s illness and his death. Although we were more “prepared” than those parents or anyone that “suddenly” loses someone they love that was healthy, nothing can ever truly prepare you for grief.

When I begin to write more about my bereavement experience, I will be opening the door to my heart, and describing a place that you will never be able to go unless you have experienced that kind of loss. That’s why the Compassionate Friends Organization exists. We are all there for a reason; with loss we are forever changed!

I am very proud to have had my marriage survive that painful, grief journey, but one of the reasons was because we have always allowed for a great deal of separateness. Normally separateness is not a good thing, but in my case it has allowed me to take care of myself. Also, I really needed to do things my own way, ever since Jason was born.

After Jason was born, getting up so early every day to go to work and provide for his family despite his own stress and sadness was the way that my husband showed his love. He has been grieving for years, and will never speak about it.

I am writing this before dawn in my chilly art studio, and the rain is pattering outside on the pavement. I can’t believe the clarity of my memories, especially since I am soon to summon up memories from over twenty years ago.

I used to think I would have to “search” for material to write about. Well there is no shortage of that for me, because the things that I am writing about have either happened or are happening to me.

It may be very sad for people to soon read about how it felt for me to lose my child.

An old, Compassionate Friends newsletter with one of my poem submissions.

Tags:Friendship, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", Hypnotherapy friendship bereavement loss grief, grief, writing, death, loss, compassionate friends, child loss, grief and marriage, men and woman grief differently, Post traumatic stress disorder, death of a child
Posted in Grief Stories, Hypnotherapy | Leave a Comment »

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