After spending more years than I would care to admit wanting to run from my home, my family runs like a well oiled machine right now. Plus with working my bootie off subbing and then trying to mash in writing and family, I feel like God has swooped in and plopped me into a much needed rest for my soul.
Don’t get me wrong – I know how serious this virus is. I don’t wish it upon anybody. And I certainly don’t feel happy that I have rest while this virus wrecking so much havoc on people emotionally, physically and mentally. But the negatives don’t nullify my positives. I am just in a good season right now, and I am comfortable enough with myself to say that out loud.
On a different note, I’m not making my life’s fortune on Medium yet, so who knows if I’ll be subbing next year still or not. But I’m thrilled that my freelance side gigs have picked up a bit and that I am moving steadily toward a niche market with it writing memoirs and helping people write their books. Stay tuned for more of that and a link to subscribe to my newsletter!
In closing, my daughter and I took a very safe social distancing car ride to the beach yesterday. The mountains were so green. And while there was definitely evidence of the Malibu fires there, thanks to dark charred sticks of trees shooting up through the canyon, wild flowers were dancing like crazy. Yellow mustard seeds and purple lupines. It was like being in nature’s candy store. As we snacked on pretzles and M and M’s (here’s to the Corona 15!) my daughter narrated the story of Hadestown in between singing some of the lyrics.
We eventually made it to the beach and ambled our way up a deserted lifeguard tower. As we watched the parasailors glide and duck above the waves – fifty feet ahead of us – she leaned into me and sang me a few lyrics from her musical audition song, Stay (which, ironically, is not that different than the Corona virus! The song was not from Hadestown but from an older show, Amelie)
Stay where you are Don’t come too close, and don’t go too far I’ll make you count to 100 so I have a good chance to hide Don’t expect me to play fair Move in, I move even deeper inside I like you right there I like you right there Stay
Thanks for Your “Stay” At My Blog!
I have said this before and I will say it again. I will always try new places to write. I do want to make more money in this field and I have zero problems learning how to market myself. But in the end, my relationships with people in my life, as well as some steady readers here at WordPress (you know who you are) are so much important than some flash in the pan success at Medium. (Um, I have made $3.47, despite being curated in five publications there!)
I am grateful to everyone who reads here and has followed me from the beginning. As Belladonna says, you could have chosen any blog to read, but you chose this one. Thank you!
Until next time,
My book is available on Amazon. (Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook. )
Want to Write a Book? Contact Me!
Need an editor, a mentor or a ghost writer? Contact me at HappilyTickedOff@Gmail.com or find me on Facebook @AndreaFrazerWriter
Note to my WordPress friends (my faves): This is my latest article on Medium. It comes to you after a long day of shopping for the Great Hunkering Down that is about to hit L.A..
I, like many of you, fluctuate between fear and faith. But mostly, for whatever reason, I’m calm. I went to the beach with my daughter today (keeping a good gajillion feet away from everybody else.)
I had a lovely dinner in front of our fire.
I played music and I shopped for neighbors and I called friends.
This is a time in history, more than ever, that we need art and music. We need less fear and more love.
Most people aren’t exactly breaking out in song over their forced unemployment and quarantine or writing their Great American Corona Novel. But I’m not one of them.
Part of this because I have a pretty strong spiritual practice where I just refuse to fall into self pity. Either God’s got this or he doesn’t. Part of it is because, as a sober alcoholic, I can’t afford to be play the victim. “One day at a time” is how the saying goes. But the biggest reason I’m not freaking out is because I can finally write my musical.
I’ve had the idea in my brain for three years. I even have one whole song and a few others started. Now that I’m not going into class every day to sub, I don’t have any excuses to not take at least one hour/day and knock this sucker out.
I’ve Never Written a Musical. I Don’t Give a Poop.
I’m not trying to sound delusional here when I say, “I’m writing a musical with no experience.” I’m simply stating that I’m doing it. For those who want to question my logic, I have a very simple answer: “When I think about not following through with it I feel like throwing up.”
Time is ticking by. I just turned 50. I have spent my life raising my kids and writing for a gajillon outlets for pay. And while I’m proud of my ability to context switch from blogs and magazines to everything in between, there’s something in my soul that wants to write something that comes just from me.
My passion project is not about my ego. It’s about about my purpose.
I didn’t get sober to live someone else’s life. I got sober to live mine. In doing so, I was able to untangle all the lies of who I thought I was supposed to be and lean into the person God wanted me to be all along. That person is an artist. (Surprise!)
But I Have to Make Money (And All Those Lies We Tell Ourselves)
I’m not that different from many of you who read and write here on Medium. I have a day job, too. In addition to my freelance writing, I substitute teach. I have kids and a husband. I have friends. I’m not exactly loaded with Benjamins.
But if I’m being totally honest with myself, there is always an hour a day I can spend on my musical if I choose to do it. (I can use my lunch break, get up early, take an hour after school, etc.) And now that I have 3–6 months of unemployment, I can do it in the mornings while the kids are sleeping.
What Are Your Gifts? Whatever They Are, Do That
If someone asked me what I loved more than anything in the world, I could very easily tell them. I love music. I love books. I love writing. And I love to laugh. If that isn’t the perfect formula for a musical I don’t know what is. Now I only need to do it.
Here’s 7 ways I’m planning on getting started to make my dream happen. Perhaps you can use some of these tips for your dream, too!
Follow Your Destiny
“Musicians must make music, artists must paint, poets must write if they are ultimately to be at peace with themselves. What humans can be, they must be.” ―Abraham Maslow
As I already alluded to, I can’t not write this musical. The idea came to me over three years ago when I was going through a particularly rough period of my life. It was as if all the pieces of this transformational story were drop shipped into my brain one night in the bathtub. I literally heard the tune to my flagship song, along with lyrics, singing in my brain. Either I’m psychotic or finally listening to the signs in my life. I’m going with Door #2.
2. Don’t Be Afraid of Your Own Power
I was bullied a lot in school. Subconsciously I bought into a belief structure that I simply wasn’t as good as everybody else. And though I knew in my head that wasn’t in true, in my heart it was as if my soul had frozen.
This frozen belief structure became a problem because, also within my soul, was where my true power lived- my voice- and it was throwing a pretty major tantrum to be let out.
Instead of seeing this power for what it was, “Oh, hello, powerful Andrea. Let’s get you moving toward your destiny!” I got scared. It felt like an enemy attack, and I shut down. I drank to keep it quiet and acting dignified.
But that power, like a true love, remained. It was a gentleman. It didn’t force me into submission. Instead it waited, like a lover, for the time I would put away my fears and dance with it. Now is that time.
My theme song is “Defying Gravity” from Wicked. I speak about this song a lot in my book, Happily Ticked Off. In it the Wicked Witch (from the Wizard of Oz) decides she is tired of listening to everyone else. She is ready to fly. She is ready to defy gravity. To her I say, “Amen, sister!” (Plus it doesn’t matter how many times I hear Idina Menzel sing that last note. I cry. Every. Time.)
“Something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I’m through with playing by the rules of someone’s else’s game.” — Elphaba (Lyrics by Steven Schwartz)
4. Don’t Judge Your Past.
“The path to our destination is not always a straight one. We go down the wrong road, we get lost, we turn back. Maybe it doesn’t matter which road we embark on. Maybe what matters is that we embark.” ―Barbara Hall
If I had a dime for all the jobs I’ve held over the past 30 years I’d be living in Beverly Hills. I’ve been an usher at the movies, a tour Guide for NBC Studios, a TV writers’ assistant, a TV writer, a production secretary, a receptionist, an Ebayer, a special education assistant, a substitute teacher and even a barista at Starbucks.
Sometimes, okay a lot of times, I’m ashamed of my checkered job past. Why couldn’t I just be a middle school teacher? Or a doctor? Something stable? But when I put the emotional whip down, I see a different picture— that I have tons of material to write my musical with. Besides, my kids, family and friends love me just as am, not for what I do. Maybe it’s time I start agreeing with them about how fabulous I am.
5. Stop Second Guessing Yourself
“Too late for second guessing. Too late to go back to sleep. It’s time to trust my instincts… to close my eyes, and leap…” — Elphaba, Wicked
I’m gonna have to give #5 to my girl, Elphaba, again. She didn’t really know what she was doing when she picked up that broom and ascended into the heavens. Like her, I don’t know 100% what I’m doing with this musical. But she flew anyway, mistakes be damn. What if I follow in her footsteps? Even Lin Manuel Miranda got laughed at for wanting to write a hip hop musical about the treasury department.
And no, I’m not Lin Manuel Miranda, but Lin Manuel Miranda wasn’t Lin Manuel Miranda until he did the same things I’m doing now to become Lin Manuel Miranda.
(That makes perfect sense to me. I hope it does to you, also.)
6. Stop Talking and Start Doing
Everyone in my immediate circle knows about my musical. The kids at school know me as the sub who is writing a funny show about camels. I’m honestly tired of talking about it. It’s time to sit down and do it. I am committed to one hour/day, five days/week. It’ll be done in a year.
Here’s what Sebastian, the blind mole rat from my musical, has to say to a very princess-y camel, Rose, about her long trek through the desert:
Sebastian: “If you want to go to the Great Mirage, first you have to get out of the garage.”
Rose: “But what I really want is a massage…”
Sebastian: “It doesn’t work that way.”
If my characters have to do the hard work to find their destiny, so do I. And that leads me to #7:
I don’t know exactly how all this will pan out. I don’t have a producer in mind. I don’t know any producers. I don’t write music notes. But I have seen enough of my Higher Power to work in my own life that if I just take the action the results will follow. Translation: I will meet the right people to come alongside me when the time is right. But first I must get started.
“God provides the wind, but man must raise the sails.” ―St. Augustine
Are You Willing to Get Started?
I know some of you are so scared about our current times. So am I. But friends, we need art now more than ever. We need you. Come on back and support me as I continue my journey. You know I’ll support you!
Need a Writing Coach? I Got Ya Covered!
Want someone to coach you toward your dream? I’ve already got two clients I’m working with to make their books a reality. I can help you, too! Reach out at Andrea.Paventi@Gmail.com.
Until next time,
My book is available on Amazon. (Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook. )
I love this picture. It brings up images of parents that are there for their child but willing to let them run free. It’s a wonderful symbol for what I strive to be for my own kids.
In my last post I spoke about how I was going to take advantage of my forced vacation from school (AKA: My Coronacation) to spend more time with my children. By “children” I mean “very tall teenagers.” And by “spend time” with them I mean “not micro-manage their every move.”
To be clear, I by no means am going to let my 4-bedroom home become a movie set for Lord of the Flies, Coronavirus 2. Nor am I sewing myself a cosplay outfit ala Captain Vontrapp either, complete with a military style schedule and a whistle. (I could never look as hot as Christopher Plummer, so why bother?)
But this wasn’t always the case. There was a time in my parenting career where I lived and breathed everything my children did. I wasn’t a helicopter parent, but I was absolutely an enmeshed one.
According to Psyche Central, you might be an enmeshed parent if this applies to you:
“Your children’s good or difficult behavior, and successful or unsuccessful achievements, define your worth.”
“Your children are the center of your life — your sole purpose in life.”
“Your entire focus is on taking care of your children, rather than also taking care of yourself.”
“Your happiness or pain is determined solely by your children.”
“You are invasive — you need to know everything about what your children think and do.”
If you asked me if I fit that description, I’d give you a hearty, “Hell, no! Just look at my house. Do their disorganized bedrooms, and their less than perfect school grades, match the traits of someone who is overly concerned with her kids?
But the more I researched it, the more I realized how wrong I was.
An enmeshed parent doesn’t apply to a child’s exterior life. It applies to their emotional ones which, to their supreme detriment, is bound up co-dependently with their parent’s feelings of well being.
My Daughter and Her Enmeshed Mother in Transition
As I’ve mentioned before, my daughter is super independent. She’s smart and sassy and doesn’t take to people telling her what to do. That said, she is still only 15. She simply doesn’t know what she doesn’t know. As her mom, it’s my job to set boundaries with love.
It just so happens that yesterday, on our first day of our Coronacation, we decided to take a walk on the beach. There were no people there… lots of open space… no fears of people coughing Covid 19 over our sun screened faces. It was a perfect time to talk about something that had been on my mind for a long time: her grades, her time management skills, and a particular class next year she really wants to get in.
That last item? She doesn’t just want a spot in this prized class. It’s all she’s been talking about all year. There is an audition component to getting in and, as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve been super anxious about her getting in myself.
Happy vs. Enmeshed in Our Kids Lives
I mean, who wouldn’t want their kid to be happy, right? But if I’m being honest, it’s more than that. I have the tendency to want her to be happy so I can be happy, and that’s never a good combination. That’s enmeshment.
I’m really careful about these days about this toxic parenting. But I wasn’t always. The old Andrea would have been up my daughter’s butt for six months telling her what she needed to do to get ready for the big try out. But this new Andrea — the one who is writing enough herself to not have to live through her daughter’s dreams — was able to be more chill about it.
I’m pretty proud of how the conversation went. It involved more questions than directives. I only brought up the topic when I was calm. (Hence not in the car when I was still pretty irritated about a dental appointment that didn’t go so well.)
Instead of launching into a lecture, I said a little prayer before I began speaking: God, let this conversation be about what is best for Evie’s life, not my enmeshed Mama ego. Let me remember that this is her life, not mine. Let me remember the difference between control and suggestion and have the wisdom to know the difference. (That last bit, God, I suck at. So feel free to smite me when I go overboard.)
Me: So, Evie, I’d like to talk to you about your tryout. Is this a good time?
If she said no, I’d have dropped it. I mean, what’s the point of having a conversation with your teenager, unless it’s truly life threatening, if they are not ready to listen?
Her: Sure. What’s up?
Me: Well, I know how badly you want this particular class. And I told you in September I wouldn’t bring this up anymore — and I didn’t. But… you now have three extra weeks to prepare for the tryouts thanks to our enforced time off from school.
Her: And?
Me: And… I’m not seeing you rehearse that much for it. What’s up with that?
Her: Oh that’s simple. I’m not rehearsing!
Me: And… this is because…
Her: It’s because there’s another piece to the audition that I’m much weaker on. I have been using my time to work on that instead.
Me: (Starting to get frustrated… enter enmeshed mama trying to break in) So the first piece isn’t that important?
Her: Oh, no, it totally is.
Me: (Truly stumped) Can you explain to my why, if it’s so important, you’re not doing it?
Her: Yeah. It’s because forever I felt that you wanted me to have this more than I did. And that didn’t feel particularly amazing.
Me: Hmmm.
Note: “Hmmm” is my go-to when I know my kid just needs me to listen. And also when I know she’s right. Translation: May day! May day! My ego has just taken a big hit and it needs comfort big time! Pass the wine!
Crap, you don’t drink anymore! Pray! Breathe!
So I did. Then I pressed her for more detail and braced myself. (Her frankness is not always pretty.)
Her: I sometimes think you don’t see how hard I’m working at other areas of my life and just focus on the areas that are important to you.
Me: Yeah, I can see that. But on this occasion, I do know how much you want this class. I wouldn’t be a great mom if I didn’t at least point out where you have an opportunity to improve.
Her: I know. It just reminds me of how you used to be.
I wanted to scream, “And I was right then, too! Just as I am now!” Instead I went with:
Me: Okay, you have my word I won’t bring it up again.
Her: You won’t have to. Because, don’t freak out, Mama Llama, I’m going to practice more. I just needed you to back off first.
Enter angels singing on the beach! (Okay, not that last part — but it was a victory!)
Lest the above conversation sounds like a cheesy script for the Family Channel, those sentences really did come out of each of our mouths.
We didn’t yell. We didn’t get snarky. We just shared from the heart. None of it would have been possible had I still been acting from my enmeshed mama’s ego.
I Want My Kids to Succeed!
Of course I want my daughter to get into her class, but more important to me is that she wants it. There is nothing in my kids’ lives, minus their health, that I should want more than they do. If I do, I’m bordering on obsessive again. And that, my friends, isn’t healthy.
As an adult, I’m only now finding my way in this world without needing to be propped up by anyone but my own higher power. Rather than have my kids have to figure this out in 12-step rooms, I’d rather they learn this now.
This comes from being a mom who listens more than she talks.
Who asks more questions rather than assumes.
And who has enough of her own life that my kids can go on to have their’s.
As far as my daughter goes, it means that if (worse case) she doesn’t get into that coveted class, she has a safe person to share her disappointment with.
Until next time, may you be less enmeshed, ask questions and, when in doubt, go for a walk on the beach. It really is the balm for all grrrr. (Even more than wine. I promise.)
Until next time,
My book is available on Amazon. (Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook. )
Happy weekend, people! I survived my 50th birthday and so far haven’t died from the Coronavirus. I’m grateful to have had so many friends and family celebrate with me. My good friend, Irish Mama, came out to visit with me and I must say it was glorious. One of the highlites was fish tacos in Malibu and watching her giggle with joy when she saw a pod of dolphins frolicking through the waves.
In honor of those dolphins, I’m continuing my pursuit of frolicking in my own life. That begins with my writing.
Thanks to all of you here at WordPress who inspire me every day to read and continue writing. Below is a post that was also published on Medium. I’m giving myself permission to double up on the sites until I figure out what each site will be. (Medium will for sure be more of a niche while this site will be more personal. That said, even if I double up, please go over there and give me some love. Your time on my post gives me financial support and I will of course do the same for you.)
Stay safe, wash your hands and for fxxx sake enjoy your life. (This comin’ from an official old lady, so listen to me!)
“You’ll never be able to escape from your heart. So it’s better to listen to what it has to say.” — Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
Not too long ago I was subbing for a public school. I was attempting to teach middle school kids to go after their dreams while simultaneously dodging milk cartons being lobbed at my noggin. It turns out something even more powerful than cow juice was directed at my brain. It was a life changing thought: “How can I empower students to live their dreams when I‘m not living mine?”
This insight was not an obsessive compulsive devil in disguise, taunting me on my shoulder. It wasn’t my misfiring mind out to derail me. This knowledge was a real deal truth bomb that lodged into my heart and exploded like emotional shrapnel right into the center of my soul. It shattered the glass walls I had been constructing around me that kept me from doing what I knew was my life’s purpose: to write.
Working a “Real Job”
It’s not like I hadn’t made money writing before, but life, kids, marriage, sobriety (and a pesky pit bull who insists on flying through window screens to maniacally search for our dearly departed roommate) got in the way.
I thought I needed a “real job” to keep all the nuts and bolts of my complicated existence purring like a top. The only problem was that while my family was able to go to the doctor for every scrape and ailment, thanks to my amazing insurance package, they were suffering daily with the sickness of my discontent.
After this one fateful day of subbing, it dawned on me that my “real job” wasn’t just to put braces on my kids so they could one day have perfect teeth while working at a job they also hated. My only “real job” was to show up as my authentic self so I could model for my children what they needed to do to live their true purpose.
“But I Can’t Just Leave My Day Job” and Other Lies We Tell Ourselves
Listen, people, if you’re yelling at the computer screen, I relate. I told myself for years that I, too, could not just quit my job and go after what I really wanted to do with my life. But honestly, I wasn’t asking the right question. And perhaps you aren’t either. So let me help you out with this million dollar inquiry: If you’re not ready to bolt from your secure but lifeless job, are you at least ready to leave your negative thinking behind so that one day you will have the power to leave?
For me, this last question was a game changer, because subconsciously I was addicted to my victim thinking. “I’m too old.”… “I’m not good enough.”… “My family will be mad at me”… “I need the money.”
The real facts are that I was not lacking talent in writing. I was lacking in faith. Yup, I was missing the divine belief that the shepherd boy possessed in The Alchemist. I was not trusting that something much bigger than my own human plans could work everything out.
What Good Is a Higher Power if You Don’t Trust It?
When I got sober, I had to choose a higher power that was bigger than myself to keep me from downing a bottle of Two Buck Chuck over my daily restlessness, irritability and discontent. This higher power was absolutely vital because, as it turns out, it wasn’t my drinking that was my biggest demon — it was my thinking.
Sobriety encouraged me to accept that my higher power, who I choose to call God, loves me unconditionally. But that sweet emotional froth means nothing if I don’t trust it to work in my life. I had to take the plunge. Like Indiana Jones in the second movie, I had to trust that if I took a leap, something invisible would appear beneath my feet and allow me to not crash to my death.
Did I leave my job Norma Ray style in the arms of a handsome man that looked like a cross between Jamie Fraser and Liam Neeson? I wish. But no. Instead, I made the simple decision to cut down from working five days a week to three. I already had a small writing gig in my pocket, and I trusted that with some time off to breathe I’d get more.
Spirituality Can Be as Simple as Getting off Your Ass
Trust is lovely, but action seals the deal. That very night, fingers trembling, I reached out to Sesame Street. I ignored the lie that told me, “You’re nervous. This is a sign you shouldn’t be doing this, Dumbass.” How many times had I gone out with a man who didn’t wear his pants above his butt cheeks and convinced myself he was Prince Charming? Maybe my mind wasn’t such a good source of help after all. No, this time I would go with my gut where truth lives, not my head where confusion lives.
I told this iconic television show that I had a computer full of songs and scripts. I told them that I had exactly the talent they needed to creatively partner with them for new story ideas and lyrics. I was so proud of myself! (You need a melody and poem to tell kids to not fear the Coronavirus? I’m your gal!)
I excitedly emailed my sponsor to let her know that, despite wanting to puke all over my new chevron gray and white rug, I was finally following her guidance: to take the steps and leave the results up to God.
While I’d love to say that Sesame Street immediately returned my email and I’m now writing award winning songs for Cookie Monster, that did not happen. But something else cool did happen: My sponsor informed me that someone in our group composed music for Sesame Street. “Write him!” she nudged me. So I did.
As it turns out, he was just in a similar place to me: confronting his financial fears and wishing he could go after his real dream of writing. What we had here was a miraculous problem: He was a composer that wanted to write, I was a writer that needed help composing music. We made an appointment to meet the very next day to talk about it. Crazy timing. Was it odd or God?
Since that day I have not only begun a fledgling partnership with a brilliant thinker, I have polished up my resume, landed a few more freelance writing clients and begun working sub jobs only in high schools where kids’ brains are more fully developed than a lump of Trader Joe’s pizza dough. (Plus I don’t need to worry about 8th graders smoking Mary Jane in the middle of a math quiz. Yes, that’s happened.)
“And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”- Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
Have I gotten rid of my real job yet? No. It’s only been two weeks! But to quote one of my favorite songs from Frozen, “For the first time in forever….” I am trusting that what I’ve been gifted to do is not an accident. I don’t have to people please my family, my culture, my parents or even, most importantly of all, myself. I only need to trust that when I lead with my heart, everything else will roll out like a red carpet, ready to have me dance toward my prize of serenity and joy.
Living Your Dreams is Actually Quite Simple
I had been making everything so complicated, and it’s really quite simple: I have a purpose that was planted in my soul. When I go against that purpose, I feel like crap. When I work toward that purpose, I feel good. And not just that: When I run toward my talents with God at my side, doors fly open quicker than the castle gates at Arendelle. I deserve to feel content and satisfied. And friends, you do, too.
God is everything or he is nothing.
Until next time,
My book is available on Amazon. (Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook. )
It’s been a long time since I wrote about Tourette Syndrome. Part of that is because I needed to switch to a new direction for my own mental health. After spending years obsessing about changing my son, and then taking things way too personally in how other people reacted to him (Overly Controlling & Sensitive Mom Behind Door #3!) it became imperative to write about my other passions.
Also my 13-year-old son got tired of his syndrome being written about. If I learned anything from raising a teenage boy, it was to honor his needs, not mine, when it came to writing. And so, I cut the internet cord! (And I didn’t even need anesthesia.)
That said, when Writer of Words posted this article on certain noises driving her crazy I had to chime in. In it she talks about Misophonia.
What Exactly is Misophonia?
Harvard Health Publishing (from Harvard Medical School) describes it as follows: “People with misophonia are affected emotionally by common sounds — usually those made by others, and usually ones that other people don’t pay attention to. The examples above (breathing, yawning, or chewing) create a fight-or-flight response that triggers anger and a desire to escape.“
Audiologists have found that misophonia is an inner ear issue as sufferers have acute hearing. What makes their hearing different than another person with exceptional ears is that unlike a “normal” person, misophoniacs obsess about the sound long after it’s gone. They anticipate when it’s going to come back. And often they cannot sleep for fear of it interrupting their serenity.
Where Does Misophonia Come From
Many folk with OCD deal with this, but it’s not considered a mental health issue. Misophonia hasn’t been researched much, but according to WebMd:
“The age of the onset of this lifelong condition is not known but some people report symptoms between the ages of 9 and 13. Misophonia is more common with girls and comes on quickly, although it doesn’t appear to be related to any one event.”
Symptoms of Misophonia
Anxiety
Irritation
Impulse to run
Anger
Rage
Panic
Fear
Hatred
Despair
Fantasy thinking
For a long time I didn’t know I had this disorder. I just thought I was nuts. My son’s throat clears and grunts would make me insane with anger. I would either rage at him, begging him to channel his sounds a different way, or I would find myself running away.
Escape took many forms: literally leaving the house, not being present when I was with him, over spending and eventually drinking. Sure drinking took the edge off temporarily, but the sounds only felt more excruciating the next morning with a headache. It felt hopeless.
Relief from Misophonia
After giving up drinking, I was thrilled that my 12-step program had relieved so many of my unhealthy escape patterns and reactions. Hypnotherapy and meditation was also a powerful, natural sedative for my overactive brain, but it didn’t relieve all of it.
It wasn’t until someone in my daughter’s friendship circle was diagnosed with misophonia that I realized, “Oh my God, that’s me!” Knowing my out of control reactions to noise stimuli wasn’t my fault changed everything for me. It was reassuring to know I wasn’t just odd or being an intolerant mom. I had an actual condition! Plus it helped to know that many super creative folk, including Franz Kafka, dealt with the condition. Turns out that the very thing that causes misophonia sufferers distress is the same thing that allows them to so sensitively tap into the human condition.
Personally I’ve talked to many folk since my diagnosis and the one thing we’ve all had in common is that we are more triggered when we are stressed out. It was a sick co-dependent vortex in my case, because my son also ticked when he got stressed. His tics made me more ragey due to misophonia, and that made him tic more. Fun times! What next?
After trying a million miracle cures to “fix” my son (from medication and meditation to gluten-free/dairy free diets and more supplements than Frankie Bergstein has joints) I made a decision to stop the madness. Like in a bloody war battle, I had two choices: My relationship with my family could die based on my insane need for control, or I could surrender. I chose the second and my life has been on an upswing ever since.
The Spiritual Side of Misophonia
In relinquishing my need to manage my son’s noises, I began to control my own issues with sounds. As a sober alcoholic I knew only too well what a lack of discipline did to my life. And just like with giving up alcohol, I knew I didn’t have to handle my diagnosis, and my son’s, by myself.
I leaned on my community and family.
I began a spiritual practice.
I brought in amazing self-care.
I gave myself permission to not be a perfect mother.
I reached out to others who were dealing with a diagnosis they could not change. In helping others, I was infused with such purpose and hope. It turns out you really can’t obsess about your own problems while helping someone else navigate their’s. Plus it turns out that the endorphins from assisting others lasted much longer than any temporary relief from noises. And, unlike Misophonia, they brought about so much peace.
There is some serious humor in God pairing a noisy ticker with a sound sensitive mama, but now I wouldn’t change it for a thing. Tourettes and misophonia forced me to give up any preconceived ideas I had about what I needed to be happy. When I was able to surrender, I channeled my misophonia into listening for the blessings in my life instead focusing with laser beam precision on the negatives. Acceptance and transformation of what was once so ominous has brought about far more joy than any quick fix for these syndromes could.
Hope for the Misophonia Sufferer
Any fellow misophonia folk out there… it gets better. And when you’re struggling, feel free to reach out. You might say, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I “hear” ya.
My book is available on Amazon. (Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook. )
(Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook.
I had a conversation in the car today with my 15-year-old daughter that made me want to throw up. It was not unlike one of those carnival rides at the fair that go up, down and then shake you back and forth like James Bond’s famous martini.
This mama was shaken, stirred and ultimately hung over afterwards. But, since I have been physically sober for almost 4 years now, I am strong enough to handle a little emotional hangover also – especially when instead of running from my feelings I allow myself to sit in them instead.
I could go on and on about what my emotions were on the subject, how we sorted it out afterwards, and where we ultimately landed, but I’ll keep it short and simple:
My daughter set a healthy boundary with me.
Because I initially perceived it as a threat, not a boundary (because I couldn’t possibly be wrong, right?) my back went up.
I felt the conversation getting more heated than a hot flash and told her I wanted to shelve the discussion. (Bonus points for me for doing what I should be doing! #notescalatingthecrazy)
When she left the car, I called a friend. And by friend, I mean sponsor, who doesn’t beat around the bush. Lilly: “So you’re upset with your daughter for telling you the truth about something you are uncomfortable with dealing with?” Me: “Um…” What else could I say? She was right.
When Pip got back in the car she immediately apologized. “Mom, I’m sorry. That was a lot of tension. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
To this I said, “No, you should have. Just because I’m not good at telling people directly how I feel all the time doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be. It’s okay. I’m glad you’re safe enough to let me know.”
The End.
Lest I come off like a saint, let me tell you that this was a 15 year process of screwing up, wronging my kids, manipulating the conversation to make me look like the victim or, equally attractive, just plain old co-dependently saying what I thought my kids wanted me to hear so I could come off like a “good mom” only to explode moments before a big event because I was resentful, exhausted and very likely half a bottle into Two Buck Chuck at their highly anticipated Halloween excursion. (Going as Hottest Drunk Mom on the Block? It wasn’t as exciting as it sounds.)
Getting sober taught me to be rigorously honest with myself. Drinking, turns out, wasn’t my problem. It was the thinking that got to me. It was my brain telling me things like, “You just need a fxxxin break” or “You deserve so much more than this drudgery mom nonsense” and, worse of all, “You are RIGHT Andrea.”
When I’m right, it leaves very little room for my kids to have an opinion with their defensive, cranky, I must have it my way mom.
Tonight my daughter set a boundary with me. And it didn’t feel good, because in this case, she was right. I had to change my thought process on something. Ouch. Puke. Why can’t you be 5 and just think I’m amazing… even when I’ve eaten half your Halloween candy and wrapped used stuffed animals for Christmas to save an extra 5 bucks?
But in the end, I’d rather lose my butt than save my face. And seeing my daughter’s face flooded with relief that I was not going to shut her down was worth every second of my ego deflation.
I’m now off to take my son to a group activity he doesn’t want to go to but… Rex and I set a boundary with him and so off he goes.
Subbing, surrender to the God of my understanding and more driving than a New York taxi driver – such is this season of motherhood for me. But it beats drinking and crashing into all my relationships because I’m just not present with my honest, hairy and often uncomfortable truth.
Cheers to you this Friday. Mamas, you are not alone! We’re in this together.
My Strong, Fierce 15 year old Daughter Who Is Teaching Me That Surrender Is Actually Power
My book is available on Amazon. (Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook. )
(Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook.
I don’t know about any of you parents with teens out there, but what I just experienced in the past two hours pretty much sums up my life.
After a long day of subbing which, today, was AMAZING thanks to running into some kids who spent about five years of their childhood at my house, I came home to my busybody daughter.
Pip: “Mom, I have to be at school in a half hour for The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe which Lila is in!”
Me: “Um… okay.”
I proceed to jam more popcorn in my mouth than regrets about the SOTU address and battle traffic to her high school – with the car on empty – praying the whole time I don’t get stuck between the carpool lane and a very annoying Uhaul with the bumper sticker, “Honk if you love Hooters”.
The entire commute there I am treated to her plans for her junior year as well as snippets of various songs from Be More Chill. (It’s a bit racy, but really great. I highly recommend “Michael in the Bathroom” for any post-highschool nerds. You’ll relate.)
This song is A.May.Zing and such emotion!
I suppose I could have delayed the ride over and gone hard ball on the fact that this pot of rice was leftover from last night’s lunch prep:
Do you love our 80’s tile? Me, too. I’ll save you some when we demolish it WHEN MY PILOT SELLS!!!
But I chose to be grateful for the little things. She makes lunches for her papa and me each day. She ran a bit late this morning. Most important in my book, she didn’t argue with me about doing it later, along with tonight’s dinner dishes. #Whocares
I dropped her off (first saying a prayer that no one shows up with a gun which, sadly, goes through my mind these days). Before going straight home I swung into Trader Joe’s for some Half and Half because, now that I don’t drink, apparently it’s just not good for my sobriety to steal into Arco, swipe some “free” Half n’ Half tiny pods and run like a thief in the night toward my 1998 Acura Integra Getaway car.
Rex wasn’t home from work yet but my son was. How do I know? Oh, I’ll show you!
It was even darker inside.
But when I flipped on the light (which most normal people do but teens? not so much) I deduced Stink was home.
If I couldn’t tell from the jackets on the hook (which, now that I look at them they belong to Rex… it’s just he and his son are the same size. GIANT) I would know from this set up:
Who doesn’t want geometry books on their “tableau”
Followed quickly by this set up:
More dishes! Damn it to biscuits!
But in the end, neither child is doing drugs. Neither is having sex. Neither are failing classes. (Well, at least not most of them.) And I got my son to agree to let me post him here.
It’s so important to stay grounded on what isn’t working, because the other stuff… the less than tidy Pinterest perfection. It’s just a lie anyway. At least it is for me. My babies and our relationship will always trump a perfect home.
Though, when MY PILOT SELLS, I’m getting a maid and a house makeover quicker than you can say, “Did Andrea follow through and finish that final paragraph on her pilot today?”
To which I will respond, “Hell yes I did!”
Happy Thursday beautiful people. I can’t wait to catch up tomorrow. And let me know, if you have kids, if you relate to this post at all.
My book is available on Amazon. (Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook. )
(Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook.
I got the call at 6am this morning. “P.E. Van Nuys. Voice instructions are none.”
I’m just getting over a cold, so to be honest, getting my butt out of bed to be on my feet all day with horny stinky middle schoolers did not seem like an attractive option. But getting a small paycheck next month didn’t sound that amazing either, so off I went. (Lucky for me I remembered not to shout, “Get your hands off the balls!” You know, cause that’s always a great way to keep them quiet.)
I have two thoughts about my day. On one hand, it can be disheartening to be doing this job still. I had sort of hoped I’d be working full time as a writer by now. Perhaps in an office or on a set. Or even freelancing from home.
On the other hand, have I finished that website that shows off all my articles that I’ve written? No. Am I almost 50 and going to be competing against a lot of people much younger than me? Yes. And have I applied yet for anything? No.
Hmmmm. There might be a reason I’m still doing this job!
On the other side of the coin, I have hardly been sitting on my bootie. I am almost done with that pilot script. I put a huge stake in the “Am I going to get a Masters and Teach Full Time” dragon. (That would be a negative.) I’m almost done with step 12 in my don’t drink booze program which I’m not allowed to say per one of their traditions. And my marriage is running smoothly which, one only has to read my book to know, was not always the case. (You also could read in between the lines at my GoodHousekeeping.com blog. I was a mess.)
I say all this because there’s a fine line between making excuses and doing one’s best. For me, I needed to make money for my family. I needed to heal. I needed direction from a good sponsor and time with God to break down the constructs of the person I thought I was supposed to be to become the person I was meant to be. Or, better stated, to become the person GOD would have me be.
I’d love to have a sexy title right now, but I’ve learned that my ego is not my amigo. No, the soul always trumps my lust for fain and fortune. I refuse to give up precious holiday and weekend time to plug away for “success” when James and my two favorite “little” people on the planet are growing up right before my very eyes. Stink is 6’6 people. He has whiskers! Pip is my height when she wears her heels.
I’m pretty sure that when they graduate and leave my house for good continue to live with me I’m not going to say, “Oh, Gee, I wish I had not gone to the thriftstores with them over Martin Luther King weekend and eaten overpriced veggie burgers at the hippy dippy market in the barrio.
Follow Your Heart, Canoga Park (Veggie Tacos) Photo From Their Website
No, my life continues to be full of hopes and dreams, disappointments and regrets, but if 49% of me wishes I could have done things differently 51% of me knows that my family will always be the best piece of art I could have created.
Thanks for continuing to be part of the journey.
And, for accountability, I will continue to blog daily here until I start up again at Medium. I will finish my one paragraph – one paragraph people – on my pilot on Thursday. And this weekend I will fire up my old resume website and start building it again so I can apply for full time writing work in April. Next week, with the pilot out of the way, I will get back to my musical. I gotta stay on it but not lose site of the beauty right before my eyes. Anyone else relate?
How About You? What Are Your Plans?
Special shout out to Carol from Brisbane, Australia, who googled me the other day to see how I was. I love it! I have people in my life I didn’t even know I had. That is just about the coolest thing in the world.
Next to my TV show selling.
Until next time,
Andrea
My book is available on Amazon. (Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook. )
(Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook.
Hey, it’s your long lost friend, Andrea. I know I said I wouldn’t be checking in until April, but after the Super Bowl half time show, I have come to the conclusion that women can either be mild and not rock the boat or they can razzle, dazzle and be the best version of themselves regardless of following directions. In my case, I’m not following my own directions, and I’m certainly not going to put on a sparkle g-string, but I can get back into my writing again. So here I go.
What I’ve Been Up To
I am one paragraph away from finishing my pilot. I’ve done 3 rewrites. I love it. My attitude around it is going to be “This is going to sell.” Period. No if’s, and’s or butt’s. I’m turning 50 in two weeks. I don’t have time to waffle anymore.
I’ve also started tinkering with Medium.com. It’s a platform where you pay $5/month as a writer or reader. Depending on how many clicks one gets depends on how much they will get paid. It has over 90 million subscribers, so chances to engage a wider audience is super enticing. So far I’ve made this much.
don’t be jelly
Bad news: I only have to write one trillion more articles to make an additional $100/month.
Good news: A friend of mine who has started making money off this site, plus has written a ton of articles for Huffpo, graciously told me that it’s not my writing but my formatting that needs to be changed to grab the attention of the curators. Once that’s set, the editing team there will more likely pick up my story, promote it, and then I’ll see a higher residual.
Trying New Things! Yay!
I write you this because maybe you’re not a writer. (Though most of you here are!) Maybe you want to get a degree but aren’t sure where to start. I give you my new method.
Just start.
Then doors open.
Action, not thinking, is what gets the job done. Plus staying grounded in God ain’t such a bad idea, either.
And so, very contrary to this thinker/A-personality/don’t make a mistake mama, I’m glad I started writing there. Now that I know what I need to do to fix it, I’ll do that! I will take Jennifer’s advice and just research other articles that have already done well before I post again.
Until then, I’d like to get in the habit of writing daily again on my own site – so here I am!
That leaves me with this – and be honest: Do you think focusing on self-help/transformation is a good idea, or do you see me as someone who is more “all over the place but I read her for her style” kind of writing?
Basically, what compels you to read my writing? Would love to know. I look forward to checking on all of you also. While I’m on break from subbing. And trying not to poke my eyes out with attendance forms.
Leave a comment!
Until next time,
Andrea
My book is available on Amazon. (Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook. )
(Note: It’s a special ed journey… your kid doesn’t need to have Tourettes to relate!) Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on Facebook.
Happily Ticked Off 