Kind conversations

Why do we expect that because we written something to someone – that they should be ready to respond instantly – and exactly the way we want to? Why is it so hard to let things be and allow some mystery?

I have for periods in my life really focused on changing my language, but it never seems to be really perfect or it can always improve…

Lately I have pondered on the lack of kindness  and gentleness in both the language towards ourselves as well as in the formal communication.

Why do we expect that because we written something to someone – that they should be ready to respond instantly – and exactly the way we want to? Why is it so hard to let things be and allow some mystery?

Do I really have to know the logical answer to why for every single thing?

Universal laws are as logic as it gets right – so why this immense need of sense that we even make it up with our little home made stories to why this or why that?

Is it our ability to create or creative thinking that back fires?  It just kicks off itself regardless what it is about? Or we need to understand what is around us and when we have a story we feel safe? Safer?

I have always had an attraction to the Socrates way of thinking – that all answers are within – and it is all about the conversations we have – or don’t have…

Now I am asking myself how to be more kind and how to use questions as a bridge to heal those gaps of misunderstandings, confusion and possible hurt.

What questions do you use when dealing with opposite opinions or conflicts?

And how do you untangle contradictive conversations with yourself?

Define.Define.Define. Is my new mantra to myself.

332 signals to go. Gently coming home.

 

 

When worry invites itself to the party

I keep forgetting how fragile this process is. The minute my logical mind kicks into gear I think I have all solutions and answers figured out – and then someone tries to push me and I stand my ground (I think) and then, when the moment has passed and I am alone again I sink together and cry…

I keep forgetting how fragile this process is. The minute my logical mind kicks into gear I think I have all solutions and answers figured out – and then someone tries to push me and I stand my ground (I think) and then, when the moment has passed and I am alone again I sink together and cry.

All emotions on the outside. Painfully.

And then all other worry invites itself to the party and it becomes really a crying party.

I have a history with one of my children, which includes really nasty custody battles. Yes -more than one and for many many years. But that is a separate story.

Those incidents created an experience of that being a parent was always up for questioning and even when the years have passed from time to time it still can catch me off guard.

So it is one of my big things I worry about when I am on my knees.

I have had social workers stating I was such a role model doing my work and being able to work internationally and have my kids with me – to those claiming it was not normal for a mother to earn like a man – then I could not be a good woman… Of course I rushed over the first and memorized the later…

So whatever I do is never really satisfying everybody somehow.

I never really understood when people say they do what is best for the children when they clearly suffer – what child is not feeling that? – nor have I understood why we do this and then pretend it is all good and honky dory and never talk about it?

It rips your heart out. Just the idea sometimes. To be apart from your child when it is not out of choice.

Being a single parent, with sole custody and without extended family – this is a constant worry of mine. What of something happens to me? Where would she go? Who would tell her about me? Would she be financially secure? Am I ever enough? Have I done enough? Prepared enough?

Creating memories,  teach her tools to manage life and never go to bed without knowing how much I love her – those are my daily to dos with her – walks and talks.

We are ok.

Again I have to trust Universe doing its part and me doing mine…

We are coming home. 333 signals to go.

Image courtesy to Stuart Miles at FreeDigitalPhotos.net