Perfectionism and Guilt

Hola Everybody,
A friend took me to go see Fences yesterday. I have to say that, in a film that is chock full of powerful turns, Viola Davis acting was one of the most powerful performances I have ever seen. Full stop. 

The film, which explores manhood, fathers and sons, intergenerational trauma, motherhood, relationships, among other themes, is a tour de force of direction by Denzel Washington. He managed to wring out stunning performances from all involved -- parts big and small. Hollywood will very likely ignore it, but fuck them. we don’t need their validation. Strongly recommended.

Here’s hoping that whatever you do this year, you do it joyously. Felicidades.

The Perfection of Guilt

I quit high school and was hanging out, being a table pimp¹ and shit, until my mother put a damper on all that one cold February morning. She came into my room and requested I wake up. When I didn’t listen, she came back and poured icy cold water all over me.

“Here’s carfare money, get out of my house, and don’t come back until after 5pm, like people who work do,” she informed me.

For the first couple of days, I hung out at friends’ homes until their mothers (who were just as sick of their slacker sons) let me know I couldn’t be hanging out in their homes doing nothing.

It was winter and it was cold, so it was hard to find a place to hang out. I really thought my mother was being an unreasonable bitch at the time.

Well, I came home one early day, and she gave me two options: I would either finish school and enroll in college, in which case, she’d be willing to sell her ass if need be to support me (my mother has a colorful way with language), or I went to work with my stepfather as a construction laborer. Just to show you where my head was at the time, I chose the latter.

My stepfather did not want me working with his crew. He fought, yelled, and stomped, but in the end, he had to take me to work or suffer my mother’s wrath. I knew jack shit about construction -- he even had to tell me to take my hands out of my pockets at the site. LOL!

At first, my stepfather would find menial things for me to do just so I would be out of the way. I hated the work. It was hard and it was fuckin cold outside. My stepfather was a patient man, and one day he took me to the side one day and told me that he was going to teach me some skills that I will always have some use for later in life.

He wasn’t lying.

I learned how to put up sheetrock and then how to set tiles. I was a fast learner, so my stepfather’s confidence in me grew. One day, he left me alone to do a bathroom from scratch. Now, setting tile is not as simple as it looks. But if you follow the basic rules, you can get the knack of it pretty quick. I mean, set your level, draw the line, add the gook, and start tiling, right? Well, the thing here was that at the time I loved smoking weed. Smoking weed and doing anything that takes some measure of precision is not a good mix -- not very smart. But that’s what I did and when I tiled my first bathroom, I got the leveling wrong and the tiles didn’t match when I made my way around the bathroom -- it was off by a lot, like an inch or so.

My stepfather was pissed off, but he was a patient man, and we were able to fix it up a little. The next day, he looked at me and asked if I could do the deed, and I did. This time the level was fine. The tiles looked quite good in fact, except for two tiles that were at wrong angles. Those two tiles were pissing me off and I thought I had done a miserable job. When my stepfather came to inspect my work, he pronounced it a good job. I looked at him and asked if he was high. I showed him the two errant tiles and he turned to me and said something that I never forgot, “I see the two bad tiles, but I see the other 99% percent of the tiles that are well done.”

In this way, my stepfather taught me good craftsmanship, but he taught me a more valuable lesson. The lesson being that perhaps striving for success is better than going for perfection.

Perfection and guilt go hand in hand. When I looked at the wall, all I saw were the two bad tiles. My inner critic immediately went to work and it filtered my perception of reality. My stepfather me taught to build on my successes rather than to focus on my failures. Eventually, I developed into a good tile-setter and I learned other basic carpentry skills that have stayed with me all these years. Skills that helped me get a job wherever I went.

In my work with people, I see this perfection/ guilt trap all the time. People end relationships because all they can see in their partner are the “two bad tiles.” Many become depressed because all we can see in ourselves are “two bad tiles.” The reality is that there is more that is good about us than we care to admit, we just can’t see those qualities. We focus too much on our mistakes. The mistakes are all we see, they’re all we think are there and so we go into an internal war to destroy all that. And sometimes, unfortunately, we destroy a good piece of work.

I hope that whatever you resolve to do this coming year that you focus on what’s good rather than the negative. I hope you drop the internal war and the guilt trips. Those are all traps -- prisons that keep you locked up. I actually hope that you develop a mission rather than a resolution. A mission is about being about something, standing up for something. As the saying goes, if you don’t stand for anything, you’ll fall for anything.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization… 

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.

Notes:

1. Table pimp was slang used to describe men who still lived with their parents but bragged their prowess. The table in the phrase was perhaps in reference to the dinner table, as in pimpin’ your mother’s dinner table.

Working for a Living

Hola mi Gente,

I've been wanting very much to post some version of this for quite some time. Thank you all, but especially to my sister and her husband for being here for me… 

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Work to Do

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.

-- Albert Camus

I've been meaning to send out a formal note of appreciation for all of my supporters of my campaign (here), but I was waiting for some good news before I did that.

First, the support you all showed me went a long way in boosting my morale at a time where I was really struggling. Secondly, I was able to pay off my storage and cellphone fees, and your donations will help me rent a room, so that I will no longer be technically homeless. This is huge for me, obviously. Finally, yesterday I was offered a position at a criminal justice reform organization. It’s for less than I was making before (much less) and not exactly where I saw myself heading, but it’s a J-O-B! So, I’m happy about that. I am hoping that improving my situation from the advantage of being employed will yield better results.

For me, it’s been a long and challenging “winter.” At the same time, the past eight months also has allowed me the space to become more introspective, to reserve energy, and to look within. Sometimes the seasons mirror the emotions we grapple with: we suddenly see or sense conflicting emotions within ourselves. The cold of winter presses in on us and we may feel tested by its sharp bite.

Yet, when we think we cannot bear a moment longer, we find a force within, an inner reassurance that comes like a summer breeze and says we do what we must. Perhaps it comes in a moment of despair, and then the realization we have made it this far -- that we are strong. In our deepest sadness about the loss of a love, we may find a more meaningful relationship with something more powerful -- with ourselves, for example, or a “Higher Power.” Or, as in my case, the strength can come from the support when it is most needed, sometimes from so many people, many of whom we have never met.

What I have learned is that the winters of our lives may tempt us to curse the cold and darkness. Similarly, the conflicts in our lives may tempt us to struggle with them. One side may be very clear and obvious while the other is vague and hidden. When we are open, these extremes become equal teachers for us. As we think about the seasons and our feelings today, what opposites do we find? Whatever the answers (or, more importantly, the questions), perhaps today we can remember that we have an invincible summer at the deepest part of the winter in our lives.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Sunday Sermon [Woundology]

Hola Everybody...

I hope you have had the opportunity to spend time with family – both the biological and chosen types…

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Transcending Wounds

We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin. 
 -- André Berthiaume

I am firmly convinced there is a conspiracy out to get me. This is true, don’t look at me that way, I ain’t crazy! I know, for example, that there is a covert association of elderly women out there somewhere whose solitary mission is to send its members to block my way on the streets and on subway platforms. And don’t get me started on that group of train conductors whose mission statement is to get me stuck in between subway stations and close subway doors right in my face.

Then there’s that damned OAA (Overly-Analytical Association) women’s group, hell-bent on sending me women who “think” through even mundane stuff (like sex, for example) to the point where it is isn’t even fun anymore! And don’t get me started on the “Evil Parents” consortium that determined to have me born into a poor household headed by traumatized parents themselves barely out of their teens.

It’s a conspiracy! It’s true, I tell ya!

I’m exaggerating, of course, but for a long time I took things very personal, as if life had somehow conspired to fuck me without the dignity of a kiss. While I knew that old ladies weren’t organizing against me (as if I were that important), my reactions were just the same -- flagrant anger and bitterness that I dressed up in a cynically chic “that’s my life” outerwear. It’s considered chic and cool to wear our wounds nonchalantly -- you hear people constantly say stupid shit like, “Life sucks… ” as if it were all predetermined.

There’s a fairly erotic scene in one of the Lethal Weapon films in which Mel Gibson’s and Rene Russo’s characters compare scars as a prelude to sex. “I have this scar,” says Mel, and Rene counters with, “Ha! That’s nothing, look at this one!” They go on like this until both have managed to take off all their clothes in their mad dash to outdo one another.

It’s funny a funny scene, but like with a lot of fiction there’s a fair amount of truth to it. As a society, we have developed what the medical intuitive, Carolyn Myss, calls a dysfunctional “language of intimacy.” An intimacy that is based, she goes on to say, on “Woundology.” Briefly, woundology is recognizing that we have come to an important insight, namely that we need to bring out into the open our secrets – wounds -- discussing them in a healthy manner. This is a very powerful and fairly recent development. What has happened, however, is that we have gotten stuck on our wounds -- a “woundology.” We have become addicted to our wounds. We have come to be defined by our wounds.

You see it all the time. You meet someone, and before you even get to know them, you’re privy to some pretty much intimate details of that person. This is what happens when we merely admit or acknowledge our shortcomings, or wounds. Everything becomes filtered through the perspective of an incest survivor, or a widow, or an addict, an abused child, etc. Please, don’t get me wrong here: it’s extremely important that we bring into the light that which resides in the shadows. And many, many people keep all this shit stuffed inside, in the process causing both physical and psychological dis-ease, but that is only part of the issue. There are other steps we have to take.

If only I had a better childhood… If only I didn't have my hardships… 

This over identification and obsession with our wounds is so powerful that we actually become attached to them. In fact, many people don’t really want to heal or change, they’re too enamored of their wounds to do that. I have a relative who’s always harping on her parents and how her parents are the cause for her inability to relate, to be a good parent herself, the rain, and the car that just cut her off… well you get the idea. When I challenge this belief system, she freaks, or she just stops listening. The end result is that she’s an essentially unhappy person who is infecting her own children with the same behavior pattern of learned unhappiness.

Take away the wound, we seem to be saying, and what do we become? I’m no longer just a recovering addict? I’m not just an incest survivor? OMG!!! 

Acceptance is the gateway toward forgiveness. I am not speaking here of passive acceptance to how things were or are. I am also not speaking here of forgiveness in the way we normally see it. Acceptance in this context is coming to the realization of things how they are (as opposed to how we want them to be). Forgiveness in this context is not forgiving others, but forgiving ourselves. When we cling to our wounds, we are actually punishing ourselves because we do not see ourselves as worthy or whole. When we accept the facts of our lives, we can then move towards maturity and the development of true happiness. We all deal with hardships; you are not that unique, really. And life sometimes isn’t fair. As my mother used to say, “You want fairness, go to kindergarten.” She’s right, life isn’t about fairness, it’s about reality.

So, in a sense, it would be correct to say that we need to love those aspects of ourselves we like least in order to move beyond our wounds to the space where healing begins. Acceptance opens the door to forgiveness which opens the door to Love, which in turn leads toward integration, healing, and wholeness.

Many of us like to say we’ve moved past all this, but I still see the bitterness, unhappiness, and tendency toward blame. Can you raise your hand? I mean, I see that tendency within myself. I especially see it in the people who often say something like, “Yeah, people need to get over it... ” or some bullshit like that. It’s not about getting over it, it’s about integration, not negation.

Then again, maybe there is something to this conspiracy theory thingee... naw! LOL

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…