Procrastination's always been a problem for me. It's a problem for many, if not most, people. On a fundamental level, it makes sense: the act of work, itself, is harder than not working, or else it wouldn't be "work." Why wouldn't we put it off if we could?
But it's often more than a simple aversion to effort. For me, it's also hard to do work when you feel like you're failing as you do it, when you feel that no amount of work will take what you've made and make it satisfactory. It's partially an aversion to effort, certainly. But it's also an aversion to imperfection.
It took me awhile to get the perfectionist connection to procrastination and to myself; I assumed that a perfectionist would be the sort of person who labored intensively for hours trying to get every last thing right. And, for some, that's the case.
But then I had a conversation with my therapist
Me: "I often notice my clients repeating patterns or behaviors, and I think 'if you could just stop doing that, you'd be so much happier and healthier.' Do you have that experience with me?"
Her: "I sometimes wish that you could stop being so much of a perfectionist and just give yourself a break."
Me: "But how could I be a perfectionist? Pretty much everything I do is miles from perfect."
<two second pause>
Me: "Oh, right. I see your point."
The fear if imperfection fuels my procrastination. I put things off because one cannot worry about creating inferior material when you literally have to work at that moment or not get the damn thing done. Procrastinating until the last minute is what saves me from having to experience doubt, fear, and failure.
So what can I do? A friend posted a link about forgiving yourself for procrastination being the key, but I think that addresses a symptom not a cause. The really hard, and more important, thing, is to forgive yourself for being human: to accept that you will inevitably make mistakes and to instead find virtue in the attempt.
I've been learning that, slowly but surely. I delayed reading my adviser's response and making changes to my IRB application for eight days. I could have put it off longer, but I pushed myself to just sit down and do it. It took me maybe 45 minutes. After having it weigh on me for eight days. And you know what? It felt good to get it done. It felt good to do the work.
It felt good in the same way that Physics 101 and AP Calculus II did, because I had to actually work to get the concepts. And, when I did, I felt like I'd really accomplished something. It's what I loved about (pre-abstract) math: you do the work, you can eventually get the right answer. And it's what I hated about Chemistry/science: you do the work, and real world variables can still screw it up.
But that's also why I left Math: Partially because it was so time-consuming and hard. But, more importantly, because it didn't feel real (at the levels I was at). There are not perfect answers in life. You can check an answer in Math, but it's much harder to find anything approaching that certainty in the questions of who we are, what we want, and how we get it.
Tackling procrastination is just as much about tackling my inherent feelings of worthlessness. I need to learn how to see value in work, even if the results aren't perfect. It's appreciating the challenge of a paper. It's being present with clients, not fixing them. It's caring about someone, about myself, even if, someday, everything ends. It's getting hurt, and accepting that that's the cost of a life lived.
But that's me (for the moment). What's your relationship to procrastination? If you do it, why? If you don't, why the hell not?
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
For My Self
Sometime in early April, something weird happened: I scratched an itch. For years before, I had desperately wanted deep, intense conversations because their realness was the only time I felt genuinely connected to someone else. I wanted them all the time, any time. So when I started seeing clients, at first, it was positively joyful. I was finally getting what I'd been craving.
But after awhile, at some point, the craving seemed to shrink. It's not that I stopped enjoying the work; I still did/do. It's just that omnipresent desire was no longer... omnipresent. And I've found myself at a place, now, where I don't really want much of anything (aside from, you know, a girlfriend). I'm not working towards anything, not building anything, not growing. I'm just waiting for something to happen. Waiting for surgery, waiting for the fall, waiting to start practicing psychotherapy again, waiting to leave Knoxville, waiting for "The One" (or, rather, "A One"), waiting waiting waiting.
In many ways, it's like I'm waiting to feel alive. Much of that, certainly, has to do with not being in a romantic relationship. But there's not much I can do about that here and now that I'm not already doing. And besides, I want someone to complement me, not complete me. And having someone else "help me feel alive" seems to dip decidedly into the "completion" category.
But what else is there to life, aside from work and relationships? What else is there of value besides, well, what and who you are for others?
The only answer seems to be "who you are for yourself."
It's an answer I don't like. And don't want. But I'm increasingly finding that living for others, that basing so much of my self in others makes me angry and anxious and self-conscious. When others so strongly inform my sense of self, I have to control them if I'm to control me [e.g. their failures become my failures, so I have to stop them from failing or I fail]. And that's not right or healthy.
So I need to work on myself. More specifically, I need to use the next few weeks well. I'm going to write more often, and I'm going to identify concrete aspects of my self I want to work upon and then plans to do that. And, if you don't mind, I need your help.
Part of the magic of therapy is how just having someone listen to you makes a difference. Just so, if I know people are paying attention, I'm more likely to follow through with this. But to make this less of a "respond to me" kind of thing, I'd like to ask salient questions instead.
So, first question:
What are some aspects of yourself that you've wanted to change and how have you done it?
But after awhile, at some point, the craving seemed to shrink. It's not that I stopped enjoying the work; I still did/do. It's just that omnipresent desire was no longer... omnipresent. And I've found myself at a place, now, where I don't really want much of anything (aside from, you know, a girlfriend). I'm not working towards anything, not building anything, not growing. I'm just waiting for something to happen. Waiting for surgery, waiting for the fall, waiting to start practicing psychotherapy again, waiting to leave Knoxville, waiting for "The One" (or, rather, "A One"), waiting waiting waiting.
In many ways, it's like I'm waiting to feel alive. Much of that, certainly, has to do with not being in a romantic relationship. But there's not much I can do about that here and now that I'm not already doing. And besides, I want someone to complement me, not complete me. And having someone else "help me feel alive" seems to dip decidedly into the "completion" category.
But what else is there to life, aside from work and relationships? What else is there of value besides, well, what and who you are for others?
The only answer seems to be "who you are for yourself."
It's an answer I don't like. And don't want. But I'm increasingly finding that living for others, that basing so much of my self in others makes me angry and anxious and self-conscious. When others so strongly inform my sense of self, I have to control them if I'm to control me [e.g. their failures become my failures, so I have to stop them from failing or I fail]. And that's not right or healthy.
So I need to work on myself. More specifically, I need to use the next few weeks well. I'm going to write more often, and I'm going to identify concrete aspects of my self I want to work upon and then plans to do that. And, if you don't mind, I need your help.
Part of the magic of therapy is how just having someone listen to you makes a difference. Just so, if I know people are paying attention, I'm more likely to follow through with this. But to make this less of a "respond to me" kind of thing, I'd like to ask salient questions instead.
So, first question:
What are some aspects of yourself that you've wanted to change and how have you done it?
Saturday, May 5, 2012
A Question Wanting
It hurts to want. It hurts, and when the want seems this sound, the only way to stop it is to stop the imperfect
self. “I cannot have, so I cannot be” goes the refrain.
I want a love worth living, but all I have is a life wanting
love.
“all I have.”
As if a life is small change, scrounged from a blue jeans
pocket and carelessly left as gratuity for someone who might give a fuck. As if
lives come and go, but loves last forever.
I have been asking the wrong questions. I have been wanting
her to come and be the person I want to be instead of being her myself.
Who am I? Who do I want to be?
If I met me, would I love me?
I do not know the answer.
I do not know the answer.
But I do know:
it needs to be yes, it needs to be yes, it needs to be yes.
it needs to be yes, it needs to be yes, it needs to be yes.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
On Regret
I used to not regret. I tried to conceptualize every misfortune or mistake in my life as a building block of myself, arguing that as long as the end product was "good," then the path to her had to have goodness too.
And then I transitioned. And since then, I can't help but regret that I didn't do it sooner.
It's not a matter of wishing I did it sooner; I wish, for instance, that I'd gotten a masters degree in counseling instead of secondary education and then built upon that to go to a different PhD program. But I benefited so much from teaching and although where I'm at is not ideal, I think it's a hell of a lot better than a lot of alternatives. And, as a result of my English B.A. and my Teaching M.S., I have perspectives and approaches that I am positive I could not have gained from Psychology alone.
No, this is regret in the sense that I wholeheartedly wish I had done things differently and now there is nothing I can do to change the consequences. One of the worst parts of coming out as trans is that it's somewhat time sensitive. The younger you start Hormone Replacement Therapy, the better your results. If you start it before or during puberty, you can even come quite close to cis-ness (aside from genitals) and you'll grow and develop as your identified sex. But if you don't, your body starts to change in ways that bring you further and further away from that goal, and hormones lose more of their ability to make up for it as more time passes.
But I was too scared and stupid. So instead of trying to figure out how I could be who I needed to be, I spent most of my time trying to figure out how to kill myself. And, as evidenced by my presence here today, I couldn't even figure out how to do that right.
So I'll never have the almost-cis voice. Or the breasts. Or the knowledge. Or the experiences. Or, most importantly, the round and curved face.
And what makes this a regret is that I could have had them. If I had done more research, if I hadn't been as afraid of my father, if I hadn't been as afraid of my peers, if if if. And I know that I'm doing this younger than most transgender women, and I know that my father's programming and abuse wasn't simply a matter of "wishing things were different," and I know that if my society had been more trans friendly I would have done this younger and sooner.
But I can't shake the feeling of wondering what if. And every time I talk to another trans woman who is younger than I, who is prettier than I, who passes better than I, part of me is so envious of her and so angry at myself.
It is, undoubtedly, internalized transphobia and something I need to work on. But it's there. It is, in its self-destructive malice, there.
And then I transitioned. And since then, I can't help but regret that I didn't do it sooner.
It's not a matter of wishing I did it sooner; I wish, for instance, that I'd gotten a masters degree in counseling instead of secondary education and then built upon that to go to a different PhD program. But I benefited so much from teaching and although where I'm at is not ideal, I think it's a hell of a lot better than a lot of alternatives. And, as a result of my English B.A. and my Teaching M.S., I have perspectives and approaches that I am positive I could not have gained from Psychology alone.
No, this is regret in the sense that I wholeheartedly wish I had done things differently and now there is nothing I can do to change the consequences. One of the worst parts of coming out as trans is that it's somewhat time sensitive. The younger you start Hormone Replacement Therapy, the better your results. If you start it before or during puberty, you can even come quite close to cis-ness (aside from genitals) and you'll grow and develop as your identified sex. But if you don't, your body starts to change in ways that bring you further and further away from that goal, and hormones lose more of their ability to make up for it as more time passes.
But I was too scared and stupid. So instead of trying to figure out how I could be who I needed to be, I spent most of my time trying to figure out how to kill myself. And, as evidenced by my presence here today, I couldn't even figure out how to do that right.
So I'll never have the almost-cis voice. Or the breasts. Or the knowledge. Or the experiences. Or, most importantly, the round and curved face.
And what makes this a regret is that I could have had them. If I had done more research, if I hadn't been as afraid of my father, if I hadn't been as afraid of my peers, if if if. And I know that I'm doing this younger than most transgender women, and I know that my father's programming and abuse wasn't simply a matter of "wishing things were different," and I know that if my society had been more trans friendly I would have done this younger and sooner.
But I can't shake the feeling of wondering what if. And every time I talk to another trans woman who is younger than I, who is prettier than I, who passes better than I, part of me is so envious of her and so angry at myself.
It is, undoubtedly, internalized transphobia and something I need to work on. But it's there. It is, in its self-destructive malice, there.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Playing the Long Game
[As a reminder: I write very similar entries, since there are a relatively small number of things that I'm really working on/that affect me emotionally. Part of writing so many similar entries is a catharsis and part is to keep a record of how things evolve and change. And this entry is definitely more evolved than some in my past]
My anxiety, in a nutshell:
1. I want to be in a relationship.
2. I am not.
3. My father is the most miserable person I know, and perhaps his most fatal flaw is a lack of introspection and action to try to make his life better.
4. I am terrified of becoming unhappy like my father, so I take personal responsibility for the things going wrong in my life, such as being single, and constantly strive for ways to remedy the situation.
5. Every moment I am single is *my fault* and evidence of *me not doing enough,* yet another step in the long, hard path towards becoming my father.
6. Anxiety.
Five of my six clients are in relationships. Most of my friends are. And, on the face of it, it really makes me wonder what, exactly, is wrong with me.
Of course, talking to my therapist, she points out that most of the folks in relationships she knows aren't exactly happy and healthy. She herself had a 25 year marriage, only 10 years of which were any good. And those ten years were mainly products of drugs and alcohol. I'm at the stage in my life when people start getting into significant long term relationships, but there will likely come a time when the nasty divorces and perpetual dissatisfaction and feelings of being "trapped" and "settling" start to arise for many too.
Indeed, I tell myself I'm playing the long game. Short term patience for long term results. I'm not a serial monogamist, my loneliest does not prompt me to force things that I know aren't right. I've only really felt comfortable as Juliet since last July (nine months), and I didn't fully get over my last star-crossed love until probably December, if then. Since August, when I started internet dating, I've talked to two people significantly and had sex with/kind of dated one of them for a few weeks. For some people in bigger cities with better queer populations, that's not much, but it's not nothing for a neo-lesbian in Knoxville either.
And truly, increasingly, my angst is not a matter of "am I good enough." I incrementally believe more and more that I'd make a really good partner for someone.
Instead, it's mostly a matter of finding someone I fit with. I've written before that so much of this anxiety is about the uncertainty. I've asked myself "if I knew I'd meet someone and fall in love (not a "forever" but at least a "love now" kinda thing) in a year would that be ok?" In two? In four? Is this a matter of faith and patience?
And, so too, there are questions of whether I'm putting myself out there enough, of whether I'm going to the right places and doing the right things. Is this a matter of approach?
I think I know the answer. I'm one of the more active people I know. Dating is slow, but it's not nonexistent. And sometimes it just takes a really long time before you meet the right person. But staying open to her and being honest about one's self are the best ways to find each other when the time's right. In other words, it's faith. Something of a gamble, certainly. But I think the reward's too great to not bother playing.
My anxiety, in a nutshell:
1. I want to be in a relationship.
2. I am not.
3. My father is the most miserable person I know, and perhaps his most fatal flaw is a lack of introspection and action to try to make his life better.
4. I am terrified of becoming unhappy like my father, so I take personal responsibility for the things going wrong in my life, such as being single, and constantly strive for ways to remedy the situation.
5. Every moment I am single is *my fault* and evidence of *me not doing enough,* yet another step in the long, hard path towards becoming my father.
6. Anxiety.
Five of my six clients are in relationships. Most of my friends are. And, on the face of it, it really makes me wonder what, exactly, is wrong with me.
Of course, talking to my therapist, she points out that most of the folks in relationships she knows aren't exactly happy and healthy. She herself had a 25 year marriage, only 10 years of which were any good. And those ten years were mainly products of drugs and alcohol. I'm at the stage in my life when people start getting into significant long term relationships, but there will likely come a time when the nasty divorces and perpetual dissatisfaction and feelings of being "trapped" and "settling" start to arise for many too.
Indeed, I tell myself I'm playing the long game. Short term patience for long term results. I'm not a serial monogamist, my loneliest does not prompt me to force things that I know aren't right. I've only really felt comfortable as Juliet since last July (nine months), and I didn't fully get over my last star-crossed love until probably December, if then. Since August, when I started internet dating, I've talked to two people significantly and had sex with/kind of dated one of them for a few weeks. For some people in bigger cities with better queer populations, that's not much, but it's not nothing for a neo-lesbian in Knoxville either.
And truly, increasingly, my angst is not a matter of "am I good enough." I incrementally believe more and more that I'd make a really good partner for someone.
Instead, it's mostly a matter of finding someone I fit with. I've written before that so much of this anxiety is about the uncertainty. I've asked myself "if I knew I'd meet someone and fall in love (not a "forever" but at least a "love now" kinda thing) in a year would that be ok?" In two? In four? Is this a matter of faith and patience?
And, so too, there are questions of whether I'm putting myself out there enough, of whether I'm going to the right places and doing the right things. Is this a matter of approach?
I think I know the answer. I'm one of the more active people I know. Dating is slow, but it's not nonexistent. And sometimes it just takes a really long time before you meet the right person. But staying open to her and being honest about one's self are the best ways to find each other when the time's right. In other words, it's faith. Something of a gamble, certainly. But I think the reward's too great to not bother playing.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Dysphormea
I don't know how to start writing this.
I just played dys4ia. It's a cute, succinct, simple game that's mostly autobiography about a transgender woman (the designer of the game) seeking out and going through hormone replacement. It also talks about a fair number of difficult experiences in a "this is hard" kind of way. [I suggest playing it before you keep on reading, if only because it'll have more redeeming value than this post]
After playing it, part of me wanted to say "Fuck this. I started HRT/transitioned while finishing my failure of high school teaching, applying to grad school, being single and all kinds of other shit. And I didn't fucking cry about it."
And sure. Relatively speaking, what the game describes are not monstrous horrors. But that reaction... it's particularly harsh. Especially harsh. It's evidence that there is something more there, deeper that really fucking hurts.
It hurts, but I don't know how to write about it. I don't know how to feel it. Feel it without tears rushing up from the normally-unreachable-depths beneath, feel it without wanting to run away from it in terror. I don't know how to feel how much everything hurts.
It fucking hurts when someone calls me "sir." It hurts when people I've known for years, either friends or family, forget or don't bother to remember my name and pronouns after 1.5 years as Juliet (if they're even still talking to me). It hurts that I pay $70 a week for an hour of getting my face perforated with electric needles to remove my goddamn beard. It hurts that I have to get a letter from my doctor to apply for a passport in my gender. It hurts that my doctor won't proscribe me hormones and no one at UTK wants to try to do routine bloodtests to monitor my levels. It hurts that the only place to get that I can go is incompetent. It hurts that my state's elected officials will, at best, vote against allowing my official documents to reflect my gender identity and, at worst, threaten physical violence against me. It hurts that "gay" is used as a synonym for "LGBT." It hurts that I have to come out to every person I'm romantically interested in and have their ideas about trans people haunt whatever relationship we have. It hurts that I can't shake the feeling that people see me as male. It hurts that I have nightmares where people still think I'm male. It hurts that I have to constantly explain what "cis" means. It hurts that I'm paying tens of thousands of dollars to have a terrifying and invasive surgery which will take me months to recover from to correct what feels like a genetic mistake. It hurts that I'm afraid it won't matter. It hurts that I had to get letters from psychologists with tons of letters behind their names certifying I was insane enough to want this. It hurts that I feel like I'm repulsive not because I'm "ugly" but because I'm "masculine" enough to where I have to say "I think I pass" because I honestly don't know.
It hurts that no one asks. Or that they're so easily deflected on the rare chance they do. It hurts that no one talks about trans people unless I make it an issue. It hurts that I always feel incredibly selfish when I do. It hurts that I don't have a romantic partner to help. That I don't have much of any emotional support to help.
And it hurts that it feels like it's my fault. Because I put on such a convincingly "ok" face and all the myriad of small hurts are swallowed into it. The video game does a great job of demonstrating many of those small hurts. Hurts which, alone, often feel just cutting yourself shaving. But it's one after another after another. And I don't know how to talk about it. I don't have anywhere to talk about it. I don't know what I'd say if I tried to talk about it.
Even this feels like whining. And it probably is. But I don't know, maybe people need to see how much things hurt? Maybe?
I don't know.
I just played dys4ia. It's a cute, succinct, simple game that's mostly autobiography about a transgender woman (the designer of the game) seeking out and going through hormone replacement. It also talks about a fair number of difficult experiences in a "this is hard" kind of way. [I suggest playing it before you keep on reading, if only because it'll have more redeeming value than this post]
After playing it, part of me wanted to say "Fuck this. I started HRT/transitioned while finishing my failure of high school teaching, applying to grad school, being single and all kinds of other shit. And I didn't fucking cry about it."
And sure. Relatively speaking, what the game describes are not monstrous horrors. But that reaction... it's particularly harsh. Especially harsh. It's evidence that there is something more there, deeper that really fucking hurts.
It hurts, but I don't know how to write about it. I don't know how to feel it. Feel it without tears rushing up from the normally-unreachable-depths beneath, feel it without wanting to run away from it in terror. I don't know how to feel how much everything hurts.
It fucking hurts when someone calls me "sir." It hurts when people I've known for years, either friends or family, forget or don't bother to remember my name and pronouns after 1.5 years as Juliet (if they're even still talking to me). It hurts that I pay $70 a week for an hour of getting my face perforated with electric needles to remove my goddamn beard. It hurts that I have to get a letter from my doctor to apply for a passport in my gender. It hurts that my doctor won't proscribe me hormones and no one at UTK wants to try to do routine bloodtests to monitor my levels. It hurts that the only place to get that I can go is incompetent. It hurts that my state's elected officials will, at best, vote against allowing my official documents to reflect my gender identity and, at worst, threaten physical violence against me. It hurts that "gay" is used as a synonym for "LGBT." It hurts that I have to come out to every person I'm romantically interested in and have their ideas about trans people haunt whatever relationship we have. It hurts that I can't shake the feeling that people see me as male. It hurts that I have nightmares where people still think I'm male. It hurts that I have to constantly explain what "cis" means. It hurts that I'm paying tens of thousands of dollars to have a terrifying and invasive surgery which will take me months to recover from to correct what feels like a genetic mistake. It hurts that I'm afraid it won't matter. It hurts that I had to get letters from psychologists with tons of letters behind their names certifying I was insane enough to want this. It hurts that I feel like I'm repulsive not because I'm "ugly" but because I'm "masculine" enough to where I have to say "I think I pass" because I honestly don't know.
It hurts that no one asks. Or that they're so easily deflected on the rare chance they do. It hurts that no one talks about trans people unless I make it an issue. It hurts that I always feel incredibly selfish when I do. It hurts that I don't have a romantic partner to help. That I don't have much of any emotional support to help.
And it hurts that it feels like it's my fault. Because I put on such a convincingly "ok" face and all the myriad of small hurts are swallowed into it. The video game does a great job of demonstrating many of those small hurts. Hurts which, alone, often feel just cutting yourself shaving. But it's one after another after another. And I don't know how to talk about it. I don't have anywhere to talk about it. I don't know what I'd say if I tried to talk about it.
Even this feels like whining. And it probably is. But I don't know, maybe people need to see how much things hurt? Maybe?
I don't know.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Fumbling Plays for the Heart
I am not a particularly happy person. But I am a fan of Wes Anderson. And watching The Shins latest music video for "Simple Song" got me thinking.
For those of you who haven't seen The Royal Tennenbaums, Life Aquatic, or Rushmore, Wes Anderson is a director of melancholy, eccentric, and nostalgic films that don't tend to feature happy characters, but generally have relatively uplifting endings. Like The Shins video above.
They're inspiring, in a rather odd way. And I watch this video a couple of times and think "Where is my whimsy? Where is my sense of fun?" I've been sitting alone in my apartment for most of the weekend doing nothing but watch time pass without anything to show for it. Man, fuck that noise. Now that I've got the basics down (work and identity), I want to start enjoying my life. I want to grasp the now before it all turns into pseudo-nostalgia of a time and place that never existed in the first place. I want something now so I don't have to have the revitalization thirty years later.
I just have to figure out how.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)