Hello, dear readers.
I find myself sitting on that edge between Memorial Day and Independence Day here in Israel, that time that is so unique to our young country. We go from extreme sadness to extreme happiness within the span of 24 hours.
Today has been filled with memorial ceremonies, people flocking to cemeteries to pay their respects, and of course, the memorial sirens that broke through the air at 8PM last night and again at 11AM this morning.
Last night, I stood solemnly in my living room with my boyfriend and dog, as tears slipped down my face during the siren's wail. Today, I stood outside of a small, neighborhood bakery where Yagel and I had treated ourselves to some baked goods for breakfast. We stood tall, bowed our heads, and allowed ourselves the two minutes to just think, reflect, and to try to understand the weight of this day.
Yagel and I started a very interesting conversation on the walk back home after the siren, about how he grew up with this tradition and how I didn't. In his lifetime, he has heard 75 memorial sirens (1 every year for Holocaust Memorial Day and 2 every year for Israel's Memorial Day), so this is a natural tradition, a siren that he can handle. I, on the other hand, have now heard 9 such sirens, and I am still blown away by the respect that an entire country can show for their fallen.
Not that everyone stopped what they were doing. Yagel was playing with a group of Arab kids in the neighborhood last night, when one said that he would start dancing during the siren (he also threatened to break our dog's legs, if that tells you what kind of a kid he is...Yagel worked with him to get him to pet Tripp, so that somewhat calmed him down). Someone continued driving down the street where we had stopped during this morning's siren. And I saw a video of an Ultra-Orthodox protest in Jerusalem where many religious Jews kept walking, started shouting and holding up signs, and did all they could to break the moment last evening. I don't think any of these instances, however, took away from the meaning and the respect that the majority of the Israeli people showed today and yesterday.
I, personally, balled my eyes out most of the evening and most of today. At one point, I turned on the TV and immediately turned it off, unable to watch more stories of fallen soldiers and terror victims whose families are still broken and scarred after their deaths. It's a feeling that I remember feeling last year, too, as if I was a glass that was about to be overfilled, as if I simply had had enough. My brain yelled, "We get it! We've been torn apart with sadness today - please don't fill the air around you with anymore!" About an hour ago, as evening began to settle in, Yagel and I watched more stories on TV of those lost in this last war, Protective Edge, in the summer of 2014. I cried more - my eyes are puffy and red - and I looked up at him and asked if we could just start having fun already since my heart had been torn into pieces a million times over in the past 24 hours.
For me, it is an interesting question as to why I have cried so much during these Israeli Memorial Days. I'm going to attempt to answer it now, although I'm still not so sure I can put it into words. The first reason, if you know me, is quite obvious - I am a very sensitive person who is very easily effected by the stories/emotions/hardships of others. Second, another fairly obvious reason, is that I am still in the middle of my own hard and heavy grief of losing my dear, dear father. Just typing that almost sent me into tears again.
But the other reasons are less obvious. I chose this country to be my own. I, myself, have gone through two wars in my short time here. And overall, I steadfastly believe in Israel's right to exist and thrive. (This, in no way, means that I do not want us to live and thrive peacefully next to our neighbors, but that, my dear readers, is for another post...or from posts past.) I appreciate each and every soldier who puts on a uniform and serves his or her time in the army. I appreciate each and every Israeli who chooses to serve his or her country through national service instead of the army. I appreciate the other immigrants, who, like me, came here because of desire, beliefs, ideology, and love. I appreciate the vast diversity of this small place, from her landscapes to her people to her beliefs and desires. I respect what has been done in order to keep her safe and to keep the dream alive.
I am, however, in the midst of a huge identity crisis. I think every new immigrant must go through something similar. I am not blind to the problems that exist here. I am not ignorant to the bad decisions that this country has made or will make. But still, somehow, I am able to feel so strongly the pride of being Israeli, the power of being an Israeli hell-bent on change, and the courage that it takes to stay here and to continue being Israeli. I'm not ready to give up on it. And my heart still sores when I sing the Tikva, our national anthem. It's a beautiful identity crisis that not all have the pleasure of challenging themselves with, and I'm thankful for the chance every day.
So, as you can see, these two days that are in such stark contrast with one another yet so strongly connected, bring a little of the good with the bad and a little of the bad with the good.
Now, go out there and celebrate, Am Yisrael! Happy Independence Day!
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Silver Lining
Friends, it has been one hell of a break. And I can't necessarily say that in a good way. Yagel and I were so stoked that we had two weeks off for Passover! Well, I had one week off, since the first week, I still had to work and make it to my internship. But by God, I was so ready for the fun that we had planned from Sunday until now. I needed the escape, the break from the norm. But instead, I got a really big lesson in how to be satisfied with what I have and how to find the good within the bad. Let me explain...
Our grand plan was to get in a day at the beach (possibly two) and to go camping in the lush, green north of Israel in between the days that I was teaching "Dancing in English" for the municipality's "the kids have been in the house too long, and I need a break" program. And I was looking forward to it all, even the teaching, since the kids give me such good energy and feedback. And that's how the break started - I taught on Sunday, and I started reorganizing and cleaning various things around the house, a large part of my To Do for the break. That evening, we went to help some very dear friends move into their new apartment. These are those friends that would do anything to help us (and have done just about anything to help us), and I'm just crazy in love with them and blessed beyond words that they're in my life. So, we go and load up the car and head towards the new apartment. We are in this traffic circle, fairly close to the new place, and we slow down because the car in front of us is waiting for a child to cross on the crosswalk. Sounds logical, right? Well, the guy behind us did not learn this simple rule of logic in driving school/life/whatever, and he slammed into the back of us. Luckily for us, Yagel is a quick reactor, and he engaged the breaks in time to keep us from slamming into the car in front and possibly the child crossing the street.
Now, what happened here is that I felt an immediate headache since my head had slammed into the seat. I also felt that warm pain creeping into my lower back from the injury that I have been treating for almost a year now. And I was pissed. No, no, no, no, no! I have been working SO hard to strengthen my back and to feel better, all for some asshole whose head was and is stuck up his ass to ruin? We pulled over, and I got out of the car and got a little mouthy. And you know what the guy said? (Not "I'm sorry," that's for sure.) He said, "It's all going to be okay." Oh yeah? You, sir, have no idea what you've ruined. Then, the nausea and the dizziness settled in and the pain started throbbing more intensely. I started having trouble speaking in Hebrew, and I got a little confused. So, off to the ER we went.
The ER was a long, obnoxious wait, but it really wasn't so bad. Yagel had to go to a private clinic, since his insurance wouldn't pay for him to go to the ER, so his saint of a brother who came to rescue us dropped my friend and me off at the ER and continued on to the clinic with Yagel. Soon after, our second friend made it to the hospital to be with us, worried sick that she had caused all of this mess by asking us to help them move. So not the case. She brought such good energy with her that I was able to laugh and cut up in spite of it all. Also, a quick text message to my dearest girlfriend here in Israel, and she was also there to put a smile on my face and keep me somewhat focused. Listen, if it's possible to party in the ER, we did. We made friends with others who were waiting, we laughed, we shared stories ("What brings you here tonight?"), and we got through the 5-6 hour wait. And somehow, I survived peeing in a cup in one of the nastiest bathrooms I've ever seen in my life:
Our grand plan was to get in a day at the beach (possibly two) and to go camping in the lush, green north of Israel in between the days that I was teaching "Dancing in English" for the municipality's "the kids have been in the house too long, and I need a break" program. And I was looking forward to it all, even the teaching, since the kids give me such good energy and feedback. And that's how the break started - I taught on Sunday, and I started reorganizing and cleaning various things around the house, a large part of my To Do for the break. That evening, we went to help some very dear friends move into their new apartment. These are those friends that would do anything to help us (and have done just about anything to help us), and I'm just crazy in love with them and blessed beyond words that they're in my life. So, we go and load up the car and head towards the new apartment. We are in this traffic circle, fairly close to the new place, and we slow down because the car in front of us is waiting for a child to cross on the crosswalk. Sounds logical, right? Well, the guy behind us did not learn this simple rule of logic in driving school/life/whatever, and he slammed into the back of us. Luckily for us, Yagel is a quick reactor, and he engaged the breaks in time to keep us from slamming into the car in front and possibly the child crossing the street.
Now, what happened here is that I felt an immediate headache since my head had slammed into the seat. I also felt that warm pain creeping into my lower back from the injury that I have been treating for almost a year now. And I was pissed. No, no, no, no, no! I have been working SO hard to strengthen my back and to feel better, all for some asshole whose head was and is stuck up his ass to ruin? We pulled over, and I got out of the car and got a little mouthy. And you know what the guy said? (Not "I'm sorry," that's for sure.) He said, "It's all going to be okay." Oh yeah? You, sir, have no idea what you've ruined. Then, the nausea and the dizziness settled in and the pain started throbbing more intensely. I started having trouble speaking in Hebrew, and I got a little confused. So, off to the ER we went.
The ER was a long, obnoxious wait, but it really wasn't so bad. Yagel had to go to a private clinic, since his insurance wouldn't pay for him to go to the ER, so his saint of a brother who came to rescue us dropped my friend and me off at the ER and continued on to the clinic with Yagel. Soon after, our second friend made it to the hospital to be with us, worried sick that she had caused all of this mess by asking us to help them move. So not the case. She brought such good energy with her that I was able to laugh and cut up in spite of it all. Also, a quick text message to my dearest girlfriend here in Israel, and she was also there to put a smile on my face and keep me somewhat focused. Listen, if it's possible to party in the ER, we did. We made friends with others who were waiting, we laughed, we shared stories ("What brings you here tonight?"), and we got through the 5-6 hour wait. And somehow, I survived peeing in a cup in one of the nastiest bathrooms I've ever seen in my life:
My fancy bed and pee cup, all compliments of the great State of Israel.
The next few days were a blur of sleeping, trying to be productive (thesis work and house organization, both of which are quite challenging while discombobulated), and pain meds. I taught here and there, but mostly, I grumbled about how wasted my vacation was. Yagel, too. We were car-less, I was in pain, he was worried. It's a crappy way to spend your time off. But, it can also get crappier, which we soon learned.
Yagel, the prince that he is, did basically everything. Cooked, cleaned, took care of me, and took care of the car. He went to pick up the car from the garage on Wednesday morning. We thought that the damage to the car was just to the body, but as he left the garage to come home, he realized that the engine and gears were not working properly, causing the car to sputter and jump like a frog. As he was returning to the garage (he hadn't made it very far), another impatient "no-driving-son-of-a-bitch" (thanks, Dad, for the expression!) rear-ended him, making for two accidents on the same part of the car within 72 hours. Right? I hear all you gasping and saying, "That can't be true!" Well, friends, it is, indeed. Two accidents. Totaled car (we think - we're waiting for the estimator to come tomorrow). And a lot of frustration.
But, here's the grand conclusion to our no-good, very bad break. Although it was not at all what we wanted, and although there are some consequences to what happened (like not having a car and being in pain), we have each other. And we have some really awesome friends. And we did go out a few times, laugh our asses off, and experience a lot of silly things together. We cooked a lot. We grew together. And we rested. We raised some hell, and we watched a lot of our favorite TV show. All things that we can be thankful for, that we can enjoy. This silver lining has put a smile on my face and helped me to feel satisfied with these past two weeks. Studying will get done, thesis work will resume and progress, and we will continue to live and love every day that we have, hopefully with less worries about what did not get done.
As for now, I'm going to have another cup of coffee and go snuggle my man and my dog. And be content with what I have. Until next time...
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Megan Goes to Therapy and Other Short Stories
So, I'm in therapy. It should probably come as no surprise, given what I have gone through over the past...29 years. But it is especially poignant to jump into treatment for the first time after the death of my dear father and in the middle of my Master's degree in clinical social work. It certainly is a necessary adventure to take, and I'm happy to share some of it here with you all. I can't and won't share it all here, only that which I'm comfortable enough to open up about publicly. Hell, I'd open up to just about anyone, but as you will see, I'm working on boundaries, and now, I'm setting one for myself.
My history with therapy is quite long, although I am very used to and comfortable sitting on the "other" side of the treatment room. I even told my therapist when we started, "I'm much more comfortable sitting where you're sitting now, so this is going to be a challenge for me." He grinned, and I was unsure of what to think about him, about the place, about what I was doing. I was not a skeptic about the benefits of therapy. I was skeptical about my ability to dig deep and work on myself, to be challenged, and if I even trusted this guy to facilitate this adventure. Let me tell you, though, I have landed in a very caring, loving place with a beautiful therapeutic dynamic that is already helping. Did I mention that all of this is happening in Hebrew? I'm pushing all boundaries of my comfort, but you know? It's good. It's beautiful. And it's making me even stronger. I think a #wadestrong is appropriate here.
I'm working very hard on setting appropriate boundaries for myself and learning when to say no. For so long, I have been hell-bent on pleasing everyone...except for myself. I've done anything and everything to make others happy, and there are some in my life who deeply deserve this selflessness (here's looking at you, Yagel!), but there are a lot of others along the way who haven't deserved it, and who have abused it. It is a powerful thing to learn how to say "no" basically for the first time. It literally lifts weight off of your chest - you feel freer. It's such a simple and such a smart thing that I have to ask why I didn't do it earlier. But, if we're going there, I can also ask why did I stay in an abusive relationship for four years too long, why are my neighbors' kids assholes, and why on earth is s/he wearing that? My point is, it's a question that won't get me vary far, as it's not something I can change. Israelis love saying this phrase, and it's appropriate here, "What was was was was." (And I have to teach this language?!)
With this inability to say no and to know my boundaries, I have also deeply wounded my self-worth. Ninety percent of the time, I can tell you just how much of a badass I am. That other ten percent that catches me off guard and finds me at my lowest, however, is painful. Very painful. And it's usually influenced by the actions, behavior, and words of others. Why I have given people that power, again is a question from that list of "Best not to ask..." The main thing is that I'm working on it. And fuck, it's hard. But now that I'm aware of it, I am much more in control of me, Megan, the one that matters in this equation.
All of this is greatly affecting the therapy which I am giving. I've fallen into the most amazing place of internship, a center that works with the families of those struggling with a mental illness. I'm blessed with a supervisor who believes in me, pushes me, and loves me enough to help me build myself as a pretty great therapist. Hell, she's the one who told me to get my tail to therapy. I couldn't be luckier or more grateful.
Let's add to that that I am taking a class on art therapy that has a practical component - second year Master's students of art therapy must lead the students in art therapy sessions. And damn, am I bringing it! Opening up, sharing, laying myself out through different art mediums. It's as if someone just knew that I needed this experience of being the client and not the therapist, because I'm getting it from so many different sources. And you know what? It's invaluable. It's invaluable to me on a personal level. It's invaluable to me on a professional, social, cultural, religious, relationship level. It's simply invaluable. I'm just a thankful human being. I've been given many truly spectacular opportunities...and I've given myself many spectacular opportunities.
Just this week, I was able to hold my head high during a conversation with someone, saying, "You know what, I am a good therapist." And this wasn't to one of my close friends - they already know. It was something that I would typically think sounded so snobby and arrogant. But it didn't. It was real. And it was amazing to hear it escape from my mouth, full-volume, maximum confidence. I hope that any of you who find yourself on a similar journey find the strength to continue forward with it. Reach out. Get help. Share of yourself with someone in a constructive, safe way. And reap the benefits.
All my love,
Megan
My history with therapy is quite long, although I am very used to and comfortable sitting on the "other" side of the treatment room. I even told my therapist when we started, "I'm much more comfortable sitting where you're sitting now, so this is going to be a challenge for me." He grinned, and I was unsure of what to think about him, about the place, about what I was doing. I was not a skeptic about the benefits of therapy. I was skeptical about my ability to dig deep and work on myself, to be challenged, and if I even trusted this guy to facilitate this adventure. Let me tell you, though, I have landed in a very caring, loving place with a beautiful therapeutic dynamic that is already helping. Did I mention that all of this is happening in Hebrew? I'm pushing all boundaries of my comfort, but you know? It's good. It's beautiful. And it's making me even stronger. I think a #wadestrong is appropriate here.
I'm working very hard on setting appropriate boundaries for myself and learning when to say no. For so long, I have been hell-bent on pleasing everyone...except for myself. I've done anything and everything to make others happy, and there are some in my life who deeply deserve this selflessness (here's looking at you, Yagel!), but there are a lot of others along the way who haven't deserved it, and who have abused it. It is a powerful thing to learn how to say "no" basically for the first time. It literally lifts weight off of your chest - you feel freer. It's such a simple and such a smart thing that I have to ask why I didn't do it earlier. But, if we're going there, I can also ask why did I stay in an abusive relationship for four years too long, why are my neighbors' kids assholes, and why on earth is s/he wearing that? My point is, it's a question that won't get me vary far, as it's not something I can change. Israelis love saying this phrase, and it's appropriate here, "What was was was was." (And I have to teach this language?!)
With this inability to say no and to know my boundaries, I have also deeply wounded my self-worth. Ninety percent of the time, I can tell you just how much of a badass I am. That other ten percent that catches me off guard and finds me at my lowest, however, is painful. Very painful. And it's usually influenced by the actions, behavior, and words of others. Why I have given people that power, again is a question from that list of "Best not to ask..." The main thing is that I'm working on it. And fuck, it's hard. But now that I'm aware of it, I am much more in control of me, Megan, the one that matters in this equation.
All of this is greatly affecting the therapy which I am giving. I've fallen into the most amazing place of internship, a center that works with the families of those struggling with a mental illness. I'm blessed with a supervisor who believes in me, pushes me, and loves me enough to help me build myself as a pretty great therapist. Hell, she's the one who told me to get my tail to therapy. I couldn't be luckier or more grateful.
Let's add to that that I am taking a class on art therapy that has a practical component - second year Master's students of art therapy must lead the students in art therapy sessions. And damn, am I bringing it! Opening up, sharing, laying myself out through different art mediums. It's as if someone just knew that I needed this experience of being the client and not the therapist, because I'm getting it from so many different sources. And you know what? It's invaluable. It's invaluable to me on a personal level. It's invaluable to me on a professional, social, cultural, religious, relationship level. It's simply invaluable. I'm just a thankful human being. I've been given many truly spectacular opportunities...and I've given myself many spectacular opportunities.
Just this week, I was able to hold my head high during a conversation with someone, saying, "You know what, I am a good therapist." And this wasn't to one of my close friends - they already know. It was something that I would typically think sounded so snobby and arrogant. But it didn't. It was real. And it was amazing to hear it escape from my mouth, full-volume, maximum confidence. I hope that any of you who find yourself on a similar journey find the strength to continue forward with it. Reach out. Get help. Share of yourself with someone in a constructive, safe way. And reap the benefits.
All my love,
Megan
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