futurechildren

[futurechildren]

Detachment involves present-moment living -- living in the here and now. We allow life to happen instead of forcing and trying to control it. We relinquish regrets over the past and fears about the future. We make the most of each day.

Codependent No More

[futurechildren]

August 17, 2017

Dear future children,

I’ve had a tough few days. All of which started when I decided to read the wedding page of my two friends’ upcoming wedding in Myanmar. It really is unfortunate that other people’s relationship advancement serves as a primary trigger for me. Yay mental health recovery...

For the last two days, I surfaced a ton of fear, then anger (remember kids, anger is a secondary emotion). The fear is mainly that I might not ever find someone. The anger is still directed at Mark, at his abandonment when I needed him most. Not just the break up, but also him breaking his promise to stay with me during my treatment at El Camino Hospital (he instead went on vacation with his family).

I want to let go of this anger. Fastest way is asking him to genuinely apologize. Just like how your grandmother apologized for cutting up my teddy bear 22 years ago and I forgave her immediately, I want Mark to apologize for abandoning me during my treatment. I don’t know if I know how to forgive him without an apology. I don’t know how to let go of things on my own.

[futurechildren]

August 12, 2017

Dear future children,

The best things that happen in life are often unplanned. That’s not to say planned things can’t be amazing, they are. But for me, planning is often about control. And I’m slowly realizing, after so many stories, that amazing things also happen when I choose to give up control, to experience life unplanned.

For much of the last few weeks, I worked hard to make sure my life is full. I had activities scheduled for most of my free time, and I was rarely home alone with nothing to do. Being busy felt good, cause I didn’t have to be alone with my thoughts.

Twice, both Saturdays, I braved some alone time. And both times, my day got filled in the best ways. Last Saturday was an impromptu dim sum brunch followed by karaoke. Today, after a planned 3.5 hours of violin, Mark stopped by and hung out for a while. It was really nice to chat, to tell him how I’m doing without being on the brink of loneliness or anger. It was nice to see him and be okay.

[futurechildren]

August 9, 2017

Dear future children,

Relationships are difficult things. Everyone has their own understanding on what makes a relationship successful, and what qualifies as a good relationship.

I learned yesterday that your Uncle Adam believes no relationship under 2-3 years is fully stress-tested because our brain releases a chemical when we’re first in love. So we’re literally on drugs for those first few years. And only when we’re off of the drug, can we truly tell if the relationship is worthwhile.

This concept terrifies me. Not that it doesn’t make sense biologically. But the idea that the first few years of a relationship isn’t real or doesn’t count bother me. And the evaluation for life partnership only starts at year 3 is unfair. It seems like a lot of wasted time.

And I feel like I don’t have time to waste anymore. Maybe if I was still 25 or 23... But the truth is that even at 23, I didn’t feel like I had time to waste. It’s so hard for me understand that I’m young, that I have so much time, that it’s never too late to meet the love of my life.

[futurechildren]

August 7, 2017

Dear future children,

When I was at Sierra Tucson, they taught me something called the “1/3 rule”: 1/3 of treatment will be boring, 1/3 will be useless, and 1/3 will be fantastic. When that last 1/3 will hit is completely unpredictable. And what will be it for whom will also be unpredictable, because everyone’s recovery process is different. The point is to be open in order to experience the last 1/3.

I really like this rule. And I think it applies to life. Not the 1/3 proportions exactly, but the idea that who or what (and when) will have significance to us is unpredictable. So we need to be open to experience these experiences.

Mark was my world for 3 years, but it wasn’t quite that way in the beginning and meeting him was such chance. We had the best meeting story. I wish I could tell it for the rest of my life. I wish I get to tell you kids, and your kids. But now it doesn’t matter anymore. I guess I’m not fully in the acceptance stage of this breakup. I still bargain and wish that Mark will be your dad, cause that’s what was supposed to happen.

On days like this, I feel incoherent and lost and a total broken record. And I’m paralyzed with the fear that I will never find a relationship that works, that you will never exist.

On days like this, I hope I’m wrong.

With hope and gratitude,

Mom

[futurechildren]

There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.

Ernest Hemingway

[futurechildren]

August 4, 2017

Dear future children,

Today was a good day, partially because I spent so much of it with you kids for the first time (I started to adapt the Sierra Tucson letters to be address to you). You give me hope. Hope that my future will be filled with love.

[futurechildren]

August 3, 2017

Dear future children,

I’ve wanted to write to you kids for a while now, but never found the time or courage to do so. This is my first letter to you, despite there seeming to be more than a dozen letters already. Those letters were originally written to my friends, which I adapted to be addressed to you kids. 

Mark, who I thought would be your dad, turns out will not be. It makes me deeply sad. That’s mostly why I couldn’t find the courage to write to you, because the version of you that I couldn’t wait to meet will now never exist. I’m sorry. And I also have hope that the version of you I will meet in future will be marvelous. I can’t wait to meet you, no matter who your dad will be (though I’m sure he’s wonderful too).

Today was a hard day, kids. I finally replied to the email to Mark. He’s a wonderful man really. Smart but not proud. Selfish at times, but deeply thoughtful and loving. I love him. So completely. So much so that I don’t know if I’ll love that way again. I hope I do. I know I’ll love you kids probably more than I ever thought I’d be able to love.

Sometime, I can’t help but wonder who your dad will be. I also know that before I’ll find out, I need to figure out who your mom was/is/will be, cause I’ve lost sight of her these past years. I feel like I barely know her. She’s so dependent on others, especially on boyfriends, I wonder who she is when left on her own. I hope I’ll find out soon.

With love and gratitude,

Mom

[futurechildren]

July 12, 2017

Dear future children,

I write to you on the last day of my treatment at Sierra Tucson. This is day 30 of my time here and I am both scared and excited to be discharged tomorrow. But for the most part, the unhealthy amount of fear that I’ve been feeling in the past few days have become healthier. So for the first time since arriving here, I truly feel ready to go home.

On my last day, the tradition is to do a “coin out ceremony” in my process group. Having been here 30 days, I’ve gotten to know most of the people in my group relatively well. The coin out ceremony starts with introducing the coin, which is filled with symbolism. For example, the coin is not perfectly round, this symbolizes that recovery is never complete. The coin also has a fountain on it, set against mountains. The water in the fountain represents how emotions are supposed to flow instead of stay constant; while the mountains represent the peaks and valleys of the recovery process. The back of the coin is the serenity prayer, which I’m sure I will never forget in this lifetime. 

During the coin out ceremony, this symbolic coin is passed around the room from person to person and each person press in a parting wish. My group pressed in the following wishes: courage, vulnerability/acceptance of weakness, serenity, grace, independence, more grace, a message to remember that I’m amazing, peace & patience, and stability & creativity in problem solving. My friend who pressed in independence said the reason he chose that is because he wants me to remember that my value comes from within, not externally; and that I am the composer of my music, no one else is.

The rest of my day went well too. Tonight was the first real downpour of the monsoon season. My friend, who pressed in independence, and I ran in the rain to the cafeteria for snack time (this is after dancing int he rain 2 nights ago, but that was very light rain).

Overall, I really enjoyed my time at Sierra Tucson. It feels a lot like a combination of college and summer camp. But mostly, it feels like the opposite of loneliness. The staff is so supportive, the on-call therapists have a negative 3 second response rate when I’m panicking or in distress. My primary therapist, Carly (and her replacement Carly 2), has spent countless hours with me, even when it’s not my appointment. Most of all though, it’s the other patients. It’s knowing I’m not the only person struggling with suicidal ideation and facing this challenge together makes it more... overcome-able. It was also jsut nice always having people around to lean on, even if it’s reading silently side by side.

I will miss this place. I’m grateful that I was here. And I hope you kids will never need a place like this.

With love and gratitude,

Mom

[futurechildren]

July 10, 2017

Dear future children,

Last night was my graduation ceremony from Sierra Tucson. I was reluctant to go despite looking forward to it all week because I was so scared of going home. But with encouragement from good friends, I went up to the front and sat with the graduates.

Graduation at Sierra Tucson, like everything else here, is quite ritualized. All graduates sit facing the audience in a row. All graduates draw an engraved stone out of a paper bag. All graduates give a short speech about their time at Sierra Tucson. Then the audience can stand up and say their goodbyes to some or all of the graduates. This last bit was always my favorite, cause the messages are typically quite funny and loving.

I thought all week long about what I wanted to say. I even started a written draft. I wanted to comment on how I feel the opposite of loneliness here or my suicide attempts before and how I learned that I my suicidal ideation was just a coping mechanism. But once I sat down and started talking, something entirely different came out of my mouth.

I told the audience about my last graduation, the Harvard graduation, where your grandmother didn’t attend because she was mad at me. I told them about walking across the stage and getting my diploma, opening it and feeling empty, lonely, and small. Because that prized diploma, from an institution I’ve always dreamed of attending, was my hustle for worth, not worth itself. Because worth can only come from within. A diploma, this external source of validation, could never provide.

The stone that I drew is transparent with pink flakes and lines. It says “serenity”. To say this stone means more to me than my Harvard diploma is an understatement. This stone represents the end of my hustle for worth and the beginning of believing that I am worthy. I am worthy of love and belonging. As is. Right now.

With love and gratitude,

Mom

[futurechildren]

July 8, 2017

Dear future children,

It’s T-5 days until I leave Sierra Tucson. I feel like I have graduation goggles on. In fact, every Sunday is graduation for all those leaving the program. I’m actually quite looking forward to my ceremony tomorrow.

When I mentioned to your Aunt Yuki about graduation goggles, she said that’s a good thing cause it means there’s a lot to be nostalgic about. And it’s true! There is a lot to miss. The therapists here are unequal in their skills. The resort-like campus is absolutely beautiful. But most of all, it’s the community of people that will make me miss this place. This is a courageous group of people, fighting for their lives against depression, PTSD, bi-polar disorder etc and it is inspiring to be among them. IT makes me feel... the opposite of loneliness. It feels like having a lot of people on my team.

Coming home is also filled its fair share of fears. I’m afraid of losing all this professional support. I’m afraid of not being protected by this super safe bubble. I’m also afraid of coming home to being single. IT’s one thing to deal with a heartbreak in a resort-like hospital, and another to face the full reality in real life.

One friend once told me, a breakup comes in three parts. The first is the past, which I don’t have to say goodbye to, cause they are good memories. The second is the present, it’s all your joint habits and daily living logistics. The third is the future, which so far is the hardest for me to give up on. But that’s because I haven’t had to deal with the present yet. And in a week, I will. And I am so afraid. I don’t think I’ve ever dealt with a breakup like this. It’s a complete fresh start once I come home.

With love and gratitude,

Mom

[futurechildren]

July 7, 2017

Dear future children,

As I mentioned a few days ago, this week is Family Week. Highly stressful stuff. Yesterday afternoon, we had our closure group, where we read out boundaries, apologies, amends, and appreciations to one another. I was shocked that your grandmother apologized for some profound things, for actions she took over 2 decades ago. I was even more surprised that I was willing to forgive her on the spot.

I’ve held onto some of this pain since age 6 and now feel so much lighter for finally forgiving her. Of course, some of our biggest issues are still unresolved. That part is not surprising since a 4 day process isn’t going to realistically resolve 20+ years worth of issues. But to know that she is capable of and willing to apologize for anything is incredible to learn. This has been a difficult but rewarding week.

For finishing Family Week, every participant gets a silver coin (patients get a gold coin for finishing overall treatment here). The coin has many symbols on it, one such symbol is the phrase “we came to believe”. To close Family Week, participants were asked to say something they came to believe. For me, I said a phrase that I’ve only said aloud two times (to about to write for the first): my suicide ideation and planning are coping mechanisms that I don’t need anymore, because I want to live.

The first time I said it was at the burning ceremony the day before yesterday. So twice in two days and writing it down on the third. I do want to live and I want to live well. There’s a poster here that says “We absolutely insist on enjoying life.” I believe in it more and more as each day pass.

With love and gratitude,

Mom

[futurechildren]

July 5, 2017

Dear future children,

Today was a weird day, feels like something out of a dream. Not in the good dream-come-true way, but just that it feels a bit surreal. Such is the reality of Family Week at Sierra Tucson I guess.

Family Week is what the residents here call “sneak therapy”, where family members are invited here to learn how to support the patient, except the family therapy team end up throwing a lot of therapy their way and make them examine their own life in relation to the patient. Every week is Family Week for a handful of patients, this week, it’s for me.

The core of Family Week is Listwork, where your grandmother and I each present to the other a list of behaviors in the other person that bother us. The format of Listwork is very strict. Each behavior I want to confront your grandmother with must be presented in this way: when you [behavior], like when [up to 2 examples], I feel [circle core feeling from a given list]. Your grandmother did her Listwork yesterday and I presented today. I feel a lot better now that I’ve presented. I was so angry after her Listwork yesterday, cause I wasn’t allowed to respond. Oh yes, the format restricts the listener from responding!

So I was furious yesterday, but feel quite at peace today for having said my piece. I was able to be totally honest (because I knew she couldn’t respond and argue with me) and told her things I’ve never said aloud to her before. So okay, I get why the format is so strict. It’s quite liberating to tell her my biggest misgivings, though I guess I have no idea how she received them.

Anyway, this is a tough week. Tomorrow is resolution day where we mark boundaries and apologize and make amends etc. Wish me luck, kids, cause I’m still pretty angry about what she said in Listwork.

With love and gratitude,

Mom

[futurechildren]

As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.

Seneca

[futurechildren]

July 3, 2017

Dear future children,

I’m realizing the power of the phrase “... and that’s okay.” I’m so angry right now and that’s okay. I feel deeply loved, but what if it won’t last?? And that’s okay. I’m okay, and that’s okay.

This simple phrase has gotten me through a weekend where I thought for sure I’d have a panic attack (and if I did, that’s okay). I don’t remember which friend pointed it out, but it’s actually practicing radical acceptance, which is probably the most useful tool I learned since starting treatment.

Everyday, my lodge here holds 2 lodge meetings, morning and night. The morning meeting is where we tell the lodge what our intention is for the day. The night meeting is where we share what we were accountable for, grateful for, and proud of for the day. These meetings are not run by staff, but by patients. In our lodge, each lodge leader serves for 1 full week before passing the position onto someone else. Last night, I was given the honor to serve as the lodge leader this coming week.

On the surface, this is a great thing. And to be honest, the responsibility to “lead” the lodge is giving me confidence and is somehow helping my own recovery. But the even more honest truth is that it is precisely the kind of external validation I crave, that hinders my internal growth to believe I am worthy, as is, right now. In one of my books, the author talks about her overachieving friend, who “rather than recognizing her own talents and enjoying her strengths, she needs the reassurance of feeling special or superior.” I read that passage and thought, “yeah, that’s me. Believing I’m a special unicorn and needing the world to recognize my special unicorn-ness.”

I don’t wish that I wasn’t selected as lodge leader, but I wish I didn’t get so much of a “worth” boost from being selected. Or reversely, if I wasn’t selected, I wouldn’t feel like that makes me any less special or worthy. This is a hard struggle. And step 1 is having the full recognition of what is happening. So hey, I’m past step 1 and that’s a win. 

The road ahead is long and hard, and that’s okay.

With love and gratitude,

Mom

[futurechildren]

July 1, 2017

Dear future children,

Today and today only, I actually feel okay. It’s not happiness or excitement, but okay. I feel okay. For the first time since Mark and I broke up, I feel like my life won’t fall apart completely, that there is a future to look forward to. I guess this is what we call “hope”. I feel hopeful. And okay.

Of course, there is zero guarantee that I would feel this way tomorrow, or even in an hour from now. But that’s future-tripping. Right now, in this moment, I get to enjoy being okay.

This it the thing about grief: it’s not linear, it’s circular, which means it never actually ends. Because like Sheryl Sandberg wrote after her husband’s death, “love doesn’t end” so neither does grief. I still love Mark so completely. I miss him more than words or art can express. Everything around me reminds of him, of us. A dress, a meal, something someone says. I’m starting to learn that being okay doesn’t mean forgetting or invalidating these memories, but accepting that just because we broke up doesn’t mean these memories are no longer good memories. They are. They are some of the best memories of my short life. I love Mark and we had 3 years of wonderful memories together. Letting go mostly means letting go of the future that I had dreamt for us.

With love and gratitude,

Mom

[futurechildren]

June 30, 2017

Dear future children,

There’s a daily meditation journal that I’m assigned here at Sierra Tucson that I really like. Earlier this week, the reading was on “achieving harmony”. In it, the writing compared mental illness recovery to practicing the piano, and what it takes for a pianist to learn a new piece.

It says pianists have to practice hands separately and at decreased speed. It says for a long time during practice, it doesn’t sound like music at all, but a bunch of disconnected notes. That’s all true! For a piece of music to sound like music, the pianist spends countless hours sounding nothing like music.

In recovery, they teach us a bunch of seemingly unrelated skills. When we practice them, they don’t individually feel like they contribute to our recovery at all. Yet they all help when we least expect them to. One skill I’ve been practicing is mindfulness. Mindfulness is simply being aware and present and I try to do it as often as I can. Practicing mostly feel tedious, but today, when I spent most of the day warding off a potential panic attack, mindfulness became shockingly useful. I was surprised by how I could use it to sooth myself. Just like when I used to practice piano, the moment when my hands come together and it sounds like music as the composer intended was always a wonderful surprise.

With love and gratitude,

Mom