Update your words, friends: it's time to get weird and be REAL (Part 2 of 2)

Part 1 shared footprints I've found recently on the weird path to being REAL and my story about how long Covid and I are gleefully killing Caregiver Me. Here in part 2, strange new words emerge as I shake off my old words and then questions emerge—questions that seem to exist to unlock wonder, strangeness, freedom, and belonging from the prisons we adult humans keep insisting they belong in. Questions that help adults become weirder, or, as my 11-year-old niece and her friends say—to be REAL. How lovely is their shorthand?! So wise they are! Not all footprints worth following come from the past or from wise elders and ancestors. Many emerge in the moment from play, laughter, curiosity, goosebumps, community, grief, tears, and the remarkable beings that younger people so naturally, beautifully are.

My old words

Caregiver Me valued openness and was so open. Tried to be always generous. Always helpful and useful. Always patient. Always so present for others. Always on time. Meticulous. Devoted to others. Held space for others to feel welcome and safe. Gladly held all difficult emotions for others, including strangers and often held her tongue when she was being harmed to the point that eventually she often didn't even notice she was being harmed anymore. She was hard working when awake and often dreaming about work when asleep. She cooked and hosted and cleaned and scheduled and drove and made medicine and even wrote to serve others, like a fiend. For decades.

And.
Hello dark side, my old friend...

Caregiver Me, stretched too thin, gradually became far less honest with both herself and others. Instead of receiving as much as she gave, or allowing herself to be human or messy and let off some steam every day, or be held by community, her tendency to overwork became a tendency to overthink and then over-worry, and then become exhausted. This eventually made her short tempered and angry, and, at her worst, judgmental, then isolated, then depressed or outright physically ill. No longer filled with wonder or wandering free and finding joyful purpose or even focused on who and what she loved most anymore, her short temper and anger forged themselves into something like an antique shotgun—spraying that anger and short-temperedness and depression in all directions without much concern about who exactly was being hit. Like trolls under bridges and on social media do. She felt alone. Almost all the time. And. It's amazing how many people in my culture end up here: fighting unrecognizable trolls and not noticing that we are now fighting what we ourselves have become.

Here, today, are more honest words...

Good fucking riddance to her.

To Caregiver Me.

Good. Fucking. Riddance. To. Her.

Many of those old words of mine were lovely. Some were ok, or fine. Some concerning. Unrealistic. Demanding. Impossible. And. That entire collection of words—all those that seem good and all those that seem bad—just doesn't feel like me anymore. They don't feel like the wandering free, creative, curious, reflecting, weirdo me that I most love to be when I'm alone with the words or the animals or the land, forest, field, plants, or sky. They don't feel like the being here, right now, writing this, who now gets to rest and wander and wonder to find even more interesting, powerful words and stories and questions for the world she loves, the land she loves who listens and loves her back, and for most of humanity, her communities, and the people she loves too.

I think of those Caregiver Me words now as passwords for a place I don't want to enter or be anymore or something like cultural prison keys. And I've learned that the REAL me is not a fan of always. Words such as always generous, always useful, always patient, always kind, always devoted to others, always serving, always willing to sacrifice your whole body and self for others. Those words might get us into a delusional, patriarchal, Stepford Wife wet dream heaven some day (which sounds like absolute hell and also possibly the U.S. federal government's end game right now), but they aren't bringing forth the real.

I want REAL.

I want it's fine to be messy, life is messy. It's fine to be changing and struggling, life's always changing and struggling is part of that. And it's fine to be weird and curious and strange and different—that's life. And it's fine to be a total mess when life is a total mess—that's exactly what's needed by that moment—that's you being you. I want REAL. I want here. Not adults still acting like unloved, neglected and abused children still trying to impress Big Papa up in heaven or Inexplicably Popular Always Lying People on a crumbling, temporary cardboard stage somewhere. I want realness and freedom for all of us, within loving neighborhoods and communities and the whole world. I don't want artifice. I don't want heaven. I want to be far more fully present to all the wonders and all the grief that's right here, right now. Together.

My/our new words

So, a new me/us is emerging. Have you felt this too? We have some new words. Wiser words? Maybe. Honestly, wisdom hasn't been a goal of mine recently. Simply getting off the couch and walking in a straight-ish line without falling over has been. But sassier words? Definitely. More true-for-me and real-for-me-right-now for sure. I'm not thrilled to have long Covid, but I am thrilled to have new words and new adjectives. I am over the moon to shake free of Caregiver Me. To feel freer—at least that part of this chronic illness journey feels like more me again. Loving the pronoun we for us, like the community-beloved queens we all are.

I wrote these words last week as I was writing about Long Covid: "I've begun to accept energy weirdness as part of my routine. In part because I've begun to receive some of the upsides of energy weirdness. Increasing weirdness, it turns out, is one of the best ways to return to who you are (if you're me anyway), not to mention fighting the sameness/control/silent obedience required by fascism! But that's a whole other post.... ;-) Bottom line, this is where I am today: yay weirdness!!!"

Activist Me really, really just does not like to shut up, does she? Similar to Researcher Me, I've noticed. ;-)

We're trading in some of our old adjectives for weird. For unexpected. For tends to float from here to there. For I'm not sure where she is and hard to pin down. For definitely marches to the beat of her own drummer. For didn't return my email or text because she was talking with birds and listening to trees—how cool is that?! Although I still have heartfelt in common with the old me. We tap into the global heart field here. That bit doesn't change. Thank you, women. Thank you, ancestors. Thank you, children.

Menopause, previous body troubles, and friends have pushed and pulled me and all heart people who came with us in this weirder direction, certainly. And the state of the world does, too. Especially watching governments wholly bought off by billionaires and actively supporting genocide of people I love and witnessing the super wealthy and the governments and for-profit weapons manufacturing and for-profit prisons that they own experimenting on human beings, including children, and on the earth herself like lab rats. Free all the lab rats! And save ALL the children—rich men sure as fuck can't! Yes, thank you Activist Me. We get it. And. It is long Covid, on top of all that, that's remaking and revealing me and all my heart people now, almost entirely this time, as these wilder, stranger, and yet somehow also familiar beings who I just adore.

REAL beings. Beings who are a bit... more.

More what, you ask?
More us.

Sensitive

We are sensitive, intuitive, playful, and we tend to speak our troubles out loud instead of sitting on them and hiding them. Like well-loved kids naturally do. We're learning with and from kids even more now. Love, love, love it—for them and for us.

Able to be present for all emotions

We're inclined to be empathic, stubborn as hell, awkward, unapologetic, and able to be present for most or all emotions. That's learning from chronic hard times and from elders. I'm a wonder-centered, grief-grounded, land-listening being/writer/essayist/poet/herbalist/auntie who publishes and practices on a relaxed and chaotic, unpredictable, as-needed-by-me-and-my-heart peeps schedule.

We talk about pain, injustice, genocide, and change almost every day too, both or either in person and online. Both Activist Me and Researcher Me running their mouths off non-stop about who and what they care most about keeps Kid Me alive and well. Our innate empathy for the living and deep interest in the living isn't something we're willing or able to turn off anymore. You don't get to feel wonder almost every day as an adult in this world if you don't also feel and honor and sit with all the feelings within you—and those you're with—as they arise. And here. We do NOT. Give up. On wonder. We just don't. See that? Yep. Stubborn as hell.

Back when I did give up on wonder, as Activist Me is wont to do, I became too isolated and then depressed and then angry to leave bed some days. Rage is a dear friend now. Grief is a dear friend now. Fear too. Most days. Writer Me drug Activist Me back from the brink: nobody else could, though others helped, too. Now we're practiced and often comfortable in the presence of anger, rage, grief, and fear—that is, we're more curious about and present for the non-stop awkwardness and pain of living. We can feel grief and rage and fear in almost anyone now and sit with them in that discomfort or tell them to find someone who can when we're stretched too thin or resting. Strangers are simplest for me, happy wanderer that I am. Friends are usually pretty easy to stay with regardless of the emotion. Family is much tougher, whew—the stakes feel higher and the old training and expectations and selves run deepest here—but we're slowly, awkwardly getting there too. Despite what the frightened-within tell us, we don't outgrow or outsmart awkward. Not as long as we're growing and unlearning and learning together, that is.

Unapologetic means not assuming what strangers are feeling and thinking on their behalf and it means not apologizing to strangers who've assumed the worst of you for who you are when you are being free and REAL. It doesn't mean never apologizing. It means that we know who our people are, we speak to our people, and when our actions cause real harm there and amends need to be made, then we make amends, which may include an apology or any number of other things. Too many white women lead with apologies for breathing and being alive and then sprinkle "I'm sorry" non-stop into and across everything they say, like they don't belong on earth. We don't do that here—we don't apologize for being ourselves and we don't try to play God or the martyr by attempting to apologize for literally everything that has ever happened, is happening, or will ever happen. Some people go the other way: never apologize for anything, do harm upon harm without consequence, and somehow still expect apologies when they're harmed by someone else. Yuck. Here's where I am today. If you're not my people, then I'm not talking to you, and you're likely not listening by this point. And if you happen to hear me and assume I'm a stranger talking to you, feel free to walk away if you're not my people or to stay and engage to grow closer until we are each others' people. Growing closer and becoming freer and more REAL together is what I'm here to be. What are you here to be?

Messy

Messy and relaxed or at least not quite the control freaks we once were. I'm a shitty housekeeper now, for example. Happily. Yesterday I had to ask Daniel if we still have a mop, because I haven't used a mop this year. Oh, and I bought more underwear this spring when long Covid showed up so that I could do laundry less often. And I'm now just a passable gardener and occasional forager instead of the stellar gardener and avid forager and devoted land tender I once was. The vegetables in our garden would be dead this summer without Daniel. I tend beings now that mostly tend themselves: the trees and edible perennials and herbs and weeds that offer simple medicine and grasses that go dormant in summer. And women.

I'm someone who leans as much on neglect and inaction as on presence and action these days. Because I need both. And my world needs both. Certainly the people I come from need both. Eventually, being with a demands-perfection person or a holding-everyone-else's-emotions-all-the-time person or a doing-everything-for-everyone person or any other chronic control freak person feels like trying to love walking on a razor blade with bare, sensitive, human, feet. Both presence and neglect feel wise and divine to me now. Messy also feels divine most of the time. Far more divine than being certain that we have a mop.

Strange and brave and sometimes annoying

We are among the strange and brave. And a little less afraid most days. I'm too fatigued, in need of help, and either furious or bored (or both) with the cross-generational sameness of silently tolerating cruel and violent utter tripe to hide what I feel or think anymore. I can't hide who I really am nearly as easily as I once could. Can you? Besides, what does that get us? A world where global billionaires and the U.S. government are growing far far worse, not better most days like the rest of us. Yes, we get it Activist Me. A few friends worry for my safety—especially for sharing how I really feel so much online. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your care and concern. And feel free to knock that shit off.

We understand there are consequences for being ourselves out loud. Most adults do. Consequences up to and including being mocked, verbal abuse and threats, physical intimidation and abuse, torture, jail, being disappeared, being an outcast/expelled/deported to a country you've never been to, genocide, and all the other cruelty and violence that those still fully trapped within unchecked, festering and wounded patriarchy and racist nonsense can imagine. And unlike the unethical-painfully-wealthy men trying and spectacularly failing to run the world now (oh Activist Me, really? Again?), I fully accept the consequences of being the real me. My people and I do, that is. We do. We accept that there are consequences for our actions. And we would rather live unafraid most of our lives and be wrong one day than live isolated than be afraid-and-hiding-it to the point of delusion for most of our lives and to be wrong about life herself almost every day, like fascists are. That doesn't feel so strange to me. That feels like home. It feels good to be among the strange and brave. To be among those who don't silence themselves and others present in the face of fear, injustice, and real loss. No matter how annoying we can sometimes be.

Far less concerned about "correct"

We're far less concerned about imagined, stale, and culturally "correct" ways of being. Here's what I mean. I may now be an unreliable or absent or lazy or harsh or selfish or judgmental friend or partner or family member (that's your call) or a far more honest, approachable, empathetic, listening, gentle, loving, creative, freeing, fun, and REAL friend or partner or family member (again, your experience of me is not mine to control or influence). You get to be you. I get to be me. Within we, not me. Listen, love, get angry, and judge all you want. Leave when you want to. I will. Now, I'll even ask you to.

I'm ok with losing people. That's the potential consequence of stepping outside cultural norms. I've lost people, now and then, for decades now. Sometimes it hurts like hell, yes. Sometimes you lose people you think you can't live without. Yes. And, letting people go when they need to go makes more space and room and more time for my people. That might be new people. New community. Or that might mean stronger community. Stronger relationships with those who are still present. And often means more time for my ride-or-die people who already accept all of me, even as I change, sometimes before I accept myself, as I do for them. Aunties and long-time friends who've seen a lot of your worst moments are SO good at that. Together, ride-or-die folks tend to lead with forgiveness and curiosity, humor, or honesty and understanding that we'll often need to work our way back to ourselves, in relationship, and sometimes to not needing forgiveness for this particular thing ever again, together, because we've decided that we're simply not doing that shit anymore. Because we either unlearned and grew together or we aged or moved past giving even one tiny fuck about something together that we used to worry endlessly about alone. Funny how that together thing works.

Fun

By letting go of some of our culturally enforced and imagined "correct" ways of being—for a day or forever—we become more fun in person. For some people, anyway. ;-) Because when I'm more REAL, you're instantly more free to be the real you around me. And to be messy. Imperfect. Fuck up. Make mistakes. Try again. Experiment. Change. And to feel and share all your feelings, including the hard and painful and scary ones. That's how connected we are. I don't need you to behave how I behave or think how I think even remotely to the same extent anymore—like younger versions of me did—although intentional cruelty and intentional violence remain No Nos if you want to stay within the boundary of me/us.

The people who sense I'm fun or more fun now are my people. Those who don't, aren't right now. That's ok. I'm not for everyone anymore. I'm likely not even for most people at this point. Yay! Talk about freeing. Getting older rocks!

I'm so much fun and not everyone thinks I'm fun now. That's another consequence of being REAL: more fun and not for everyone.

Less of an asshole overall, and when I am an asshole it's targeted and usually on purpose

We're become more aware and discerning with far less tone policing here. Thanks to age, decades with Mom's Alzheimer's disease and care partnering with Dad, menopause, the world's horrors, and now long Covid, I'm now far more aware about who and what fills me with energy and who and what drains my energy. And I still care about our energy. But that care feels very different than the care offered by Caregiver Me. I don't try to fix what needs an energy shift. Many things don't need to be fixed—changing does not equal broken. That shift allows me to see whose energy I drain as well. It can be heartbreaking and scary to see that a relationship or group that once filled you all with energy now feels draining to you and/or to them and to recognize when it's being drained by you or that its coming to a natural pause or end.

So, I'm not as afraid as I once was, but—when I can be—I'm still discerning about most of what I say and do and write and about who I spend my time with and what I spend my time doing. I have to be. I don't have the energy for much at all right now. An unexpected upside of months of long Covid chronic fatigue and stillness is that I can also feel and see more clearly my impact on others, because I'm both present and also putting far less energy into behaving in all the ways that don't feel true anymore. Adopting and performing culturally taught lies (like, it's my job to make everyone feel welcome or keep everyone happy or always listen or always be patient or have all the answers or somehow fix or change hard emotions and times or keep the house spotless or always be pleasant or the celebration or holiday won't happen without me over-working myself) is exhausting. I can't do it anymore.

Being your real self, saying what you actually feel and think, and showing up as you truly are may surprise those present, but it usually gets more comfortable to be yourself across time and also frees you all to notice more, such as when your words landed more harshly than you intended, for example. So, I'm more honest with myself now, I notice tone policing far more (including when I do it, which I still do sometimes, especially with family), and I'm also less of an unintentionally inconsiderate asshole than before, too. Most days. When I'm being an asshole these days, it's usually on purpose, because nothing else is working and the moment is literally screaming for an asshole and nobody else was noticing that or stepping up. Or, it was simply my turn to wear the asshole hat. Like it or not, we all get to wear it some days. Humbling. And that's life.

Naturally welcoming for and accepting of those feeling down, slow, sore, frustrated, or behind and more fully aligned with those who have unique and unusual needs

Caregiver For Decades Me got me part of the way there. But only part way. Me and this flipping Chronic Illness have thrown me much farther, much faster, down the path of being a great neighbor and less ableist.

Thanks to long Covid, I am chronically fatigued, slower and sometimes down and often sore, and I can only do a few things a day, and somehow also—here at acceptance—I'm a more flexible community member and accepting of others' ways of being and unique needs. I can do far less physically than I used to. Work for just an hour or two, some days, and never 10 hours in a day like I used to. Some days I love this, because I see and feel more when I slow way down. It's making me a better writer, story gatherer, and maybe a better human and neighbor—too soon to say. More of me is physically and emotionally present, because I literally can't go, go, go.

Other days—when I have to say "No, I can't" to friends and activities and activism or work again, or even just no to going grocery shopping or talking a walk or going out, because I can't pack too much into any one day or week or I physically collapse—it just sucks. Long Covid does really, really suck. I get down about this some days. My lymph system isn't happy with me either. But bonus! You can be slow, sore, down, and do less with me now, too. I don't mind at all. You feel like home. You can also reschedule repeatedly or indefinitely or you can disappear entirely on me too. That's all fine. Good for you—I think now—taking such good care of you.

Happy to receive help and be hosted, supported, and taught—with minimal to no guilt

I'm now far more willing to receive help and to be hosted or taught instead of helping and hosting and teaching all the time. Without guilt some days and minimal guilt other days. Whatever else we are, all groups I'm part of now are support groups. They/we have to be. I need support. Physical support. Emotional support. Grief support. Community support. Every day. I can still offer these things, some days, yes. And, I have to offer these things mostly within groups that offer them or other things back to me in one way or another.

Lori has a no guilt day! This week, we invited friends over to dinner. It was our turn to host. Then, wildfire smoke showed up, which made Daniel not want to grill and smoke salmon and none of us want to be outside as planned. And Daniel was having a really off day emotionally as well—being an empath is brutal some days and apparently prolonged exposure to me and a men's group can turn you into one or reveal that you've been one all along. ;-) Our friend then offered to make the new main course–great! And then she offered to make the side dishes, too, because she forgot to cancel one of their food subscriptions and ended up with a ton of extra food—great! And then, they offered to host us at their place, even though they'd just hosted us three days before. Also great! Yay! Thank you so much for the help. We really, really needed it this week. What a blessing friends are. Caregiver Me would have felt guilty for most of this. What an energy drainer she was!

Questions to unlock strangeness, wonder, freedom, and belonging

Bottom line: being REAL and becoming weirder—revealing even more of who we truly are—isn't always easy and benefits us all. I fully intend to become exponentially stranger in the months and years to come and to invite and encourage those around me to be more of themselves whenever they're so inclined. No matter how inconvenient it is to any one of us at the time.

We're here to be ourselves. Being yourself and being weird and being brave and feeling awkward and being here among the inconvenient and the messy and also feeling fully alive and crying and laughing with others and being ready again for belonging to this weird, inconvenient, and beautiful world go hand in hand.

What are we here for if not to be ourselves and learn more about each other? If not to share more and be braver together? If not to be present for each other as we grow through and past what we used to be?

Being yourself and being weird and being brave and feeling awkward and being here among the inconvenient and the messy and also feeling fully alive and crying and laughing with others and being ready again for belonging to this weird, inconvenient, and beautiful world go hand in hand.

My people and I come from a country where most people still call the place: "the land of the free and the home of the brave." A country that is intimidating, harming, starving, disappearing, terrifying, and killing people the world over—especially the working class and the poor—at a horrifying, staggering rate. We have to get REAL about who we really are. In Part 1, we talked about a new place: the land of the freeing. Here in Part 2, we talked about feeling part of the land of the strange and brave and sometimes annoying. And we said, this is REAL, and this is where we want to be. I did, anyway. Did you?

How do you know when you're in the land of the freeing and home of the strange and brave and sometimes annoying? We step away from the question "What should I do?!" That's not the most important question here. Or the most important pronoun. Here, it's not about what you do. Loves, this is who we be. Just be.

Loves, this is who we be. Just be.

There are as many ways to be our selvesand to be weird and to be brave and to be inconvenient and to be part of the resistance and be part of the changing of things and to be REAL right now as their are grains of sand on earth's shores. As many ways to be as there are tiny bits of gorgeous darkness and sparkling bits of light in the night sky. Be yourselves. In just being me/us/we/here, these questions rose up for us. Questions of this land. Questions that work well for individuals and even better for relationships and groups and collective selves...

• Who were you/we before? What words are you/we letting go of right now?
• Who are you/we today? What new words are you/we picking up and trying on today?
• What words–nouns, verbs, adjectives, pronouns, etc.—and attendant ways of being do you/we allow others to be in (y)our presence? Both comfortably and uncomfortably and even when its remarkably inconvenient or awkward or difficult for those present? Just by being yourself/selves.
• Where does freedom—being free, feeling free—live right now? And where does freedom always live?
• Where does bravery—being brave, feeling brave—live right now? And where does bravery always live?
• Where does belonging—feeling like I (or we) belong—live right now? And where does belonging always live?

Good questions to ask now and then. Good questions to explore your own answers to—on your own and as relationships/groups/collective selves—because some answers change from year to year and some don't change. Some answers remind us that we're fluid, flexible, strange, powerful, always-changing beings who are remarkably well suited for this always changing place we call home. Some answers remind us that we all somehow manage to stubbornly be our REAL selves in the end, no matter what else happens. These questions aren't here to make us feel comfortable. They're here to unlock wonder, freedom, strangeness, and belonging from the prisons adult humans keep trying to put them in.

That's worth discomfort and awkwardness.
We're worth discomfort and awkwardness.
For REAL.