mindingmybiz

This blog is my shared process in working towards integrating self-awareness with all other aspects of life, while on my way to becoming more authentic and whole.

Archive for the tag “healing”

“But, what good is that?”

We’re currently in the midst of a pandemic. “Normal” isn’t happening. In times like these, I find there to be an “illumination effect” in revealing what lurks in the shadows of everyday distractions. Take away the distractions, the daily routines and “normalcy” – you’ll find things you didn’t see or feel so clearly. Or, at least it was more conveniently overlooked. It’s in this space, I wrote this poem regarding my own intimate relationship and taking its pulse, within me.

“But, what good is that?”

I want to share myself as authentically as I can, being fully who I know I am. – With him.

But, what good is that?

I want adventure! I want to be fully awake and alive; spiritually and emotionally, not just physically! – With him.

But, what good is that?

I want to be challenged and stretched graciously yet persistently, to reach for new heights and new depths! – With him.

But, what good is that?

I want to bust free from this goddamn smothering straight-jacket of “status quo” and “fitting in” for crumbs of superficial validation. – With him.

But, what good is that?

I want us to become who we were divinely created to be, not merely who we’ve been “tamed”, “conditioned”, or “raised” to be. – With him.

But, what good is that?

I want to be wildly free, from this cage of mediocrity. – With him.

But, what good is that?

What my heart and soul long for is closeness, beyond merely physicality. – With him.

But, what good is that?

My pursuit and fight for intimacy is a result of an ongoing experience of a partner who resists intimacy, and me resisting his resistance. This is resulting in regression and degeneration – the opposite of what my heart longs for. – With him.

But, what good is that?

Why, do you keep asking me this? I’m trying to have intimacy!

But, what good is that?

The merry-go-round of resistance keeps me from what I’ve been terrified of – acceptance and the grieving through accepting what is. There is shame wrapped up in the grief. This is my inner work of healing, which I’ve been unconsciously avoiding because it’s so damn painful and uncomfortable. We are apart, together. And together, apart.

Go in peace my dear child, grieve. – With me.

Trust the Truth

Dear You,

Please give yourself permission to be convinced of the validity of your unconditional worthiness.

Own the conviction that’s been welling up inside since the moment you existed and has helped you survive so much already despite struggle.  It is clear and uncompromising — this voice will not relent in its conviction:

You have worth.  Always have.  Always will.

Be convinced.

Trust in this conviction — it’s the only thing about you that is unchanging, absolute, and completely real independent of anything else.

Allow yourself to be convinced that this is a stand-alone truth.

It is completely independent of the way other people may see you or treat you, it is an unshakable and unyielding truth that always has been, and always will be — no matter what.  Though the truth is also that the human struggle comes because you’re hardwired to integrate and operate out of being interdependent with your relational and social environments (you are not a rock) which are imperfect, but this truth will still be the truth (the truth is a rock).

Even though as a human you shall inevitably try to fight it, deny it, distort it, swindle it, squander it, prosecute it, overhaul it, or dare to accept it – the truth will not diminish, though your experienced freedom is set on this.

Trust in your worthiness.  Trust in the validity of your worthiness.  This is the spiritual journey back home, to your roots – of unyielding worthiness.  The more you accept this, the more you will enjoy it.  You are meant to enjoy this – your worthiness.

“Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set your free.”
john 8:32

my emerging scattered story

Broken-Mirror-collage-wall-art_thumbI’m in the process of picking up the scattered pieces of my life and trying to make sense out of it, out of me.  Integration.  Cohesiveness.  Wholeness.  In short: Who the fuck am I?  I want to move forward, not backwards.  I seek progression, not regression.  Yet I’m finding an integral part of my goals to moving forward comes with revisiting my past, however many times I need to for resolution.  Each revisit to the past will open up something that’s needed.

In going back to revisit my past, I realize that it feels like I’ve lived several different lives.

My Korean life was the first part of my 11 months of living.  Then after being adopted and coming to the United States at 11 months, I had no place to put that self other than to bury it deeply into an unconscious state.  That was my first “life” that was abruptly ended, without my choosing.  I cut that part away from me.  It was necessary for survival.  That’s survival 101 post-preverbal trauma in a nutshell.  It was obviously not a conscious decision, it happened on its own.  Survival for kids tends to take on a life of its own, without needing conscious permission from anyone.

I entered school as a minority, being raised by White parents.  That in and of itself should explain a lot of things.  If not, try imagining yourself (or your young child if you’re a parent) moving to a foreign country as a child, being raised by adults of a different race and you having a visibly drastic different look than the those who you depend on for survival and are surrounded by everywhere you go.  You’re a kid, you can’t escape it, not even in your own home.

In my adolescence, survival required that I find out who to be so I could fit in.  Seeking social acceptance amongst peers without a foundation of an integrated sense of self in place does things to kids.  Of course the kid wouldn’t know it, few adults seem to grasp it, even though it’s developmentally logical and makes perfect sense if you’re not looking at troubled kids through a lens of disdain through projection based on one’s own fragmented self.  Some adults don’t have that because it was brainwashed out of them through social conditioning towards conformity in their own lives.  Adulthood tends to do this if adults don’t fight the necessary battle to live consciously and authentically.  I have struggled with this pull myself.  It’s a human struggle.

One of my survival tactics when I was an adolescent was to dump all of my White friends and replace them exclusively with Asian friends.  If any of you are reading this now, I am sorry.  It was my attempt at an integrated self, while also trying to survive without a foundation of a coherent self yet.

Adoption has many complexities, and transracial adoption adds even more.  There are many beautiful aspects to adoption.  A child who lost her family and home is given one.  That in and of itself is beautiful.  But let’s not forget or pretend that there would not be an adoption without a traumatic loss preceding it.  Even with all the beautiful parts of adoption ensuing, they will never erase what took place which necessitated the adoption.  Loss.  Loss of what many people take for granted who perhaps were not adopted: family origins, family medical history, a birth mom, a birth father; all vital parts of what forms a human’s identity.  Lost.

Me revisiting parts of the past that I can remember is something I need to do, for me.  There are questions I have that will most likely never be answered.  Never.  That is part of the lost territory that comes with adoption.  I’ve accepted that.  I haven’t had much of a choice to do otherwise and I cannot afford to obsess or rearrange my life around trying to get those answers while abandoning the life I have built for myself in the present tense.  I have my own family now.  But I’m finding that the questions I do have that could be answered by the people I do have access to in my life today, need to be asked.  They may not get answered though, I can’t control that part.

When I was in high school, I hung out with other Koreans, dated an international student from Korea.  It was not a healthy relationship.  How could it be?  I was searching for something I didn’t even know I was searching for, my intangible elusive identity which when looking back, seems like it was playing hide-n-seek with me.  I was an adolescent to boot, of course I was searching for my identity in that relationship.  It was the perfect storm for unconscious longings/losses to arise and resolve.  It makes perfect sense to me.  At least now it does.

When I was in college, I felt myself distancing from my Korean/Asian friends after no longer sharing the bond of drunkenness together.  If any of you are reading this now, I am sorry.  After getting wasted and facing charges of a DWI even though I was honestly innocent, I got just enough conscious awareness to at least wake-up and realize “this is not the life I want, this is not who I want to try to be anymore”.  My search for who I really am, my real self, continued.  So, I joined the church.  I reasoned that even though I was an Asian-American, I was raised by White parents within a predominantly White culture within the church.  I reasoned, why not try to embrace that part of me?  My inner-White girl emerged.

When I joined the church as an active participant and embraced my “believer status” it had several effects on different parts of my life.  In looking back I did not find those experiences to be very integration friendly, at least not beyond theory.  I would not have known any better though, it was my familiar dance…just another version of what I’d lived through before–shoving parts of myself away in order to fit in with an external system.  This period of time in my life formed much of my adult belief system.  I was in my early-mid 20’s, and that is developmentally normal around that age, for anyone.

At this point, I was starting to become a little more sloppy at burying my former identities.  I got so good at survival out of necessity and habit, but it was starting to catch up to me, and yet I continued to do what I felt I needed to do in order to survive within the church social system — to not be condemned (survive).  I became an avid student of the Bible.  I could talk Bible.  I could debate Bible.  I could make myself survive.  I will not deny that a certain part of me was able to emerge and I liked her, I sharpened my intellect through becoming an amatuer feminist theologian, and am damn proud of it.  But, that part of me was still isolated from the other parts.  It became a good way to bury the former parts of me and resurrect ONLY the new “Christian” me, at least I subconsciously reasoned.

I did meet god, in a real, transcendent, and profound way during those years.  Even though I had fragmented identifies all over the place that I wasn’t even remotely aware of, he showed up and came to me.  Yet there were so many divisions between the scattered parts of my own self, it became harder to know which parts of “me” I consciously “allowed” god to meet.

And now present tense, me and god are introducing all parts of my life to one another.  I’m re-introducing parts of my own self to other parts of my own self, and emerging more whole, more integrated, more authentic, one step at a time.  god has always seen all of me, all my parts, the parts I like and take pride in, and the parts I don’t like and wish I could make them go away.  The way I see god and my own unique spirituality is slowly but surely emerging, and it is mine.  I’m learning to not outsource my spirituality while invalidating my own inner wisdom.  It’s my spirituality, it’s my walk with god, not the institutional church’s or an external authority figure’s, I’m taking that back.

Survival is no longer cutting it for me.  I want to be free, I want to live fully.  Therefore, I can no longer hold to the rigid belief system I once had without having doubts.  That was a good way of hiding, of surviving, yet I’m no longer wanting to hide parts of me anymore and only survive, as tempting as that sometimes is just so I can temporarily feel accepted in the moment.  It’s bullshit.  The cost is no longer worth it to me.  I am reconstituting as I integrate within my own self, and I believe this is my lifelong pursuit, my lifelong journey, which includes somehow sharing that with those who get it because they value this for themselves too.

I feel like my soul is coming alive and I will not invalidate it.  It is messy.  It is painful.  But I am worth it and I would not have it any other way.  As you can see, I’ve been there, done that and have found it doesn’t work for me.

This is my emerging story.  What’s yours?

My life is to be continued….

Aloe Vera Transplant

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These photos are symbolic of life…

I got an aloe vera plant, which has potential to produce abundant benefits to others.

On the top page, my new aloe vera plant is well established in the small potting plant which was sufficient to get it started, but it is now constraining the plant and cannot allow it to keep growing. If it is not moved to a larger pot, its roots cannot spread out, it will stop growing at best, and at worse die.  This isn’t because its a defective plant, or a defective pot – rather its an ineffective combination given the limits and needs of each other, and their intended purposes.

I need to transfer the aloe vera plant into a larger pot to support its growth so it can be more beneficial to me and others.  The plant must be regularly well cared for, but even if its well watered and kept in sufficient sunlight, it needs to be rooted in an environment that is conducive to its own natural process of growth.

Be kind to your roots, even though the roots are invisible and remain under dirt, they are everything to the plant.

Where can you find a parallel to this in your own life?

Gonna Hear Me Roar

kitty gonna roar

To anyone who wants to listen, listen up…

I am currently listening to blasting  Roar by Katy Perry.

This is so therapeutic for me.

First, I gotta address the haters in my head….the constant critics..

They say, “Why are you blogging as if you’re writing in a private journal entry, but in public?  Don’t air your dirty laundry out in public.  Do it in private, please.”

My response:  I gotta take a shit.

If you’ve been holding in your bowels for years on end and you’re about to burst, you just do it.  My figurative bowels consist of conforming (out of fear) to the majority within my closest psycho-social environment, while constipating anything that poses a possible threat to this goal of conformity, even when it is within my own head.

I’m welcoming a developing condition of enmity to conformity within my psycho-social environments and I need to do it loud and proud.  If not, I am at risk of shrinking back to my previously conditioned default of fear-driven conformity, which is extremely likely the stem of many of my past “mental/mood disorders” and even physical ailments, such as my over-a-decade battle against the voice disorder, MTD (Muscle Tension Dysphonia).

Therefore – an essential part of my own recovery is being out LOUD about it.  Privacy and secrecy are all fine and dandy and serve their legitimate purposes and I will confine myself to those purposes when I determine they serve my recovery best, but I believe they can also be overrated when it comes to healing from shame and fear.

My hope is that me finding my true voice and authentic-self – out LOUD, and lovingly wooing her out of the darkness of shame and fear will provide inspiration, hope and permission for others to embark on the same courageous life-long journey in their own territory.  It’s an uphill battle, and I cannot do it alone, but I alone have got to take the steps to do this.

Peace.

Relational Allergies

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When it comes to choosing people to walk closely with in life, I’m discovering I have an aversion to people of any color, shape and size who scapegoat people who are seeking sanity through becoming self-aware and therefore healing in the process.

I am currently experiencing an allergic reaction to people who continue to chose to be unaware of their true-authentic selves.  Not to imperfect people, but to people who are perfectly content with inauthenticity.  Perhaps I will gain an elevated tolerance level for these allergy triggers in time.  But for now, it looks like allergy season is in full effect and I’m discovering what types of personalities I am allergic to in this current season of my own life.

It is essential for me to identify what types of people/relationships I am allergic to.  I will then be able to tailor my daily dose of welcoming people, places and things into my life accordingly.  Only identifying the individual allergens isn’t enough, just as working in a barn when I’ve learned I have hay fever isn’t fitting.  I can expand my recovery-plan to include environments.  Identifying environments that incubate dependencies on my allergy triggers’ environments will serve me well.

I cannot completely avoid interacting with all environments that house my allergic triggers without robbing myself of benefits also, but I can confine my interactions within these environments to be as minimal as possible.  God, give me wisdom to know the difference.

Big picture.  Small Picture.  One Picture.

 

 

 

Trust: Who, not how

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I am learning WHO to trust.  Not HOW to trust, but WHO.

It can be deceiving.

Just because someone holds a trustworthy position like mother, father, spouse, pastor, therapist or teacher – does not equate the person as being trustWORTHY.  I am learning this the hard way.

I have no trouble with trusting others.  I am a very trusting person when it comes to others, too trusting.  The trouble I’m experiencing is not how to trust, but who to trust. My recovery makes it clear that this theme is central for me to articulate, first to myself then to others.

 

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