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I’ve found myself buying a lot of fridge magnets lately (it would be a lot cheaper if I used my pen and notebook, then made a magnet at home). Yesterday, (which was Monday – it’s now actually Thursday afternoon) I purchased a new fridge magnet on a day that was foggy, with images vague, outlines hazy. Reminded me of saying that a foggy road lay ahead between accepting “not good enough” or resisting it. The magnet said: “Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.”

What follows is another bamble; it’s not happy, nor inspiring. It’s not quite the pity party it sounds like. It’s me being honest again. First, I do want to say that I am really appreciative all the kind and encouraging comments I received after my first honesty posting. If some of my answers seemed “flippant,” I was me trying to introduce some of my warped sense of humour into what was a pretty heavy blog. What follows is me being honest again — if the content bothers anybody, I do apologize in advance. I just feel like my first honesty posting needs a follow-up. I had actually planned another Honesty 2, but that one will have wait and be Honesty 3.

I haven’t stopped crying (almost all of Monday and Tuesday; and a bit of Wednesday while I did the laundry); not because I’d been listening to the “not good enough whispers,” BUT because of remembering (after writing the first honesty piece) the times I was good enough, but personality, office politics, sexism/misogyny, who-knows-what made me not good enough anymore.

For example, I was good enough to teach the class, mark the papers, design the courses and assignments, lead the seminars, get good evaluations from the students, give them interesting, imaginative projects to do that despite themselves, they got interested and excited about the assignment. I was one of the few faculty members who could get along with even the most difficult of the teaching assistants. While I taught there, double the number of students decided to take my field as a major. I gave extra help to students who needed it to get up to college speed (many were the first in their families to ever have gone to university). As many were non-traditional students, I was as flexible and accommodating as I could be. With such an increase in interest, (another contract facility member was doing innovative and exciting things too), the university finally decided it now had the money to make the position I’ve been doing under contract for 3 years permanent as well as the same for the other contract worker.

A real, full time teaching job; the possibility of staying in one place after contract teaching; of maybe someday getting tenure; having the security to try even more innovative and exciting teaching methods and student projects; time to do more writing and research; being able to afford a vacation; and maybe even some day a house. Not being made head of the department; not being asked to give papers and interviews; not accolades; just some stability; a bit more money; maybe someday tenure and the chance to do what I loved best, did best: teach, work with students, research, and write.

Of course, I did what I was told to do: apply for the job – after all I’d already been doing it (with fine personnel evaluations as well as good ones from the students as well). One day I was good enough, the next day, the list of who is being interviewed and when goes up, and my name isn’t on the list. Despite being told over and over what a good job I was doing; how I was really getting students interested in the subject, each spring encouraged to continue to design courses and assignments as innovative and different as I had. Being told I blew the department away during your first job interview by my poise, intelligence, and ability to switch topics, answer difficult questions, say when I didn’t know the answer, rather than bluff my way through.

Student gossip travels fast and far (and unheard by most professors), so they knew before I did (almost) that I wasn’t on the list of interviewees, and hadn’t been asked, in any capacity, back the following year. If a few students hadn’t come to my office to try to cheer me up, I wouldn’t have known about the lengths many students went to try and keep me around. They started writing letters to the head of the department (of which he never made me aware)the minute they heard my contract wasn’t going to be renewed. When the university announced my contract job was going to become a permanent one, they all assumed it would be offered to me; why not? When word got out that I wasn’t even on the interview list, more letters were sent to the head of the department, and a few things were said in some classes. In my classes, when asked about the situation, I would only comment that while it was true that my time with the university would be finished at the end of term, I was sure the department would hire a good teacher, someone believed in fairness, student innovation, enjoyed teaching.

Although I avoided the department if I could on interview days (unless I was holding a class or a student needed to see me), I finished off the term with the same work ethic, same intensity, same spirit I had begun it. Sure, I could have slacked off, done a half-a***d job, but my students deserved better than that. I remember one evening, standing in the hallway looking at the list of interviewees. There were a couple of names I had never heard of in any capacity – not seen at conferences, give a paper, or have a publication, so I could form no opinion. Some I wasn’t too impressed with after reading their work, or seeing a lecture or listening to a paper given. Then there were the others, I knew personally were both not good teachers and not good scholars – I hoped for my students’ sakes, one of them didn’t get the position (one did). I stood in the dim light of the darkened hallway, reading the list without envy or jealously, but just wondering why them and not me. By the way, the head of the department either never had the politeness or excuse me the b****s to tell me why my name wasn’t on the list; what these people had that got them interviewed and me not.

There are end of the term evaluations, always filled out anonymously, by students that analyze the professor, the course, course content, fairness in marking, etc. Like a personnel review. These forms remain anonymous by having students colour in a square, circle a number, etc., the theory being a student will be more “honest” it their handwriting can’t be ”held against” them. A member of student council goes to each class (with the professor, obviously out of the room!), hands out the forms, and gathers them up once completed and seals them in large brown envelopes. Next, all the packages go to the appropriate department head who opens and reads the results. In some departments, a small select number of faculty also have access to other faculty member’s reviews. I had to wait longer than the other members of the department to receive mine. (Other faculty members had already thrown theirs, unopened, into the garbage). I used the creative/constructive criticisms from these and self-generated surveys during the term to work on areas that needed improvement.

I expected the usual assortment of reports: the irony that the very things that some students find are the best about the class or the teacher are the very same things others find are the worst! Most are pretty middle of the road – really like some aspects, dislike others, are neutral about other items. When I opened my evaluations, I sat, crying, in my office for hours. Not because I was sad I was leaving, not because I was feeling sorry for myself for not even being given a chance to get the job; not upset that these were the last set of reviews I was ever going to get. I sat crying because I was so moved by what the students had written on the reviews.

Almost all were signed; almost every student WANTED me to know how they felt. They wanted me to know how sorry they were to see me go; how they hoped I’d found another teaching job; telling me I was the best teacher they had ever had (in person, I would have quipped – only had a few teachers, then, eh?). Some even addressed their comments to the head of the department about mistakes, and switching majors.

So, one day I was good enough to write up and mark the final exams and submit students’ final grades, the next I was only good enough to clear out my office so a “real” teacher could take over. I hadn’t played the “right game,” played by the “right rules,” got the “right people” on my side through whatever means you do that; the folks on my side were just the students who I thought universities were all about anyway. By the way, the other contract employee, well liked by the students, too, did receive an interview, but wasn’t hired for the job he had been doing.

This isn’t a pity party for me, though the above makes it sound like it. I know that many others have had to deal with the same things: the promotion not achieved; the recognition or thanks not received; the interview not arranged; the raise not given; the prize not won. These folks may also have struggled with the “not good enoughs” when they were more than good enough! That they should have got or achieved whatever it was they deserved and didn’t receive. I hope, unlike me, that they either got over these “not good enough” moments and were able to move on, letting go of the hurt, the tears, and the pain, perhaps used it to their advantage as lessons learned. Or even better yet, stopped having these moments –and they began to get the recognition, the promotion, the stability, the whatever it was they deserved.

There are other variations of the same theme I won’t bother or bore you with. I’ve blogged about some of the previously. I’ve never looked for being singled out; for adulation; for big bucks; for different treatment than anyone else; for special prizes. What I’ve wanted is some stability; some fairness; some recognition for all the hard and good work I’ve done; the chance to have enough money to go on a vacation; to be able to actually afford to own a little house. For once, be the one “good enough” to continue to have the job I’d been doing with good personnel reports, and fine colleague rapport. Not be the one forced to resign due to misogyny; lost out on a job because of a blind eye turned by the department, the university, and the journal board to the situation. The offender not only kept his job, but was able to blame all his problems and issues with the job on me (rather than his work ethic, old-boy network, and lack of vision) because I was no longer there to defend myself.

Not that I’m that so great, special, or intelligent that I should always win the prize. Not that I believe the world owes me. Not that I don’t make mistakes, do screw-ups, after all I am definitely human. I believe that every project, very job is worth doing well, and I hate it when I’m asked to or forced to do a half-a**ed job. There have been times I know I could have done better, performed to a higher standard, played office politics, finished reports or articles sooner, ratted out other employees rather than cover for their mistakes; produced a better finished product or met a deadline sooner. On rational days, I don’t blame all my failures, all my “not good enoughs” on myself nor on others.

But I do wonder what fairness feels like. What being the lucky one feels like. What success feels like. Sure, I want to finish writing my mystery novel – it’s been inside me and scrawled in notebooks for a long time. In one of our many moves, I lost the first draft of another mystery novel I was writing. I’ve never able to really recreate it, try as I might. I think it was a much better one than I’m working on now. I know my novel probably will never be published. Sure, I’ll go through the turmoil of not being good enough again (in the case of novel writing, that’s IS probably the case! many more writers than published writers) I joke about book signings and talk show rounds, but the book is something that lives inside me that wants to come out. Maybe no will ever see the manuscript but me.

So you see my struggle between accepting “not being good enough” isn’t just about demons whispering “you never have been and you never will, be good enough for whatever it is you want or try to do”, or feeling sorry for myself; it’s for knowing that sometimes I was good enough, but still couldn’t win. There’s nothing wrong with landing in the stars, that’s fine. Somehow, sometimes, even the stars seem beyond my reach.

This is something that I honestly wanted to say; that the “not good enoughs” and hurt aren’t all figments of my dark demons’ imaginations. Not all the remembories of the sad lonely little girl. Hard to let go when these sorts things seem to always follow you around. Perhaps it’s harder to let go when you’ve never actually been shooting for the moon, just hoping to land amid the stars.

It takes getting used to when, regularly, one day you’re good enough, and then – for no apparent or explained reason – the next you’re not. It can lead to hurt, to tears, to pain, to fear, to self-doubt to many other emotions including anger, hostility, “out-to-prove-yourself-right-and-the-others-wrong, and envy. I don’t know if experiencing these emotions makes it any easier or more difficult to fight or accept the “not quite good enoughs” on my foggy road; my choice may yet be made FOR me not BY me.

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People tend to pick watchwords/words-to-go-by, a word or two to describe the coming year in December/January. I decided on honesty; to be honest to/about myself; and to be honest to/with other people (within reason, of course, sometimes true honesty will get you in trouble, alienate folks, and weaken friendships). And, I will warn you this is a bamble; I’m not sure my self-editor can make this less long and laborious to read.

For example, I have decided to choose my family without regard to marriage and bloodlines. Of my many in-laws, there are 2.5 I will continue to have some sort of relationship with. (.5 is because this individual has lost most of my respect, but circumstances are such that I need to continue to be civil, even if that’s not being completely honest). I’m keeping one cousin and one cousin-law; the rest of the blood-line relatives can go. Of course, I want and would love to keep my cyberverse family, if they’ll have me. I now can honestly say I have a family in a way that was impossible before.

I am honestly honoured by the blog rewards I have received such as the recent the candle lighter award, or the versatile blogger award. But, in my effort to be honest to myself and to others, I need to talk about what happened to me today. I never expected to be nominated for a WEGO blogger award: in 2011, my blog, like my life was in meltdown – virtual manic episodes of blogging to go with the real manic episodes – and health issues weren’t always the focus. As I traveled the cyberverse, I was happier to see how just many of the bloggers I follow were receiving at least one, if not multiple nominations. I was so glad that someone had written their nomination the way the nomination committee wanted them, and they were put on the list of winners. Today, I went to the nomination site, to check and see if all the names I hoped to see where there – and they were. Congratulations to all and I was glad that each blogger’s blog was going to get the respect, traffic, and honours deserved for humor, for information, for inspiration, for honesty, for advocating for others. You are all truly winners!

I know I’ve written about the evil gene that runs in my father’s family; how the gene breeds contempt and smugness, lying, cheating, and stealing. I don’t think I’ve written that in the helix of that DNA is pettiness, envy, and jealously. Today, perhaps feeling vulnerable after my first session with a psychiatrist, I let the gene whisper envy; became the lonely little girl who wasn’t asked to play jump rope and was always picked last for a team; remembered the envy towards those who were always included; who always were part of the game. Once you let part of the evil gene’s helix wrap itself around your thinking, it’s much easier for the darker demons to whisper “Remember, you’ve never been good enough at anything.” Don’t worry; I’ve gotten over the envy and am back to the original emotions of joy, happiness and satisfaction that such special people received the honours they deserved. It always takes a little longer to get over the “never quite good enough” part.

I’ve been reading blogs I wrote earlier this month, blogs about possibilities, taos of crossroads, of new directions, new paths. Yet, as much as I said I would, wearing the proper footgear, with a map and a language guide, take the well-light path; my new journey; my new direction; my new purpose, I’m still sitting on the rock at the crossroads; legs drawn up to my chest; arms holding my legs and myself together. I can see all the paths spread out: the brambly ones where I try to lose old demons and lonely little girl; the sun-dappled one, a bit overgrown, but with the potential for fairy lights. The well-worn, brightly lit path that curves gently and with promise towards a meadow full of wildflowers. Then there’s the dark path, with dead trees and overhanging branches, pools of deep dark water, with only tiny bits of light from a full moon to show the way. There’s another path now too, one that is only a blurry, vague trail, the stumbles over tree roots, the hills to climb shrouded in fog and cold mist; a path with many off-shots and possible dead ends. This path has no easy way back, no map, no trail of breadcrumbs to follow, no landforms to recognize and mark progress by.

You see I realized on Friday (reconfirmed today) that honestly I have only 2 choices right now (no matter how my battle with bipolar 2 goes). I either learn to accept that I’ll never be quite good enough “it” — for the job, the scholarship, the promotion, the team, whatever “it” is. Learn to accept this as part of who I am. Not to embrace it; but to face the fact without the usual crumbling into tears and recriminations. That these feelings of regret, guilt, and failure have always been and will continue to mark my life; are big part of who I am. Accept it this in the same way I accept I will always have chronic pain; I will always have chronic illness. To learn to live with never being quite good enough like I have with my physical (and I hope same day my mental) health issues.

My other option – fight it; to somehow let go what has been my life for 54 years. How do you let go of 54 years of not being quite good enough? How do you become good enough? What do I lack that others, the ones chosen for the team, the ones who get the promotions, who win the scholarships have? How do it get it? I’ve asked folks what it is, what I lack, but the answers vary and I become confused; but often the answer is if you’d been good enough “it” would have happened the way I wanted.

I send pixie dust to folks who I think need some magic and whimsy in their lives. Perhaps I’m hoping that will put some in mine. The trouble is, to fight 54 years of feeling you’re not good enough, you need to be strong; to be stable; to be willing to learn a whole new way of thinking, of being honest with yourself. You have to send a lot of pixie dust (sorry to the folks I owe a package of magic and whimsy; I will get my interest in doing things back.)

Folks with bipolar 2 are chronically depressed, and their manic episodes are often mixed meaning that they are depressed, irritable, and mad at the same time, but there is never the high of bipolar 1; never the feeling of power, of happiness, or control. The depression gets worse (ironically, antidepressants often don’t work for bipolar 2 folks). There are some shopping hazards (luckily mine is mostly limited to going slightly over budget with craft supplies and jewelry from dollar and discount stores being the worst culprits (4 boxes craft supplies I am donating to an art therapy program at a local woman’s shelter), but not to the level that bipolar 1 can reach. There are mental health issues on both sides of my family; uncles in my Dad’s family who were considered ”off” before diagnosis like bipolar were made; my mother’s chronic depression (never acknowledged) made worse by the aftermath of the stroke and her deepening dementia.

I don’t know yet how much of my chronic depression is tied to being bipolar 2 (official mental health professional diagnosis yesterday, in case you’ve been following my trying to navigate the mental health care system). We (the doctor and I) are going to try the medication route for a month and see how I feel – will I feel less depressed (I’m pretty much rock bottom now, but antidepressants don’t work well with bipolar 2 folks). Will I feel stable; stronger; less vulnerable and always on the verge of breaking into tears? Will finally being treated for the bipolar 2 “disease” (not just the chronic depression) that has haunted my life give me the strength to do battle with the “not quite good enough?”

Trouble is, my next appointment is in a month – to see how the meds are doing, although I can call her office and leave a message, or call her cell if the meds are troublesome. We’re increasing my day meds (which might help with the depression) and changing up my night meds (so sleeping and tiredness will probably become an issue again. The stuff I was on would knock me out for 5 hours at a time, though my body slowly adjusted to it, and I did walk up during the night. I tended to have a 2 hour+ nap between hubby leaving between 7:30 and 8:00 and at least 10 o’clock (or later).

I had written that I would no longer go down that dark path; that I would leave the evil genes and evil spirits behind. That the dark side was something folks didn’t want to hear about. Not that I believe blogs always have to be upbeat, inspirational, creative, informative or funny – they can be true to the situation, especially when you are dealing with chronic illness(es) and chronic pain – the good, the bad, and the ugly. But even in the sometimes bitter, sometimes hard truth about fibromyalgia, ME, chronic pain, and other chronic illnesses, there is information, inspiration, laughter and gentle hugs.

But, if I’m going to be honest, blogging about my struggles with bipolar 2, how it explains the past and the present, means I will have to journey down that dark road at times. In addition, there is the foggy one; the one I think that will help me chose resistance or acceptance – I know something awaits me, though I can’t be sure of what.

I don’t know if or when I’ll have another manic episode. If it will be a mini-meltdown that a few tears and a determined trip to the trendy town I do my grocery shopping in will resolve, or if it will be a major one, landing me in a facility with a psychiatric ER and intake ward. Maybe the meds will do it? So, what direction do I take? Acceptance or resistance? Am I strong enough and stable enough to resist? Will I ever be? Is acceptance the easy way that will help me deal with the stresses of my mental illness, of finding a purpose, of moving on? I have no answers for these questions.

I will continue to give out the candle lighter awards; I still have several people in mind; it makes me feel good to pass it along; I hope it makes the people who receives it feel good too. These are inspiring bloggers; bloggers who, despite whatever chronic illness/chronic pain is part of their lives, still put humour, sense of possibility and perseverance; of creativity and passion into their blogs. They have lit many candles that have shone on the path, like fairy lights, others with these diseases travel.

There was a project I wanted to start: to show case the writing, the creativity, the artistic talent, the inspiration of folks with chronic illnesses/chronic pain display in their blogs. I didn’t know if it would be a website; a multi-author blog with photographs and videos. I thought it would be great if the artists illustrated the writers, and the writers added to the artistic side of things. Prose, poetry, drawings, paintings, masks, collages. Photographs, audio and video, songs, stories, and inspiration sayings. Maybe it would become an e-book, a published book, a DVD, a site that drew together the various folks who blog in the area of chronic illness(es) and chronic pain. So that with one click, you could see the art work of someone like Wendy and Judy; the realistic approach to their illnesses like Mo or sunshine and chaos, the incredible writing of Laurie; the heart-felt poems and blog entries of Tammy. (Not to leave anyone out – just using first samples that come to mind.) That’s just it: the project would make a place where creativity and inspiration overlap in so many different ways and forms. Now I know that it’s not a new idea, it’s been and being done well by sites like Chronic Babe, or the PFAM carnivals. I just thought that there are so many health-based bloggers who have so much to contribute on their own, and in conjunction, partnership, collaboration with other folks facing similar or different challenges. I seems to be the possibilities of collaboration are so many and so powerful.

I would still love to see such a project evolve. But, right now I don’t have the stability or strength to journey down that path, although I can see if faily clearly from my rock. I can’t ask anyone to follow me if I don’t have a map, let alone a plan. I hope perhaps by mentioning what my project idea was (not well described, but I wanted to get it out) that someone else will see it (or some version) as a worthwhile way to further unite the chronic illness(es)/chronic pain communities. I hope that this community will include those with mental health issues, too.

As to my path; I truly don’t know. And that is my honest (to myself and to others) answer. This crossroad is about more that finding a purpose, a path for blogging. It’s about finding a purpose and a path for my life.

Image by ismh_ via Flickr

{Double disclaimer: It’s been brought to my attention that the font and color scheme of my blog makes it difficult for some folks to read (as does my tendency to bamble (babble and ramble). I’m working on choosing a more visually agreeable template (may have to let go of my love of widgets, and descriptive summaries of blogs of note), and hope to have something in place soon) Due to the number of images I wanted to include in this post, I had to use Live Writer which isn’t really supported by WordPress.com any more. So I apologize in advance for the blog not looking quite like I had envisioned. Thanks for your patience!}

Emily Ruth is truly an inspiration. Despite her battles with fibromyalgia, inflammatory/rheumatoid arthritis, chronic fatigue syndrome and endometriosis, she has “a passion for encouraging and empowering the chronically ill.” As she says on her blog chronically creative: living creatively with chronic illness, “I’m on a mission to live creatively despite illness and hope to empower and encourage you to live a creative life whatever your circumstances. I love to bake, scrapbook, make cards and paint my nails! I also love to give stuff away and bless the socks off people I’ve never met. I may be chronically ill, but I’m also chronically creative, and it’s contagious!”

And Emily Ruth’s, Miss Chronically Creative, exuberance, crafting skills and abilities, honest and open blog entries, and facebook page are very contagious and habit-forming.

Her goal for this year, “to dream big” means she will refuse to dream small – “determined to fight for old dreams and find new ones.”

Her kindness and caring for others is demonstrated in her project Random Acts of Blogging Kindness: “ a project that seeks to bless and encourage those living with a chronic illness who wholeheartedly blog with a passion to raise awareness, who write about their own struggles so that they may help and encourage others in chronic pain.

But, it is Emily Ruth, herself, who blogs wholeheartedly, with passion, and offers encouragement to others dealing with chronic illnesses and chronic pain.

To quote Emily Ruth again, “[b]logging is one way I deal and cope with chronic pain. I’m on a mission to live creatively despite chronic illness and I hope to empower and encourage you to do the same. I really hope that you enjoy reading my blog as much as I enjoy writing it.” Chronically Creative is Emily Ruth’s journey, “her search for contentment.” Her blog (and facebook page) demonstrate her skill at crafting, writing, and caring.

Emily Ruth has light many candles; lights that have helped others to find their way through the shadows of chronic illness and chronic pain. I think it’s time Emily Ruth received recognition for all her good works and her inspiring courage and perseverance; Emily Ruth truly is a a candle lighter.

Kate Kresse, of Believe Anway, originated the Candle Lighter Award to: . . . “light a candle in the darkness that envelopes us all at times. I want to lighten loads and light the way. I gravitate towards positive people and positive blogs. I want to start a blog award that reflects my love for the positive in the blogosphere.”

Kate asks little of the winner – to link back to her comments when the blog been posted, and to, of course, if you choose, to pass the award along to anyone you feel deserves it. You can award it as many times as you like, all that Kate asks is that you link your post back to her site.

http://dogear6.wordpress.com/2012/01/01/adding-a-widget-to-your-sidebar/ will help you, Emily Ruth, to attach the candle lighter award to your side bar (thanks again to Kate both for initiating this award, and for the badge instructions, which I also want to thank dogear6 and Becca Givens  for helping me place my badge on my side bar. Thanks for someone who is less than techsavy.)

If you have yet to visit Chronically Creative (the blog or facebook page), you are missing out on an enormous amount of creativity and courage. As Emily Ruth says, “creativity is not impaired by illness . . .”