The other day I was jerked awake from my afternoon nap by a horrid, pervasive sense of judgement, of being found not only wanting–a complete failure, in fact–but also ridiculous. I couldn’t remember clearly any oneiric narrative that had led to this, but in the day or two before I’d discovered a problem with the fit for a sweater I’m knitting and I’d “wasted” two pages in my mini watercolour sketchbook with a drawing I’d messed up — in ink!
I am occasionally visited by such thoughts and sensations during insomniac nights, but my afternoon naps are generally restorative. I suspect this experience was part of the overall Covid-19 phenomenon, and I have to say it was uncomfortably convincing, a mixture of anxiety and vulnerability and humiliation. It was also tougher to shake off than you might imagine — waking up to perspective and proportion and reason didn’t do the trick. Luckily, I thought of reaching for my phone with the Insight Timer app (no, no one’s paying me to write this) and I found a 10-minute stress-relieving meditation to guide my breathing and heartbeat and muscles and fascia back to their Factory Setting. A relief. . .
Last night, I woke at 2:30 with somewhat similar thoughts and feelings about the writing I do here, my posting on Instagram. As I wrote above, such thoughts feature regularly in my nighttime insomnia, but I think the exposure of my life, my creative efforts, feels different now that the rest of my social life has shrunk dramatically. Comments (or lack of them) here can take on more weight, and I’m even readier than normal (remember “normal”?) to view myself from an onlooker’s perspective.
By 2:45 on mornings like this, I often decide I need to pull away completely from all social media. By 4:30, when I tiptoe back to bed after an hour or so on the couch with a book or a Guided Yoga Nidra, I’ve renounced that renunciation again, for the moment. Mostly by reminding myself that I initially began blogging because I believe in the value of representing diversity, one quirky 50+ woman at a time (and yes, since then I’ve become a 65+ woman, and perhaps representing is even more important, especially since we may become more invisible than ever, confined or consigned to safety for the next long while).
Long preamble over, I thought I’d show you the disastrous sketching efforts that caused the self-excoriation. . .
You already know that I’ve been filling a tiny watercolour journal with sketches representing life at home during Covid. So objects that I use or see daily. . . . such as the hairclip you see photos of above; I’m twisting my hair into its grip daily, to manage my increasingly unruly curls. I’ve also been trying to loosen up my sketching by drawing directly in ink rather than using a pencil.
And I’d studied the clip from every angle before I began drawing its curves and angles and . . . surprisingly confusing intersections. . . .
Confusions that multiplied in indelible ink, stark and unforgiving on the page — Strip away the colour and the surrounding text, and the line I added later and filled with gold-green, and you can see some elements from the hair clip, but I don’t even have the right number of teeth!
After I’d vented my frustration and given free rein to all the Mean Inner Critics, I decided to try again on the facing page. . . . can you see that I tried Twice on this page, and that both times, I failed again?
“Failed”: I’m using the Mean Inner Critics’ terminology, because their voices dominated for a while. In truth, if we’re crediting process instead of judging product, this is all just practice, and it’s what may eventually build me some drawing skills. . . . eventually . . .
Now I had two ugly pages right in the middle of my otherwise fairly pleasing journal. I was so tempted to rip them out, but I feel pretty strongly that they’re an important part of the story that little book tells. . . . Truth in representation and all that. . .
So I walked away, let those unsatisfactory pages be the record for that day. . . . And the next morning, before I could think about it too much, I drew the additional abstract shapes you see on the page and I grabbed my watercolour palette — the colours you see on the two pages are simply ones I had already mixed up. And then I just played with laying down colour however it pleased me. The way my grandkids do. . . .
I think I learned something in the overall process. About process and judgement and play and perseverance . . . maybe about the value of practising a drawing of something difficult beforehand, on ordinary (less expensive) paper. . . . I’ve learned some of these lessons before (remember that Citroën here and here). . . . but the one about being kind to myself seems to need more practice, truly, than any of the others. . . . Do you find the same to be true for you?
Anyway, after I’d restored my equanimity with that abstract colour play, I (foolishly?) decided to try drawing the hairclip again. With pencil, this time. Learning.
I think the drawing on the right is not bad. Once I had it in pencil, I outlined it in pen. And then. . . . Hmmmm. And then I tried to mix a brown I liked, and it just got uglier and uglier.
And uglier.
So my task for today is to play at mixing up brown. Red and yellow to make orange and then mixing that with the right blue. I’m going to make myself a grid and see how many browns I can fill it with. And while I’m doing that, I’m going to be very, very kind to me. . . .
As our Public Health Officer says at her regular press briefings: Be Kind, Be Calm, and Be Safe. . . .
But first Yoga. . . . Ommmmm. . . .
And you? What are you up to? Are you being kind to yourself as well as to others? Is that sometimes a challenge? Any tricks for meeting that challenge?
Oh, and I keep forgetting to tell you that I have a new post up on my reading blog, in case you’ve run out of titles for your TBR list. . . .
I am so interested in your comments. You are so very accomplished by any standard measure. Intelligent, successful, you've raised children to adulthood and you currently nurture grandchildren lovingly. You have sustained and flourished in a long term marriage. You were highly visible and successful teaching at a university. Any one of these is an achievement beyond many. Yet your inner critic drowns these out. I have a very high achieving daughter who has lost her creative and high powered job due to COVID 19. I know that she harbors this same very harsh inner voice. I am at a loss in talking to her. I listen and redirect her to her many successes, I point out the many whose lives she enriches on a daily basis, yet I know that this harsh inner critic persists. I know that I cannot change this for you or for her, but I do lovingly wish you both perspective and peace.
I totally understand that grim perfectionism being smacked over the head by regular old reality. I mean, I just had a knitting melt-down on Insta (for all to hear) two days ago 🙂 It fucks with one's sense or order and propriety! The amazing thing is that, 2 days later, I'm all fine about it. I now think the project's going to be epic (I dream big). But I was ready to throw it, and myself, out a window for a while. It's so tiring. And I think BuffaloGal's comment is excellent. It's sad (and I say this for myself!) to have so many gifts and abilities and qualities, to fixate on the few things that are not as I would have them. It's a kind of curse – albeit of the cushy variety – and I feel that I will have become enlightened if I ever find my way through the maze.
I had to read twice because in my mind red plus green equals brown. Ha!
I am (nearly) always kind to myself and am trying to be especially gentle with friends and family right now. Careful to stay away from discussions that might make the top of my head blow off (in real life and on line).
I have some arthritis in my neck and do a static yoga pose at end of day that helps things get into line before sleep. I listen to Elgar's Nimrod while I do that…the music goes through the emotions and I just lie there and let it flow over me…very helpful.
Frances,when you wake up in the wee hours,remember: We love you! We love your sketches! We love your blog!
I'm rereading Louise Hay….as you may see 🙂
Nobody is perfect!
Wabi-Sabi!
Dottoressa
Frances, I second BuffaloGal's comment. I struggle similarly with self-criticism on matters large and small. I don't have any answers, but I have taken advantage of enforced remote working to finally find a therapist. I've found two and scheduled initial sessions with both.
If you ever again are self-critical about your blog, please keep in mind that many of us value it highly. I read it, always, comment almost never. I'm commenting now out of fear of your thoughts of discontinuing!
Those unkind thoughts are familiar to me. I often blame myself for those areas of my life that fall short of my expectations. I look for approval from those who will never give it to me. A self-defeating behaviour for sure! When I was a girl, I even doubted that my academic abilities. I believed that I would reach a level that would be too hard and that I would be revealed as a fraud. BuffaloGal makes a lot of sense and her daughter is fortunate to have her support right now. Where did the critic's voice come from? I've identified my mother as the source of much of my self-doubt. Not maliciously or intentionally but she is neither effusive nor generous with compliments and she suffers from general anxiety. I did have quite a lot of counselling years ago and I've learned that the best person to give me what I need is me. I would reassure you about your sketching (it's fine) but sketching is not really the problem. I do, however, respect you for writing so honestly about the issue of self-esteem.
If there is one word that might sum up how you are viewed (in my eyes, at least), it is COURAGEOUS. Think what it truly means and how you demonstrate it on this blog by sharing your thoughts–your opinions–your art. Frankly, it takes great courage to be vulnerable to any critic. Especially a sly inner critic that wakes you from your sleep.
Essere di buon coraggio.
This pandemic has stripped so much from us. In one way or another we are living with sadness, without the connections and routines that we didn't even know were sustaining us. It seems to me that with the surface matters stripped away, that we are digging deep, where both the joys and terrors lie. Yes, there be dragons…but also a deep core of goodness, and a well of strength. Elle
As a former university professor I have to remember what I told my students — failure can be a learning experience. Always getting things right means that you are not trying anything new. They struggled with it and so did I, but it's true. Right now I feel lost. The materials I need for a writing project are locked in a storage unit I cannot access until we are free to move about the country so I am trying find a satisfactory alternative. I have bits and pieces, but nothing I like yet.
I love both of your blogs and find your honesty in writing about your days very refreshing. I too struggle with my watercolour painting. I read somewhere just yesterday that feelings of frustration are a sign that you are improving so it’s important not to give up.
I think it's always a good reminder to be kind to ourselves (I once heard a speaker say, "Would you talk to your best friend like that? Then why are you speaking to yourself that way?" and it really stuck with me), but it's even more important during these strange times. I'm measuring my days in weeds weeded, in boxes emptied, in cupboards cleaned out, and some days the totals are not very high. I celebrate the good days, and remember them on the bad.
Today was a major day: I cleaned out the corner cupboard in the kitchen! When we remodeled, our kitchen designer talked us out of a turntable ("You'll have much more space!") but the reality is that things have gotten shoved back into the unreachable corner over the years. So there was a lot of, "So, that's where that was!" and "What the heck?" today, and both shelves are now half-empty, with the balance of the contents to friends, charity, or the trashcan. So a good day
Covid has definitely eaten into our pysche and made our ground unsteady under our feet. I was overcome by a sense of impending doom for many weeks. In NZ we have very low numbers at present, after a very tough lockdown period, and I'm due to go back to school next week.I have very mixed feelings and some anxiety about that.
I also worry about 'the young' uns' – my daughters' generation- the ones just beginning to live 'grown up' lives and the effect this is having on their confidence, their financial security, their plans.Two of my daughters are currently 12.000 km away in London and we won't be seeing them for some time- our planned trip is of course not possible!
I have read this article this article and recommended it to others- it speaks my truth.
I hope it's helpful.
Rose.
hbr.org/2020/03/that-discomfort-youre-feeling-is-grief?fbclid=IwAR0B-oFVcH3k_y7G0f-PGruXw9d6znRmZmAlDqRu_o0nSRZAAgaENxUVd0c
If you have these thoughts about failure, can you say what would success looks like for you? What has counted as success in the past? Is it reasonable to apply the same yardstick to your art and blogging? Can you recalibrate from "achievement" to "process"?
I used to think that life over 60 would be a serene glide – and it's quite the opposite! Half-dealt with emotions and insecurities crawl out from under a lifetime's mulch of busy-ness (can you tell I'm gardening a lot just now?). I used to think I would at last feel all grown up and wise – ha! Perhaps it's the times we're living in. I don't just mean Covid – I find myself remarkably unaffected emotionally by it. The restrictions don't bother me at all, although I worry about young people in general.
As over 60s now we're still active and know we have potential, whereas our grandmothers sat down and were tranquil – or so it seemed. If I feel I'm not achieving much I think of my maternal grandmother, a very clever woman who should have gone to university and who knows what she would have achieved? But there was only money scraped together for her brother to go, and she had to leave school at 14 and stand on a quayside in all weathers, gutting herring and packing them in barrels of brine. That thought makes me kinder to myself in that I realise how fortunate I am and that my inner complaints are not productive.
I wonder what it's like not to have an inner critic????
I would say our nerves are all very close to the surface at the moment and every little sting really hurts. As none of us have ever experienced these trying days before that is not surprising; but knowing that isn't the same as feeling it. It may be to do with the change in the atmosphere in the past week or so- as countries start to unlock and we move into the unknown again. Certainly I have felt more fractious and uneven. Yesterday I had a similar experience trying to tie headscarves to contain my hair which is getting out of shape. Honestly. What a kerfuffle. What a stream of internal invective against myself. Today, they tie with ease. As you capture these times in watercolours and sketches, I have decided to do so in words. On we go. Have a better weekend.
It is easy to ignore our shadow side by being "busy" and the world gives us lots of medals for bsuyness, for helping, working, getting, going, giving. Quiet brings everything to the fore. We can work with it and also, when it drains us, pack it away. Hope you find balance via the supports that work for you but also appreciate and endure the wider, richer range this period brings.
Your sketches and especially your scribbles (that Nope Nope Nope…) remind me of my mom's sketches and her own very hard self-criticism. You are not alone. Don't let it stop you from plowing forward and enjoying the moment.
Maybe you don't think you're writing the Great Novel or whatever, but I enjoy reading your posts. You always make me think AND smile.
I think the hair clip turned out to be a sculptural choice, and I don't care how many teeth it really has.
Hello Frances,
No much to add here but wanted to wave to you and let you know I have been lurking in the background. I'm unable to comment from my phone so when I get downstairs to the computer I want to let you know that I enjoy your posts and admire your many pursuits, but especially your drawing skills and how you persist and improve!
Bon week-end!
slf
BuffaloGal: Thank you for your thoughtful words. And I'm sorry your daughter has to struggle with those voices as well. I should say that much, even most, of the time, I can see the accomplishments in my life, but some days, biochemistry + environmental phenomenon = a self-criticism that will meet every logical point about an irrefutable achievement and the Inner Critic will have a convincing rebuttal . . . Luckily, I have a lifetime of experience managing the voices, and so far I can turn down the volume eventually, if not Mute them completely. I hope it is so for your daughter as well — your wish for perspective and peace is just right.
K: Yes! I know that I'm fortunate in some gifts and abilities, but they seem very firmly linked with an overactive sense of discernment. And that quotation "Comparison is the thief of joy"? Oh boy!
Georgia: That's so funny! I could have just said the three primaries. . . Or purple and yellow 😉
Going to line up Nimrod on Spotify . . .
Dottoressa: You made me chuckle 😉 I never did read Louise Hay, but I clearly remember her influence . . .
Marie: Thank you for taking the time — I absolutely understand why readers don't comment on every post (I do wish Blogger could offer a very simple Like button, à la Facebook or Instagram, but then perhaps these conversations would drift into streams of emojis 😉
Mme L-B: Thank you! I know you and I often see parallels between our paths. . .
Mary: Thank you! I'm flattered to think you see me as Courageous, and I think I'll letter that Italian aspiration into my journal. . . .
Elle: I really feel this. The slowing down allows time to process emotions and experiences and thoughts that we might normally be able to push away, to submerge in the daily activities. There be dragons, yes, but we have time to see them, perhaps sit with them, not necessarily tame them but find out whether they have anything at all to offer us. There are good surprises here as well. . .
Lynn: You're so right — I would tell students the same thing with absolute conviction in its truth, and I'm learning very slowly to aim that voice in my own direction. . . As for the "making do" required during Covid . . . bricolage in practice, and who knows what serendipities that might yield. I hope so for you. . .
I always think you are too hard on yourself. am am often in awe of what you do on any given day. since leaving my career as a therapist nearly 10 years ago I have struggled with being relevant. but now even my volunteering is not permitted. I thought that during this time I might work on writing some poems and going back to my own sketching, I would start by compiling all more meager works into a single notebook. I brought down all my journals and my sketching materials to the table where I intended to work on them. I have perhaps copied a few poems, but mostly they sit there reminding me of what I have not done. I tell myself I am doing OK, I walk, do some yoga, read. I manage to keep the house tidy, if not immaculate. sometimes it feels like enough. other times no. I feel sad but usually not overwhelmed. yet today I awakened in a panic, flooded with adrenaline, stomach in knots, dreaming of desperately tying to escape an evil presence.
And on a lighter not, I really like your quirky sense of style!
Darby
Frances, I read your blog post. That hair clip is a VERY tricky thing to draw, so please don't beat yourself up about it! All those complicated convex and concave intersecting shapes! I would have had trouble drawing this, especially at a side angle, without studying it very carefully and setting the drawing up with little marks and guides, like an architectural drawing, that divide it into its components. That final brown drawing on the right is, as you say, quite good. I admire you for trying to draw this and hope you'll try it again, firmly telling your inner critic to go out for a walk, please. Good luck with your watercolor grid, too, that's the way to go! (Tip: if you have some Burnt Sienna, try combining that with cobalt or ultramarine blue to get your range of warm browns, and you won't need any red.)
As a retired art teacher, like Beth, I can say "Don't beat yourself up over this one." I've said to my students many times that sometimes an object that you think is "simple" or "straightforward" really isn't. For this project it would take a lot of practice to get the curve, the spaces between the teeth, the hinge, and the color just right. And I'm glad you went back the next day to try again. Yes, making a grid of browns is a great idea. Just don't forget to write the formula: 2 Y + 1 R + 1 B, etc. next to the result…always the step I could not get my students to do! And when tackling a project such as this, I have to remember that the first several classes of my introductory drawing class (for my Masters) was to draw pages & pages of circles, ovals, lines, and random shapes. In a watercolors class, she had us warm up by making swirls, dots, circles, lines, and so on. I thought of it like practicing scales in music. So, relax…Carol in VT
So beautifully written…the images of the hair clip aptly represented your turmoil. So glad you did not rip out the two pages. I recently went through a 2 day "funk", partially due to a sewing project that is not going well despite the time I've spent on it, plus petty annoyances of living so closely with others. Your post was so timely, and I feel better! Take care.
I love your drawings! Just want you to know, the hair clip and drawings flashed quickly on Instagram as I was scrolling through. I glanced and thought I will go back to that later when I have time to focus. Instead I decided to read this post. My thoughts before reading, "Look at those folded hands, must be a museum exhibition. How clever you are in drawing them. I am not drawing much, I need to get my stuff out and get drawing, you are so dedicated." So, while you are chastising yourself for "wasting paper", I am chastising myself for not even using paper…
The only way to get better is to keep at it, even if it doesn't look like you want it to. You are so good with sticking with it and I love that you share the sketches and your thoughts with us. I am with you for waking up at odd hours. Some nights I wake up in a panic with all that is going on.
Buttercup: Thanks for this! Now I can be encouraged by my frustration 😉
CarolP: I'm impressed that you're making so many good days out of this muddle. . . I remember the intensity of the mixed emotions when we were packing up to sell our house and make a major lifestyle change. I know it's got to be that much more intense now and more time to feel those feelings, think those thoughts. . . .
Rosemary: I've seen that article before, and I think it's well worth sharing (I should remember to post the link on the blog one of these days. As conscious as we are that our concerns are privileged ones, we still feel them, can only get beyond them by doing that and acknowledging them. Being separated from our daughters (and my son-in-law and granddaughter) — is big, no matter how lucky and comfortable and safe we might otherwise be. Take care. . . .
Linda: I process all of those questions on a rational level and I know that the certificates I've accumulated, kids I've raised to very decent adults, students I've taught, etc. etc. are significant. But in the early morning, it's not the rational brain that dominates. And for me, pushing the dark thoughts and emotions down just means painful fascia and a gut that acts up. So I mostly try to acknowledge the waves as they arrive, hoping they will ebb once again. . . My post-60 expectations have been seriously coloured by my mother's depression and the cognitive decline she grappled with through her 70s. . . .
Annie: Isn't it funny how intense those fillings can be? Even if our normally sensible, pragmatic selves knows the concerns are petty and even though we loathe the degree of self-indulgence in our tantrum. . . . Or maybe that's just me 😉
Duchesse: I feel this very strongly, that in some ways, as miserable as this can be, there is a gift right now in being able to lean into, as it were, our darker sides, allowing ourselves time to know ourselves more fully and then having the time to find our way back to centre. . . .
Taste of France: Such a welcome, thoughtful comment! Thank you!
SLF: I really appreciate you taking the time to comment today, but I do understand that there are many days when there's not time, especially since Blogger hasn't upgraded its platform for eons and it gets cranky with cellphones.
Darby: First of all, thanks for the kind words. I find it so interesting that a therapist experiences something similar, even though you have access to your Inner Therapist to advocate for you against those Inner Critics. Layers and layers. . . .Projections and screens. . . . And back to what Linda writes about the hope or assumption that we might have sorted it all by our 60s. Um, nope!
Hard to tell that inner critic to go away, isn't it? I feel like that a lot too, and although you don't want to hear this, it helps me that someone who has achieved so much more than I ever have feels that too. I also found Duchesse's comment about busyness helping us to push these thoughts away very helpful. How much easier was it to go to work every day and stand in front of a student audience, the very fact that I stood there giving me some authority. And self confidence. And immediate, often positive, feedback from kids. Harder to maintain self-confidence at home… with no job to bolster our reason for living. I had a chat with a recently retired friend the other day. What a year to experience your first days of freedom from the bell! She became quite teary. She said "I don't know what I'm for, anymore." As in what am I good for. She was a hugely dedicated and creative teacher who I am proud to have worked with… and she's looking around and saying "now what?" And Covid-19, and fear, and the lock-down are not helpful. Hope you feel better today, my friend. My very admirable friend, who I very much admire. 🙂
I always appreciate your willingness to be honest and transparent. I think those of us who struggle with the same things as you are made that way – it's part of who we are. I find the older I get, the better I get in that regard – I like to think I've learned something over all these years. It's still there, though, and something I need to continue to struggle with and work to modify as best I can.
Beth: Thank you so much for your comments here and on Instagram — they really helped!
Carol in Vt. Such a helpful and encouraging comment. Even though I've overcome the mistaken belief that I'm "not artistic," it's not quite as easy to overcome the reality that beginning in my late 50s, and juggling the sketching with other time-chomping pursuits means I need to be patient with myself as I slowly accumulate the necessary "hours of craft." . . . And spend some time making those circles and straight lines and squares. . . and mixing colours, etc. etc.
Anon at 12:48: Glad it helped — those funks can be tough!
Smithposts: That wee-hours panic, not nice at all! It's very true, the only way to get better is to keep on. . . . In fact, that's an appeal of the drawing, that I do have a chance of getting better (whereas for running, I can't even seem to maintain anymore 😉
Sue B: I have days where I feel as your retired friend does, when everything I've done in life seems negligible or irrelevant (and the kids I raised are wonderful adults, but in those moods I doubt how much I had to do with that). Luckily, I have ways of getting to the other side on those days, but Covid, as you say, is not helpful. Comments like yours, though, and being a member of a Coast-to-Coast Reciprocal Admiration Society of Two helps considerably xo
Jeannine: This is it, really. It's part of who we are — in some ways, it's exacerbated by this life stage; in some ways, that life stage means we have some countering wisdom and experience in handling the mood, in working "to modify as best we can," as you say.
Frances…though I've been silent, you have been on my mind. Especially when I finally was able to connect on Alison's Zoom painting class. I was looking to see if I might see you. Alas, no.
Yes, to the harsh inner critic. A few years ago, when my sister (8 years younger) and I were discussing fashion, she said, "If we don't wear it now, when will we!?!" That brought about peals of laughter (I'm 71) in imaginary scenarios. Since that singular moment, the harsh critic has gained a sense of humor! The tone I hear has softened. Life is now counting down to the remaining moments and I want to embrace it. Hopefully, that will happen with joy, love, understanding, grace, peace, etc. You have so much of those qualities in your writing, in your embracing of your new lifestyle, and in your wonderful travels. Cheers to you, my blog friend. You are much appreciated. <3
Charlene H
Late again. I was both moved and impressed by your post, by your expressing so clearly what many of us feel from time to time, and to speak about it so openly. While I was still trying to find the right words, all those wonderful comments came rolling in. In the end, there is one Idea which I might be able to add and which I am offering here:
Maybe several different (although not totally unrelated) issues may have got entagled into an unfortunate knot:
1. A very demanding task in a learning process which, naturally, has its setbacks and frustrations (as well as its achievements).
2. An occasional inclination towards self-doubt and depression which may be an inheritance from former generations and cannot always be kept at bay by sheer will power.
3. The present situation of separation from family and friends.
4. The occurence of anniversaries, birthdays etc. which may give rise to reflections in the line of stock taking and musings about the time left to us and how we are spending it.
As for No. 1, you have already tackled it very sucessfully. I very much hope that you can desentagle the other three and put them in their place.
entangle – disentangle, of course.
Frances, your eloquent and thoughtful readers have already said most of what I would have to say. All I can add, as one who suffers from an internal voice who can be so loud that I named her The Watcher at one point, and who has alternated between I'm So Awesome and I Simply Suck all of my life, I believe these feelings are always there. Then we make our way through life coping with them, ignoring them, or trying to conquer them. As some have said, retirement, and now quarantine, throw us right into the deep end. Sometimes I try to fight my feelings of failure, or more commonly my unnamed anxiety, but sometimes, on the right day, I just let myself fall into to it all see if the depths show me less danger than I expected.
Lots of love to you.
I have never before "ducked back into" a conversation, but I feel compelled to. What a stark contrast this thoughtful conversation is to the "clanging cymbals" we are surrounded with in the media! It is a pleasure to read these thoughtful and thought provoking comments from women who take time to support one another. Frances- you have attracted quite a community here. That is an accomplishment I would treasure.
Charlene: Thanks for this perspective — and it would be fun to see you in Alison's Zoom class, but between the 70+ on Wednesdays and the same again on Thursdays (I've switched back and forth), it's not so easy to do!
Eleonore: A thoughtful and trenchant analysis, this seems to me. Thank you! Especially the recognition that will power doesn't always do the trick! (and I knew what you meant — by entangle, or untangle, or disentangle. . . 😉
BuffaloGal: Thank you so much! I do treasure this community and these conversations and I'm pleased to have a role in facilitating . . .
Lisa: A GP friend of mine once named it for me as "amorphous anxiety" and that has always seemed apt — and can be envisioned as somewhat similar to the cloud of dust that Charles Schulz drew as Pigpen's constant companion. . . But also the heightened sensitivities can pay off in an alertness to my environment. . . .