Broken Can Be Beautiful

Broken can be beautiful.

Does that sound strange to you?  Do you believe that it's actually true or that I'm just trying to spin something?

Initially, it sounded strange to me too, but it doesn't take more than a minute or two when I really think about what that means, for it to make perfect sense to me.  If you haven't already read my last post, read it here and then carry on with this one.  It'll all make more sense that way.

So let's be honest: brokenness does NOT always look or feel beautiful.  Sometimes that looks like we are a sobbing mess on the kitchen floor.  Sometimes that means that we're screaming at someone we love.  Sometimes that means we are pushing those away who want nothing more than to be close.  Sometimes we are so scared of getting hurt or someone actually seeing us that we stay isolated. Sometimes the depths of our despair is so powerful and heavy and dark that we feel like we can barely move under the weight of it.

I get that.  I've lived that.  I've been there.

But here's the thing: if we try to avoid suffering our whole lives, then we run around barely experiencing anything at all.  Life IS suffering.  At least some of the time, it just is.  There is no way around that.  Similarly, if we try to avoid showing anyone our true self, which is marred and scarred and flawed, then we run around barely knowing anyone...or letting anyone know US.

There are a lot of people who have known me for a long time....who were still shocked at my last post.  They never knew the extent to which mine and Meredith's battle against cancer affected me.  Affects me NOW.  Most people had no idea.  Why?

I don't talk about it.  Ever.

Talking about it serves as a reminder that it actually happened.  Talking about how it continues to affect me makes me feel crazy.  I'm not supposed to say that because I'm a psychologist and in my world, "crazy" is a dirty word.  I don't think other people are "crazy", ever, regardless of what they are struggling with or what they have been through.  I'm able to see other's problems very objectively and understand how they developed and see how they make perfect sense.

But that doesn't stop me from thinking that I'm crazy.

So I don't talk about it.  And to be fair, it's not like I'm dying to talk about it or thinking about it all the time.  I think about my identity as a cancer survivor on a pretty regular basis.  And I see Meredith's picture sitting on my nightstand every night before I go to bed.  But I don't think about our whole war and I certainly don't think about how the after-effects of that battle continue to play out in my life.  I don't think I could function very well if that was omni-present 24/7 (even though it kinda is).  But even when I have an intrusive image of something terrible happening to me or my kids and I know it connects back to Meredith, I tell almost no one.  My husband knows.  I just told one of my dearest friends last week as I was gearing up to write these posts.  But that's about it.

But how silly is that??  Feeling pain is only human!  Feeling upset after something upsetting has happened only makes good sense.  And the "upset" will show up differently in different people, but pain is pain is pain.

We cannot avoid suffering.  

And I don't think we should even want to.  Only when we experience deep despair can we truly experience profound joy.

Every day I get a chance to bear witness to people's flaws, quirks, struggles...to the parts of themselves that are broken.  And these struggles and their courage to talk about it is incredible.  Perfection bores me to tears.  Romance novels can shove it.  Disney movies - eff off.  I want the raw...the brutal truth...the good, the bad AND the ugly...the struggle.  THAT is amazing and inspiring and sometimes it is simply beautiful.

And maybe even my brokenness is too.

Here's Why I Feel Comfortable Sharing My Story With You

Well..."comfortable" is the wrong word.  Even simply writing the title of this article makes me acutely UNcomfortable...like I'm violating a very significant law of the Universe.  I was trained, as most psychotherapists, that you do not disclose personal information about yourself to your clients.  This is "the rule" for lots of really good reasons, but mainly because it's not about the therapist.  It's about the client.  I 100% agree with that and I am nothing if not a rule follower so that's what I have done.

That being said, when the question of should therapists disclose personal information is posed, I think the answer is a bit more complicated.

In the therapy room, I am pretty tight-lipped about my life.  Again, for lots of very good reasons, but mainly because it's not about me.  And I believe that and that has worked really well.  That being said, I don't refuse to answer when someone asks if I'm married, how far along I am in a pregnancy, etc because those things are visible.  And I don't respond in a super vague, potentially awkward way when someone is simply making perfectly acceptable small talk.  I value being authentic more than I value 100% non-disclosure so in these incidents, I feel perfectly comfortable being brief and honest...and that has served me well too.

But what about here, blogging, which is representative of this digital world in general?  Which arguably has become almost as expansive and possibly important as the "real" world we actually live in?  Some might say the same rules apply...but I disagree.

Social media, specifically, and the internet in a more broad sense, has made everything so PUBLIC and accessible, which is exactly why it makes some people nervous.  People who are moe private squirm at the idea of their stuff being out there for all the world to see.  While other people LOVE having an audience whenever they want one.  And then there's everything and everyone in between.

While I'm not an exceptionally private person, the idea of how having your "stuff" out there can feel scary absolutely resonates with me.  Raw honesty - whether it's a blog post, a sensitive picture or a Facebook status - makes us feel very vulnerable.  I experienced this vulnerability all of the time during this last year that I've been writing online.  But really, I've disclosed very little of substance.

I write about my struggles with parenting.  But that's everyone on the planet - certainly not a revelation.  I've written about how I can experience anxiety.  Again, that doesn't feel like anything extraordinary.  I've written about how I am a cancer survivor, which is dipping my toe in the water of disclosure a bit more, but still...I take pride in that.  And it's certainly not a secret given my active role in the cancer community.  My point is that none of what I have disclosed feels like much of a risk.  Not really.  I haven't taken any risks of this nature because I still have it in the back of my head that I shouldn't do that.  I still worry too much about what my colleagues will think.

But I'm done with that.

I spend most of my days encouraging people to be their authentic selves.  To worry less about what others think of them.  To embrace every experience they've ever gone through and figure out how to learn from it.  To not sequester certain experiences or parts of themselves to underground dungeons, never to be seen or heard from again.

And yet, that's what I've been doing on this blog.

Living my life - WRITING about my life - as if I don't have a past.  Or at least pretending like certain aspects of my past aren't still a part of me.  Or that this isn't the place for them.  But that's just not true.  And I'm done pretending like that's the case.

So from here on out, I'm just going to be honest about my life.  Not just for the sake of being honest - I don't want this blog to be the Colleen show.  But if I think that somebody can possibly learn something, or be inspired, or question their own behavior, as a result, then I'm going to be forthcoming and straightforward about my experiences.

Now why on earth does that sound like such a big deal??

What do you think?  If you read something deeply personal about your therapist online, would it make you feel more connected to them?  Uncomfortable?  Something else entirely?  I want to know!  Fill me in on my Faceback page.

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Dr. Colleen Cira is a Licensed Clinical Psychologist, trauma expert, clinical supervisor, writer, speaker, wife and Mommy of two little ones.  She has a practice in Chicago's Loop and Oak Park.  To schedule an appointment with her, please visit: http://www.cirapsyd.com/

Mommy Wars: Why They Happen and Your Role in Stopping Them

So this is how my day started today: I always wake up an hour earlier than my son so that I can have a little bit of alone time to enjoy and get organized for the day.  Well today, he decided to wake up 15 minutes after I did (read: no alone time for Mommy) and I soon discovered why: he had a gigantic, watery poop that had leaked all over himself, his pajamas and his bed.  Understandably, he wasn't very happy about it.  (PS - This has been going on for days now, often times in the middle of the night.  Docs said it's the tail end of a stomach virus and the nasty stuff coming out of his butt may continue to do that for another two weeks.  Joy.)  So I'm changing a screaming toddler's diaper, his clothes and throwing in a load of disgusting laundry, careful to pick out the chunks of poop so that all the rest of our clothes for the next week do not have fecal remnants on them.  Have I mentioned that I'm also terribly uncomfortable because I'm going to have a baby any day now?  Or that my husband needs to leave for work before most people's alarms even go off so I was doing this alone?  Anyway, I digress.  Then I have to get us ready for the day, walk to an L stop (because we don't have space for a second car), take the L with him to school, while it's pouring out mind you, and walk another few blocks to his school.  Then I walk myself back to the L, take the L downtown to work, and walk to my office.  In the rain.  Almost 39 weeks pregnant.  Uphill (I kid).  But you get the point.

Why do I tell you all of this?  I swear I'm not throwing a pity party for myself (although I do that at times as well).  I'm telling you this because on the last leg of my journey, I felt really impressed with myself.  I felt like a bonafide, bad-ass Superhero for being able to parent my child in a way I felt good about (despite him acting OBNOXIOUSLY) and continue to be successful at work all while insanely pregnant (and super uncomfortable).  I felt so proud of myself for making it through the morning without losing my temper, bursting into tears or falling down a set of slippery stairs on an L platform, that I wanted to shout it from the rooftops...or in today's world and my geographical location, post it on Facebook for everyone to see.  But I immediately started to wonder...  If I do that, will I offend full time stay at home Moms if I include that part of the reason that I'm proud of myself is that I work 3 days a week?  Will people think I'm bragging and therefore obnoxious??  What if I make another Mom feel terrible because she had a similar shitty morning (get it?? ;)) and doesn't feel as good about the way she handled it??

Now some of this is just me: me being over-sensitive and over-thinking things, both of which I'm constantly guilty of.  But some of this is our culture.  It's the "Mommy Wars" culture that we live in. (If "Mommy Wars" is not a concept you are familiar with, you HAVE to watch this hilarious, accurate and surprisingly touching commercial that you can find in the Mommy Wars link above).

Mommy Wars is basically the idea where instead of celebrating how bad ass we ALL are as parents, we tear each other down.  We judge others for how they parent: if they breastfeed or don't, work or don't, for how they discipline, how they love, how they live.  It's crazy...but we're all guilty of it.  And it gets in the way of us celebrating all of the amazing things we do every minute of every day.

If Mommy Wars is so terrible and makes us all ultimately feel bad, why do we do it??  Here's my two cents: Being a parent, and perhaps especially a Mom, is so all consuming from jump.  For most of us, it starts to change us the moment we see a plus sign on that stick we just peed on.  And because it's all consuming and changes us so much and often feels like the most important thing we could ever do...we're a little (or in some cases) a LOT sensitive about it.  We have researched or read or over-thought so many of our parent-related decisions that to have someone question what we do or simply choose something else, can feel like a slap in the face.  It doesn't just feel like a challenge to our decision...it can start to feel like a challenge to WHO WE ARE.  And that's really tough to deal with.

So how do we deal with this?  Well at some point we probably get defensive.  We feel the need to justify our decisions, to explain our rationale for doing something a certain way...or we tear down someone else's opinion/decision.  Why do we do this?  Because we're mean, terrible, judgmental people....?  Wrong!  We are prone to doing this because at that particular moment, it feels like the only thing we can do to hold on to who we are.  It feels like if we don't defend/justify/condemn - if we don't make the other person feel in the wrong - then we feel like WE are in the wrong.  And being in the wrong about a parenting decision - something that may deeply affect our children (or not but it probably FEELS that way ;)) - can feel like the WORST thing we could EVER do.  Is this rational?  No.  Is this way of handling a tough situation deliberate or well thought out?  Absolutely not.  But that's the way it plays out at some point regardless.

So how can we do better?  Well it's complicated, but at it's most basic, I think it comes down to a combination of my last two posts about vulnerability and judgment.  I think part of it is allowing ourselves to be vulnerable.  For me today, vulnerability would've been posting on Facebook about feeling like a superhero (which I didn't do, but I am writing this post ;)).  What would it be for you?  Would it be allowing yourself to tell someone you care about that you're not sure you made the right decision when you decided to..... (insert work, not work, breastfeed, not breastfeed, etc).  Would it be allowing yourself to tell someone you love what an awesome day of parenting you had without worrying about whether you sounded like you were "bragging"?  Think about it - what do you hold back saying for fear of judgment?  Next time you notice yourself holding back, instead try saying it to someone who is safe to take a risk with.  The next part is to try not to judge as much and instead, notice the insecurity that's behind the desire to judge.  When your inclination is to justify, rationalize, defend or judge someone else's lifestyle/choice/decision, rather than focus on them, focus on YOU.  Why are you feeling the need to do that?  What about YOUR lifestyle/choices/decisions are you feeling ambivalent about?  And then once your figure that out, you....you guessed it: talk to someone about it!  And be vulnerable all over again.

When you do this, a different cycle is born.  Instead of judgment, which leads to defensiveness, which leads to more judgment and distance we're now talking about a cycle of vulnerability, which leads to honesty, which leads to understanding, which leads to connection.  Because ya know what?  I am a Superhero.  And you, Mommy (or Daddy!), are too.  Now doesn't that sound nice?

Vulnerability: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Vulnerability.  It's a word I deal with all of the time in therapy, but also just by being the person that I am.  Anyone who knows me, knows that most of the time, vulnerability doesn't really feel like something I choose - it's just the main way that I know how to operate.  I feel things deeply and wear my heart on my sleeve - always have.  But there are other times when I make a conscious decision to be vulnerable and in those moments I'm reminded about just how difficult of a choice that can be.

This blog has prompted that choice point for me.  Initially, I was writing articles as a doctor - an expert; trying to teach people something they didn't previously know.  I thought it was important to have a specific skill or set of knowledge to communicate, have it backed by research and reveal very little of myself, because as a psychologist, self-disclosure is a no-no.  But the posts felt stale to me.  Academic.  Impersonal.  I wasn't passionate about what I was writing and it was coming through in the posts.  So I was left with a difficult decision: continue to be the "expert" and teach OR be a human being (who just happens to also be a psychologist), which meant disclosing my struggles, flaws and weaknesses.  That's always a difficult thing to do, but as a therapist, it felt even more challenging.  What if my colleagues thought that was a terrible decision?  What if my patients saw my posts and had negative reactions?  The anxiety I felt about potential judgment was pretty intense and I struggled with which direction to take.

If you've been following me though, you obviously know what I decided...and I'm glad that I did.  Because pretty much every time I can remember that I have chosen to be vulnerable - to reveal a part of myself that I don't like, to share something intensely private, to disclose something sensitive - I wind up feeling more connected than ever to others because something magical happens.  Other people start being honest too.  People suddenly feel like it's Ok to share their struggles, flaws and weaknesses.  The mask comes off, the walls come down and where there was distance and guards up, there is now openness.  Freedom.  Space.  People sharing not only the good, but the bad and the ugly too.

So many of us feel the need to keep up appearances in daily life and social media has made this worse to a significant degree.  We only talk about the happy times and show the parts of ourselves that we're proud of.  Checking the homepage on Facebook is picture after status update after picture of smiling faces, happy memories and good times.  I don't say that with judgment - I do it too.  And to a large extent that seems appropriate.  It would seem like a strange breech of boundaries to share our darkest thoughts and struggles with 500+ people on a regular basis.  And at the same time, it's a shame we don't use this enormous community to get support on a more regular basis.  What's worse is the fact that so many of us feel like we can't even confide in our closest friends or family because we fear burdening them with our problems and pain.  Since so many of us have this mentality, it means that we're all struggling silently and privately, putting on a happy face when we need to, but when it comes down to it, isolated with our struggles and feeling alone to boot.

What would it be like to take that risk and share your struggle with someone else?  To allow yourself to cry in the presence of someone you trust?  To give someone the privilege of seeing behind the curtain of your life in order to acknowledge that your career/marriage/children are not as wonderful as they may seem to be?  Can you imagine?  It sounds scary, I'm sure.  With good reason.  I was scared as hell to admit in a public forum the awful thoughts that went through my head about that thin, pregnant model.  But ya know what happened?  That post was read by more people and received more comments and positive feedback than anything else I've written.  There could be a hundred reasons for that, but I'm pretty sure a lot of it had to do with the fact that people tend to respond very kindly to other's humanity.  So maybe the next time you're struggling with something, instead of burying it or distracting yourself from it, talk to someone you love.  My guess is that you'll be amazed at what happens next :)

PS - If the concept of vulnerability intrigues you, you should definitely check out Brene Brown: http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability?language=en  She is incredible!!