Flirting With Hypothermia, Part 4 - Healing Through Winter Swimming

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This is my second season of winter swimming.

I’m much tougher than I was last year 2020/2021. I’m able to stay in the cold far longer.

But that’s not even the least of it.

2021 was a motherfucker of a year.

Abandonment, betrayal, heartbreak, and even one death for good measure, 2021 was a year of grief. I lost my core people, my first tier relationships - my former roommate, my late brother’s best friend, a lover, and one of my favorite people.

It doesn’t matter that I made my choice to let go. All of it sucked.

We sure do live in interesting times. I’m hardly alone in this.

I find comfort that most people I know have also left behind close people. Because everybody is doing the friendship shuffle, it’s been fairly easy to restructure my community. Yet every relationship and friendship is unique in and of itself, and those connections can never be replaced. Loss still brings pain.

But through it all, the river is always there. Nothing forces me into the present moment with the immediacy of cold water immersion.

That got me through some of my worst moments of last year.

At the end of September, I found out that a friend who had always inspired deep respect, died suddenly from blood clots in her lungs.

The next day, I went to the river.

The water was not in the winter temps yet, but dropping fast. The cold was just enough to wear down the numbness of shock, leaving my heart free to ache. It hardly felt like relief, but it was necessary.

A couple of days after that, I cut ties with somebody I once considered my closest friend, somebody I had loved as if she had been my family. Our friendship had eroded slowly. Our connection didn’t survive the chaos of shifting values due to the pandemic, or the insidious influence of a needy relationship.

I believe friend breakups need more time to heal. Personally, I never thought this would happen with this friend, and there’s no one swim that will make that kind of heartbreak go away, no matter how excruciating the water is.

But each swim renews me a little more, as the cold river cleanses.

A few months after an acrimonious parting of the ways, I found out that my swim buddy and lover from my first season pretty much left me for somebody else. At the time of the split, she had made me out as the villain, because she hadn’t the backbone or courage to be honest. I couldn’t sleep at all that night after seeing pictures of her with the new girlfriend for whom she had declared her love a month after we had broken up.

The next day, I went to the river.

The season was late November. The water was in the upper 40’s, the temperature when the river really starts to hurt.

It would have been so easy to make excuses, to fall into apathy, depression, with hints of anguish and despair. It didn’t help that the river was a reminder of my ex-lover.

I had to force myself to go in.

As usual, I grimaced and groaned when I walked in to my waist. When I stuck my hands in, I probably cussed somewhere between a little and a lot.

I questioned my sanity when I finally dove under water to get fully submerged from head to toe. Then I gasped in desperation while trading off between breast stroke and side stroke, dunking my head under from time to time until I grew accustomed to the brain freeze.

As always, I thought the frantic panic would last forever. But it was only a few minutes before the torture was over, and I was in the here and now of that sliver of time.

On that late November evening, the sky had been overcast, and I had gone to the river around sundown. The sky was dark, but not yet black. I remember the planes flying low overhead right after take off from the nearby airport.

I remember thinking: I feel fucking amazing. I can do this, and she can’t. (My former swim buddy had been a weak swimmer.) This is MINE.

That shift to acclimation has always been a miracle. The instant the bitter cold of the water transformed into vicious pleasure, I was staggered yet again that I had been able to cross the threshold from agony to ecstasy.

That moment was pure grace.

There’s exquisite freedom to that. Freedom of choice. Knowing that I can bring myself to euphoria whenever I want - even after my heart takes a hard knock.

I can’t even go there about my late brother’s best friend. Suffice to say, it will be a long time before I can get past my enmity of him.

But I have the river. I will always have the river.

Wim Hof is right.

The cold is our friend. Relief for just about any pain can be found there.

Every time I bury myself in the freezing temperatures of a river that could kill me, I come out a little different.

After a betrayal, a death, a shock to my system, a break in my heart, I go swimming in the cold and the world disappears. I am reborn. Even if this release lasts only for those few moments, that counts. Those moments add up.

Today I am grateful.

I am grateful that 2021 is behind me. Really, who isn’t?

I am grateful for the cold water.

I’m sure as hell grateful that I kept swimming.

As I write this, it’s the 1st day of 2022. The water is about 38.75 degrees. It’s not as cold as the coldest day I shared with my ex-lover, but the season’s not over. We might get there yet.

But it’s the coldest water of this season thus far, and it’s definitely cold enough for the baptism of rebirth.

I’m meeting one of my favorite swim buddies for this, a new friendship that is very satisfying.

We crossed paths two weeks after I cut ties with my former roommate.

The season was mid-October. The Columbia had dropped below 60 degrees, and I had just finished a 40+ minute swim in 58 degree water. My body numb and my brain frozen, I had rushed to the truck to get changed as fast as I could.

A blonde woman had just gotten out of her car with her nephew.

“How’s the water?” she asked. “Gorgeous evening for a swim. I’m about to get in.”

I was so out of it, I could barely talk. I remember slurring my words as I answered – as one often does at the edge of hypothermia. The bliss of popping endorphins made me cheery, even though I only had a grace period of 5-10 minutes to get dressed.

The conversation was brief and the exchange of phone numbers immediate. She knew I didn’t have the bandwidth for conversation. She had been winter swimming for 5 years, and had a lot more experience at this than I did.

The old saying: “When one door closes, another opens” has never been more true for me than it had been in 2021. As I let go of old friends, I made new friends very easily.

True blessings I don’t take lightly.

I met a lot of nice folks last autumn while the water temps started their seasonal drop.

I also made new friends through other avenues, I’ve deepened my connections with friends I didn’t have enough of the time and energy needed to get closer. These friends are MUCH HEALTHIER in mind and body and heart, and thus, are far less problematic than the ones I had to leave behind.

This season is a different pleasure than the season last year. There is a lot less drama. Or no drama. The vibe is more relaxed, and these new connections have potential to sink deeper roots, and perhaps last over time.

Yet through all these changes, the river has been there. The water is always ready to cleanse me, freeze off the old skin of who I had been, so I can grow into who I will be. Who I want to be.

The first thought I awaken to on this first morning of 2022 is the awareness that I am a much stronger woman than I was on the first day of 2021.

That’s something to feel good about.

I’m ready to conquer that cold.

I’m ready to conquer myself.

If anybody would like to read Flirting With Hypothermia, Part 3, please click HERE.

Journey of a Thousand Cranes, Part 3

Image by Anja🤗#helpinghands #solidarity#stays healthy🙏 from Pixabay

Meditation is a strange trip, leading to unexpected places within one’s psyche. 

Modern day spirituality – call it New Age or not - has called out fear as the opposite of love, and our problems come down to being in a state of fear and not love. 

That sounds like an easy problem to take care of, and I wish it were that simple. But it’s not. 

I think the opposite of love is all about power, the aphrodisiac of the ego.  

Power is far more seductive than fear.

The more I’ve experienced and the more I’ve observed within the dysfunctional arena of love, I’ve found that power is the enemy. Our most basic good and evil struggles is the tug of war between the two. 

I think most of us can remember not so much the one who got away, so much as the one who was never caught.

Can’t you still picture that would-be beloved who was always out of reach?

Can you still feel the residual of past yearning churning in you belly? 

“Why doesn’t he call?” 

“Why is she so distant?”

“How can they not love me when I’m so good to them?”

Maybe the reason was because there is pleasure to receiving the love without giving any back. Maybe you weren’t challenging enough. 

Power.

On a less romantic note, can’t most of us think of a time when we did something we knew was wrong, but were tempted by the short-term benefits? 

How many of us acknowledged it to the person wronged with a sincere apology? 

Was the burden of your conscience enough to direct you to the high road? 

Even after the long term consequences were starting to demand pay back? 

Enough said. 

In any unhealthy group – family, work, friendship, relationship - in the struggle between love and pride, power usually wins because who wants to surrender in a struggle? 

Power feeds the ego at the starvation of the heart, but the more powerful in toxic groups ignore that painful stress to couple, family, and even community welfare. 

The powerful get their strokes and that satisfies. Guess who gets stuck paying off the emotional tab, and guess what gets used to hook you?

After all, don’t you want them to be happy? 

If you truly loved them, of course you would.

Yet don’t they want you to be happy? 

But you should be happy, for you’re given a place in their lives and how can that not make you feel loved? 

I speak from experience and my track record proves it. 

My significant relationships were with extremely self-centered people.  These men never considered my feelings in the way things were supposed to go in the relationship. 

When it came to “fixing” our problems, the focus was on their malcontent and my inadequacy. As an extension of him, I wasn’t supposed to be unhappy, and if I was, I should just get over it because there was certainly nothing wrong with him. 

And the awful part is that I accepted that dynamic until I was so miserable I extricated myself from the tar baby. That is always a torture.

Such were my thoughts and memories as I folded paper.

Around 500 cranes, I noticed that the traveling gym rat had not responded to the letter I wrote about an incredible kayaking trip I had taken. 

As I focused on that, I fumed that this project was a stupid idea on the day I got a package from Jeff, the friend who had first told me about folding the cranes. 

Inside the package was a blue kimono and a note explaining that he had gotten it for me a year and a half ago in Tokyo, and how sorry he was it had taken so long to send it on. 

But the kicker was on the kimono – it was covered with cranes in flight.

My jaw had to be picked up off the floor.

Since the Buddha said there are no coincidences - and I respect the Buddha - I took it as a sign to hold the faith and keep folding.

By 600 cranes, I had gotten really creative. Cutting out equidistant squares from magazines and photographs made for some far more unique, one-of-a-kind cranes.

One morning, I sitting on the ground in the long line of people who had gotten there early for the annual ski swap – the one chance every year to get good gear cheap. People practically camp out to be one of the first in line.

I sat on the ground, and folded paper as I waited with everybody else. 

A man sitting nearby noticed and told me that he and some friends had made a thousand cranes out of gold paper for a Japanese couple about to get married. It was a traditional thing to do and according to legend, it brought good luck to the newlyweds.

“These are nice folds,” he said, picking up one of my paper birds.        

My road to love has suffered many gridlocks as I dated the no-good’uns and ne’er-do-wells. There were nice guys who asked me out and sometimes I dated one and they were always a pleasure to be around. 

But there was always a reason why it wouldn’t last. And frankly, that reason was because I wouldn’t give them a real chance. 

Of all my self-destructive patterns when it came to love, I had to see all the time wasted for what it was – wasted time – every time I yearned for the love who was out of reach, falling madly in love for the friend who liked me well enough, but just wasn’t interested. 

That disinterest put him on a pedestal high above me and I pined more than ever, paying no mind to the suitors who offered something real.    

When I had folded over 700 cranes I realized I wasn’t even sure what I was wishing for. 

Breaking Free From a Narcissistic Relationship - A Celebration

Image by Elias Sch. from Pixabay

Yesterday was the one-year anniversary of the day I left the most toxic relationship of my life. To say I had to escape that particular partner is no exaggeration. I left my house for several weeks in order to do it. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was leaving the narcissistic abuse of a covert narcissist.

 

Out of curiosity, I revisited the ‘Dear Jane’ letter I sent on the day I left. It’s surreal to read it. At the time that I wrote it, I had fully believed the person I wrote to was a decent human being - troubled and unstable, but still decent.

 

For the record, I would like to state that everything I described of her daughter’s behavior (Spoiled Child) were the same tactics used by the mother (Ex-Fiancee). That old cliché that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree definitely holds true here.

 

As part of my healing, I dove into a lot of research – particularly Dr Ramani and Richard Grannon – in those first weeks. What I found surprised me. In extricating myself from such a mess, I had followed most of their advice to get out before formally learning about it.

 

Both of them have excellent information on their Youtube Channels and I can’t recommend spending some time learning from their expertise – especially if you are in a narcissistic relationship, suspect you might be (you probably are), or have a history of one-sided relationships with narcissists. I’ll link to their youtube channels at the end of this for anybody who is interested.

 

To commemorate a year of healing, growth, and transition – as well as a tiny drop of revenge – I decided to share most of my break up letter on my blog. I left out the logistics of money and time to move for obvious reasons.

 

Of course, names have been replaced with monikers and other specifics with blank spaces. Any current thoughts are in bold with parentheses.

 

Perhaps this may inspire others to take that leap and leave behind those who suck their souls dry. Good luck.

 

 

Hey Ex-Fiancée,

 

Thank you for your apology about the basement. I apologize too, but I’ll get to that later.

 

I read all of the previous email, and I get that what you had say is real and true for you. We all have our versions of the truth, based on experience, beliefs, and personal bias.

 

In all, I don’t think it matters who is doing right and who is doing wrong. What it really comes down to is: Do we work? Do you and I have the right stuff to make it long term – and be happy? I don’t believe we do. I also believe ending our relationship is the only right thing to do.

 

I’m not coming home because I don’t see the point of talking yet again. Why? We’ve already had all the talks and fights and disagreements over every aspect of our relationship. Nobody’s changing anybody’s mind.

 

Perhaps it is cowardly of me; perhaps it’s excellent self-care. I guess that depends on perspective. I do know that I can’t stand another fight with you. I can’t stomach another scene of high emotions and crying and screaming and locked doors.

 

I was honest with you from the beginning about what I wanted and needed in a relationship and what my limits were.

 

It was clear to me that your needs and wants were different from mine. I thought we could do a “both/and” instead of an “either/or” so we could both win.

 

Yet nearly 4 years later, I believe we are in an “either/or.” Nobody is winning, and my limits have been stretched far beyond what I said I was willing to live with.

 

You are Spoiled Child’s mother. And as you said, her care is your responsibility and your choice. There is no getting away from that, yet I don’t agree with many of your decisions and I’m not willing to live with the results.

 

What may work for you is crazy making for me.

 

I told Therapist about the suicidal comment you made around Spoiled Child, how you felt trapped with a monster you can’t control and who won’t change.

 

Her response was quintessential calm.

 

“There is a solution. She can have her daughter evaluated, so she can get the right therapy and solve these problems before she’s an adolescent.”

 

Therapist then went on to say that she thinks Spoiled Child is possibly emotionally disturbed. But that it’s not an identity. It’s a phenomena. And there is something to be done for that.

 

She had also mentioned the potential for Oppositional Defiance Disorder in a previous session, as did your former colleague at the high school two years ago.

 

At best, Spoiled Child has her charm, and is pleasant and agreeable when she gets her way. But once anybody tells her no, enforces consequences, corrects/criticizes her, or insists she does something she doesn’t want to do, she goes into a rage that would terrify most of the spoiled rotten brats I grew up with.

 

Again, that is at best.

 

At worst, Therapist is right.

 

For the record, I agree with Therapist more than I don’t. I suspect the truth is somewhere between both ends of the best and worst case scenario, neither of which is good.

 

If you don’t face this shit about Spoiled Child and about those parts of yourself that enable her, you will regret it for the rest of your life. Many times, I’ve watched you go into denial about your daughter, and her potential for horrific behavior that healthy, well-adjusted children do not engage in.

 

Last night, when you shut me down when I insisted she needs an evaluation and therapy, that was my last straw. That was the moment I knew I was done with this.

 

I’m not willing to be an enabler in your denial or in hiding Spoiled Child’s problems. At this point, that is most of what I’ve become. This is the heart of what I meant when I talked about the fundamental difference between us.

 

So, this isn’t just about Spoiled Child.

 

This is about us. We have too many differences in our core values, how to approach life, how to deal with problems and handle conflict.

 

So yes, I’m being cold.

 

Yes, I’m running away.

 

I’m not viewing you as my enemy. I’m viewing you as the woman I need to break up with.

 

In the acceptance of the reality that we can’t work out in spite of our hardest efforts, I have to let go of my fiancée, my lover, my best friend, the potential for family, and a dream that meant a lot to me.

 

That is heartbreaking and difficult. It is also necessary. The only way I can do this is to detach, act cold, and be ruthless.

 

I really wanted us to work out, possibly more than you’ll ever believe. That is one of the reasons why I suggested the relationship reset on the day of Spoiled Child’s choir concert. The other was that I was devastated by what she went through that day.

 

That is what I would like to apologize for.

 

I meant well for all of us, but that was a mistake. We’d already agreed to a break up, and if that had stuck, we’d have a much cleaner parting of the ways than this. This only prolonged the agony and I am truly sorry for that. Not just to you. I apologize to Spoiled Child for that as well.

 

And now for the logistics:

 

We need to determine a time and day for me to come get some things and my cats – preferably tomorrow. This includes _____, but if you changed your mind and want to keep him, let me know. I would prefer to come when you’re not there, and I will come with friends to help me.

 

If you need to write your piece for closure or whatever, that’s fine. But I suggest you leave it for me at the house for when I get back.

There is no changing my mind or convincing me that I’m wrong to be unhappy with you. That said, if you contact me, or show up where I’m staying, or go to places you know I’ll be, I will file a restraining order against you.

(This warning was the smartest choice I made in my exit plan. That definitely worked.)

 

I know this is harsh, but a restraining order is a precaution to protect all of us. You have a history of pushing my boundaries and not respecting clear limits that I set. This is not a temporary separation like 3 years ago. This is a permanent break up and the closest to a divorce I ever want to come.

           

If you need to communicate with me about logistics, please do so through ______. She’s a trusted friend and confidante to us all, but I’m willing to find another mediator for her sake because it may be awkward for her.

(Getting a mediator was the second most intelligent decision I made in this.)

 

I’m very sad about this, and to do it this way. But we’ve been putting band-aids on cancer for at least a year, and it’s time to pull the band-aid off. Somebody’s got to do it. So it might as well be me.

(Of course it had to be me.)

 

In our previous talks about who we would be to each other if we were ever to break up, we both agreed that friendship was unlikely. Who knows what may happen with enough time.

(No effing way!)

 

But for the foreseeable future of many months, I don’t want to see you or talk to you. Every time I do - I only get roped back in to something I know doesn’t work.

 

Thank you for the last four years. We had some gorgeous times and I love you. I wish you all the passion and joy we once had in the future with somebody who works better for you and for your daughter. Of course, I wish the same for me.

 

I wish Spoiled Child peace, joy, happiness, and security in the mother’s love that she wants so badly it hurts. But in a healthy way, of course.

 

Take care of yourselves…

Needless to say, her responses to me were not in the same spirit.

For those of you who are sticklers for breaking up face to face, I actually did as she was chasing me out to the car. I said I was done, and the last thing I said to her was “Let me go.”

Dr. Ramani’s youtube channel can be found HERE. 

Richard Grannon’s channel HERE

The Rush of the Crush

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

I hadn’t felt like that in so long.

Do you know the magic? I hope you do.

The thrill of elation lit up every part of me, as the warm radiance flushed from the depths, rising to the surface to emerge and be seen. The luscious softness refused the resistance of armor. There was no place for my feelings to hide.

Then our eyes met.

The agony of vulnerability grew sweet. I saw the luminosity of the smitten reflected back to me from the woman who had just inspired my delirium. Her face glowed and her smile opened.

That kind of radiance can never be faked — the gorgeous, pure rawness of “I like you, Like You, LIKE YOU! OH HELL YEAH!”

So my crush liked me too.

It has been forever since the last time those floodgates had opened.

I couldn’t believe it.

I had ended my engagement only 4 months before. The last thing I expected was an experience of that kind of butterfly twitterpation. It caught me off guard.

Not that I’m complaining because, you know…how can anybody complain about something so delicious?

“I can’t believe you feel that way over somebody else already!” One friend declared.

“Didn’t you ever feel that way about your ex?” Another asked.

Well yes and no.

In the beginning, there was chemistry. Of course there was because new relationship energy has always been euphoric.

But my ex-partner never swooned me through the virtue of being herself. Her touch was felt where it landed. But a stroke of my arm didn’t make me giddy and trill anywhere else, much less everywhere.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons we didn’t work out?

But the rush of this recent crush took my breath away on that unexpected day. It juiced me up. I was riding high - turned on and on fire. The sensation was exquisite.

Yet they call these things “crushes” for a reason.

Mainly because the stars are not aligned for something to actually happen with that scrumptious flood of feelings and possibilities.

Things are “complicated,” as they say. New romance and passion are not likely at this time, because there are obstacles in the way.

It already kind of hurts.

I’m painfully aware that although I don’t miss my ex-partner, I do miss relationship. I miss contact. I miss closeness. I miss waking up next to somebody.

I miss touch. I miss it a lot. Physical touch is my dominant love language, after all.

So the temptation of an old, destructive habit is ever present. It’d be so easy to fall into a fantasy of what-might-have-been-if-only, or the-hot-pursuit-of-trying-to-make-something-happen.

I hear the siren call of yearning. I can feel it in my gut, in my sinews, and even in my bones.

I’m so tempted to obsess, to want, and to long for this would-be beloved who is beyond my reach. The urge is almost irresistible. I want to stretch and bridge the chasm between us with my passion.

But I know where that path goes.

I know because I’ve done this before. I have chased the unavailable, only to fall into the abyss of misery, unbearable loneliness, abandoned dignity, and the regret of lost time.

Not to mention the regret of wasting something beautiful for what it actually was.

The rush of the crush intoxicated and invigorated me. With my blood flooded with heat, I came back to life.

I’m grateful this happened.

What a gorgeous reminder of all that is possible in the Realm of Love. That excitement and vibrant life force are exactly how I want to feel at the start of my next relationship.

Then the thought occurred to me that perhaps I’ve been a little touch-starved.

I had been sleeping and waking up alone for a few months, after all. I probably needed some tender, loving self-care.

So I went for a massage.

When the LMT asked me what areas to work on, I shook my head.

“I don’t need you to work on my tight spots. I’m here because I need to be touched.”

He nodded in understanding.

His touch was solid and dependable. Although did not give me a rush of twitterpation butterflies, it soothed and relaxed me.

After a half hour or so, the art of massage worked its magic. I melted into the sensation of parasympathetic ease, of oxytocin and other yummy endorphins.

The marvelous I left with was not the same as a hot new lover.

But the massage helped. It helped a lot.