A series of transitional experiences buffered with liminal doughnuts

Transitional spaces and liminal phases

A long time ago I decided that I wanted to change one thing about myself. This turned out to be a little bit like wanting to change the weathervane on top of an old farmhouse. I couldn't get to the vane without fixing the roof, I couldn't get to the roof without replacing the gutters, I couldn't replace the gutters without repairing the siding, I couldn't repair the siding without fixing the walls, and I couldn't fix the walls without completely undercutting and recreating the foundation.

At each step of my work I've uncovered what seems to be a completely unconnected issue that needs to be addressed before any other work can be done. Behind my anger was my drinking, behind my drinking was PTSD, behind the PTSD was C-PTSD, behind that seemed to be either BPD or Bi-Polar disorder, underneath all of that was a certain flavor of neurodivergence that doesn't have an official name but adds a kind of spice to everything I attempt based on the reports of neurotypical folks.

It might be thanks to my neurodivergence that I am completely willing to start learning about any psychological method or biological system from whatever heavy, dry, academic books and papers I can find. I've worked with some great professionals, some mediocre professionals, and some that probably would have turned me off the process completely had they not hit my stubborn streak hard with their fuckups.

Doing all this work on myself is really a pretty small thing. It involves a lot of study and a lot of thinking and a lot of making time to sit with my feelings and pay attention to them as carefully as I would if they were the feelings of someone about whom I care very much. The thing that I really didn't expect was how much I would be free to leave behind me as I grew and changed.

When I stopped drinking there were friends that I lost because they only liked drunk me. That was painless. Then there were the friends who had learned to work with my drinking to keep me manageable and useful to them. That was very painful. Also, I didn't have the language to explain what was happening to me at that point and so leaving them behind felt like it was cruel on my part when it was, in truth, me stepping away from someone whose survival skills and socialization had prepared them to manage and control someone very complicated and compromised. I don't believe that they treated me like that intentionally. I believe that they did so with full caring and intent to be kind. But once I was sober those old controls no longer worked on me and I became unpredictable and disappointing in equal measure.

Now I'm finding that there are even larger swaths of connections and ideals that I'm losing because they don't really matter any more to me.

I think that maybe those were once the things that told me who I was. That helped me craft an identity and give me a place where I fit, even if I didn't feel like I belonged.

Part of this is probably that my life is very completely focused on values based living in action. Alzheimer's elder care for P is not easy, but doing it is important to me that it is done well. Supporting R through his cancer experience isn't easy but it's important to me that it is done well. Taking care of this house and raising this dog well is important to me. None of it is very difficult or any different than any other job I've done, but none of it really requires me to have an identity.

When arguing with a person with Alzheimer's it is absolutely useless to have opinions or to make valid points. That person is in such a different reality tunnel that even communicating is challenging. Taking offense or feeling pleased are equally devoid of any effect other than provoking my own feelings which leads to changed energy. Feeling pleased and safe is good but taking offense is dangerous because of emotional contagion. P picks up on my feelings and amplifies them back at me. This doesn't mean that I can fix everything by being happy and easy going all the time because P's perspective on my emotions is deeply flawed and if P is in a fighting mood everything that they pick up will add fuel to their fire.

When accompanying a person through a cancer diagnosis and treatment, it's really not helpful to become emotionally or cognitively overwhelmed. It is important to save the emotional reactions for later so that one can use one's time with the doctors to untangle the confusing data and make the best choices. With R it's most important that I understand and translate the information into terms that he can understand and help him make the best choices (and also to make those choices for him when he is not able to do so).

Neither of these jobs require me to be anybody. I simply have to function as an attentive and curious being who chooses actions based on safety, health, and well-being. These jobs also require me to take care of myself first so I'm not impeded by my own hunger, tiredness, frustration, or chemical imbalances. That's possibly the most useful thing about my present situation. By my own values, taking care of myself is my first priority. Taking my meds. Making my food and eating as soon as I get an opportunity. Getting enough rest. Finding tools and hacks to make life easier. Asking for help so much more often than I'm comfortable doing.

This lifestyle is not reinforcing a persona or an identity on me. I am a being. My role is caretaker. And that frees up so much of the bullshit that I had in my former life with people's expectations of me being a certain kind of social or a certain kind of useful to them. I suspect it might be something like going on a year long retreat into a monastery. Being freed from those expectations is priceless and while the lack of others telling me who I am supposed to be can be scary at times, I'm finding that discovering who I am being when I am alone is far far more comfortable than it ever was before.

The world is made up of liminal spaces and life is a series of transitional experiences. When we feel like we're trapped in a cage or stuck in a rut, we're probably transitioning into a loop or pattern rather than not making process. We might simply be reinforcing the status quo with every moment rather than changing it. That is, itself, a type of change.