I Want to Crawl Out of My Skin

when how you feel makes no logical sense...until it does

I have been waiting to write until I had something good to say. Something worthy of your time. The problem is that on day three of trying to come up with something, I still have that “things are just not quite right” feeling and I feel squirmy. I feel uncomfortable being me. And, this is reflected in my experience of life lately.

Today, I made a list of things to do. It has been helping to make a list and cross things off it. Somehow, that gives me a sense of purpose and meaning.

Today my list said:

• Practice Spanish Apps, 1 hour

• Spanish lesson with Rogelio, 10am

• Spanish lesson with William, 3pm

• Go for a walk

• Write at Puro Surf

• Do email

• Call Dorie and Janelle about residency paperwork

• Listen to audio track for blogging

It felt good to go into my “Notes” app over the course of the day to highlight and delete things.

Delete, my life has meaning.

Delete, I am doing something.

Delete, look at what I am accomplishing.

Delete, this list thing is really working for me

Delete, this gives me something to focus on other than my feelings

But, the thing is, I am not super good at avoiding my feelings. At least, that is what I like to think. I tell myself there are lots of reasons to enjoy life. And there are. I can’t help but have moments of savoring it. I sat on my porch perched high above the river below on an unfinished wooden beam and looked around. There it was. The beauty of the world right in front of me.

And I wondered, why can’t I feel more happy? Why am I so SQUIRMY?

While at the same time, a part of me was in awe of the beauty in front of me.

I couldn’t get myself to write because I wanted to write something good. I didn’t want to write to you about feeling untethered and uncomfortable in my skin. So I did what I always do. I wrote almost constantly to you, but only in my head.

I wrote about what I saw in front of me this morning, in the sultry, tropical air. I described the river rippling with light. The stars of glitter on the sea. The waves, silky smooth, crashing in front of me. The calm of the early morning and the exquisite green leaves of the almond tree.

I wrote to you about how it is all connected: the beauty, you, and the energy of the divine because I could see and feel it at that moment.

I wrote to you about the time I found the “Grandmother Tree” in Sedona and asked for her to share her wisdom with me. I sat down with my back against her trunk and three and a half hours later I stood up, message received. Most of the time, I just sat there, looking at the desert landscape in front of me with my back against the trunk of the giant tree. Waiting. And eventually, I saw it. The energy. Purple lines of energy connecting all the desert plants in front of me.

I wrote to you about how this only happened once. I wanted you to know that I am not special and that you too, have magical moments. This one took a lot of hunting down a dry riverbed called a wash, asking a tree for some wisdom, and then sitting there with no idea if anything would happen. My black pants got sappy. I had to throw them away and it was worth it, to see those beautiful lines of energy. I wish I could see them all the time and sometimes a blessing is momentary. But I never forgot. And that memory came back to me as I sat looking at the sea, and the soft clouds and river below and wondered why I wasn’t more happy.

Don’t get me wrong. Part of me was actually enjoying life at that moment. It is just also, a part of me was and is a bit squirmy. I imagine this is a sign of growth. There is energy moving. I am doing personal work here, probably more than I know. I imagine often you are too.

It was good to have a moment on my deck to feel that my squirmy state was not all there was.

Breakfast helped too. Breakfast here is amazing. And it is the same thing, day after day. I could get something different and I like what I get. It feels healthy. And yet breakfast too, is becoming squirmy for me. I tried to go somewhere else yesterday. I walked 100 yards to a cafe people love that is only open on the weekends and I looked at the menu, which consisted of two things. They weren’t what I wanted.

So I took my breakfast money and brought a bracelet my friend was selling, with tiny pearls. Even that choice felt like it was too much to handle. There were too many options and I couldn’t feel things the way I usually do. I asked some girls nearby to help me pick. Then, after I bought it, I saw another I liked better. My friend was happy to change it for me. But my effort to find simple clarity in life in general, and even in the simple act of choosing a bracelet, was evading me.

I mentioned my struggle of the last few days to my friend whose name is Mün (pronounced Moon) and she told me everyone she knows has been feeling like this. She attributed it to the phase of the moon, which was funny to me looking back...

Attributing it to anything other than something fundamentally wrong with me felt incredibly kind and soothing. She could have mentioned some aliens flying by last night as the reason for my angst and it would have made me equally happy. Anything was better than feeling that I was suffering and everyone else was doing just fine, thank you very much.

I thought of all the uncertainty in the world and how that was affecting more people than just me. It helped me to feel a little less alone in it all.

I wrote to you in my head about that too. That it is natural to feel uncomfortable sometimes. It is a caterpillar thing. Which made me remember the yellow butterfly I saw, caught in the beak of a crow. Another crow chased the one with the butterfly. I wondered if God was trying to tell me something? I don’t think we are here to simply cross a finish line. This blog is called Becoming a Butterfly. But it doesn’t mean that you become one and you are done. You get to be a butterfly and then you get eaten by a black crow. Especially if you are colorful and yellow. You know. You are bright, beautiful and easy to see. Then you have to start over and go through the whole process again. Caterpillar, cocoon, liquify possibly painfully or at least with a bit of squirmy energy, emerge, dry your wings and pump some fluid into them and then take off. Fly a bit. Maybe lay some eggs after some good butterfly sex and start over again. But the next time you will be different. Bigger. More in touch with you. Even the next version of caterpillar-you will be a little more capable of handling things. You might even be able to relax when you get squirmy.

Anyway, let’s get back to where I left off before I told you about the butterfly thing.

I headed back to my hotel to have the same breakfast again: Desayuno Typico, which means typical breakfast. Except they have made many changes over the weeks to accommodate my preferences. It took time for me to ask for what I wanted, exactly. That is funny isn’t it? It can be hard to simply ask for what you want sometimes without overthinking it. My overthinking was worry that it would be hard for them. It wasn’t. The last upgrade was asking for fresh fruit instead of fried plantains.

For a while, to help me practice my Spanish, they would wait patiently while I practiced asking and they required me to say it in Español. I don’t think they knew that they were a version of God also telling me it is ok to ask for what you want and need. But they were.

I think now they and God decided I know how to say scrambled eggs with vegetables, avocado, beans, fresh fruit, cheese, and juice with no sugar in Spanish acceptably and that it is ok to ask for exactly what I want and need. So all I have to do now is request a Terra Typico. It is nice when people know what you want and to have breakfast made for you, just like when you are a kid and don’t have to worry about breakfast making.

My issue of being tired of my breakfast comes from me, as I keep asking for the same thing. Part of me likes it. It is filling and nourishing. Part of me wants something that I am not getting.

Despite my list and all the things I know I am doing, I feel like I am in a holding pattern. I am waiting to find out if my property purchase works out. I am waiting for the third version of my criminal background check (as version one had mistakes and version two was missing something called an apostille stamp). Ahhh….

I am waiting to expand out of this lovely and small surf town where it feels like everyone is surfing but me. That is because I don’t know if I really want to surf and also because the waves are big and people here are often bloody.

So, that is why “Go for a walk” was on my list today. I needed to do something different and I needed to move.

And, I forgot that it had rained early this morning. So, after I crossed the main highway and tried unsuccessfully to make a joke up for you in my head about chickens doing the same road-crossing thing (because one large mother chicken and six smaller ones crossed the dirt road in front of me), I found myself navigating a road that was becoming more and more muddy. Which also felt a lot like my life lately.

Behind me was a lady in flip flops with a large plastic container balanced on her head and a child walking next to her. There was also a man with a similar plastic container, balanced much more precariously on his shoulder. I have yet to see any men carrying things on their head, so I imagine there is something un-manly about it. I wondered if he would need chiropractic work eventually and I thought about the book I read years ago about posture and healthy spines. It had pictures of women carrying things on their heads and used those pictures to show what healthy posture can be.

I thought they were probably wondering about me too. They were there for a reason. They were doing something. There was no apparent reason for me to be there. I doubt they knew I was trying to manage my squirmy energy.

It wasn’t going well because the mud was deep. It was also sticky. My shoes started to make a squelching noise with each step and I thought about my energy practice with my friend a few days ago and how she had referred to energy as “sticky”. Well, this was sticky and slippery. I thought there was a bridge nearby that I could cross that I hoped would take me to a different, and better road on the other side of the river. This hope kept me moving forward. Kind of like life lately.

I had to watch every step. I walked like a yogi. I walked mindfully. And I thought of you and how sometimes in life, it is necessary to really pay attention. To focus so much on what we are doing in the moment in order to avoid catastrophe. Life can be muddy, sticky, challenging and take everything you’ve got, just to move forward one step at a time.

I am happy to say that I made it to the bridge without falling and the road was better on the other side. I got to look around again and take in the verdant greenery. People here are friendly. I passed an older man. He was repairing a gate with barbed wire and pieces of wood that looked like they came from a nearby tree. His eyes sparkled and the creases on his face moved like lines on a tapestry when he smiled and said, “Hola!” to me. Dogs barked and they weren’t actually threatening. Most of them were sleeping in the shade, taking it easy. Dogs don’t make lists. I don’t think they get squirmy. I imagine if they do, they just bite something. That doesn’t work for me. So I write in my head and try to use my squirminess as creative energy.

I bought a cacao banana smoothie on the way back outside a hostel. There was a man nearby painting a handmade wooden bench. With hand signals and broken Spanish, I asked if he had a hose I could use. My shoes by then, were hard to see under a thick coat of slimy mud. He seemed happy and a little surprised when I rolled the hose back up when I was finished. That touched me. He suggested I might want to stay there. It always feels better when people seem to like me. With my smoothie, a dose of being seen positively, and now wet and squelchy shoes and socks, I made it back to my room to reassess my list.

I deleted “Take a walk”. It was satisfying.

I packed my bag with my computer to head to Puro Surf to write in peace. I didn’t know what I would write to you. I had no brilliant idea, just a hodgepodge of things swirling around in my head. But writing was on my list, my self-imposed deadline of sending you something on Thursday morning was zooming towards me, and I was determined to make the day meaningful. Because something in me is not satisfied with simple presence in the moment and patience.

I mean, I am.

Except for when I am not.

That is how life can be. Moments of connection, grace and flow and moments of mud and squishy uncomfortable energy.

At Puro Surf, I ordered my favorite drink using my Spanish skills, which was super hard despite my three hours of studying Spanish today. It did give me three things to cross off my list though, so I am not complaining.

Then I sat down and opened my computer, ready to relax. But the wifi would not work. They assured me it was fine. I re-entered the password. No luck. I restarted my computer. No luck again.

So I had them put my drink in a to-go cup and left defeated. I figured the universe was trying to tell me something. It was not the time to write. I would have to wait to cross that off.

What it was time for was sunset.

So, I dropped my computer back in my room and headed for a beautiful place to watch the sun drop into the sea.

I thought the peace would help. I could be away from people and just take in the beauty.

Two Australian surfers were there. I liked them. One said she was a doctor. They decided to sit right between me and my view of the setting sun.

I told myself this was ok. My view was fine. There was beauty everywhere to see, why did one tiny bit of sky matter so much to me? And I still was not happy, so I moved off the deck and crawled over rocks that were not very stable until I found a place to sit, peacefully alone, just in time to watch the sun sink into the sea.

I wrote to you some more in my head. I took pictures for you. I wanted you to see that here, somehow, the river and ocean at sunset are silver, like the color of liquid mercury. I wanted you to see the pink in the clouds near the setting sun and the layers of puffy mist and steam traversing the sky in so many shapes and varieties that it felt like too much to take in. The way the color changes when you look away from the sun over your left shoulder just a bit and everything turns into shades of blue and white. The simplicity of that. The simple line of rocks, sea, waves, and azure end-of-the-day sky with white puffy clouds.

I wanted you to see the two dogs playing, and the man sitting in front of me on a rock, watching the setting sun, just like me.

The girl on the giant piece of fallen tree posing for her boyfriend to take pictures of her.

And my iPhone just couldn’t capture that. I thought of how I should get a real camera except I would have to learn how to use it and I hate to carry things. I went ahead and took pictures that were not quite right anyway.

Then three more people saw me and asked for directions to the hotel where I am staying. They said they were all related. One young man in his teens with blond hair, who said he was from Georgia. A dark-skinned Canadian, and an older man from Russia, who only spoke Russian. They started to explain how 70% of people in Russia are not Russian and I asked them to tell me tomorrow. I couldn’t process any more information.

But since I needed to return to where they wanted to go, I got up so they could follow me. They told me their names and I forgot them almost immediately. It makes me cringe and it has always been hard for me to remember names. But one of their names was easy because he expressed it in an unforgettable way. He said his name was the same as mine if I spell my name backwards and start it with an “M”. So, Terra becomes… Marret.

Which brings me to the last uncomfortable thing I can write to you about that maybe has a little bit of meaning: names.

You see, I changed mine ten years ago. I love my name. Terra Brooke. It was easy to change it at the time. I was in the midst of an ass-kicking, life-changing, painful divorce and was going to change my name from my married name anyway. For some reason, I never felt like my given name, and it always felt odd, to not feel like my name. Marret’s words reminded me that as a child, I used to play a game with my friends to say our names backwards. Mine was nasuS. You had to figure out how to spell your name backwards and then how to pronounce the letters the same way as when you said your name normally. It is kind of fun. You are doing it now, aren’t you?

My given name was Susan Brooke Imig. Then it was Susan Brooke Rueth and after my divorce and a grace-filled moment in Sedona when the name, Terra, popped into my head as a possibility, I became Terra Brooke. I also moved from California to Sedona, so everyone I met had never met me so it was very easy to introduce myself with my new name. Plus, my kids surprised me by telling me they thought it was a great idea.

I have never had any regrets and I have felt very much like Terra Brooke suits me.

But recently, yesterday actually, my friend mentioned someone named Susan during our practice call together. We were continuing to explore the energy of saying “No!” and “Yes!” to things that I wrote about last week. She mentioned that someone named Susan had said something challenging to her, so we could explore it and I thought it was strange to hear my old name emerge during our call. She didn’t know I had ever changed it.

And I started to think how much I hadn’t liked my given name, ever.

I think Susan was the name my parents used when I was in trouble. My grandparents called me Susie, which always felt like some kind of hug. But Susan felt harsh and oddly not-me.

Also, recently, I have had some children show up in my dreams and I was thinking about the young Susan-part of me. We all have parts of ourselves. Some are older and more mature. Some are younger. There are even special modalities of psychology to work with such things. But I don’t want to get caught up in psychology as I don’t think that’s necessary.

I just started wondering today, about Susan and me. I think she has some energy. I think she may need a little love, care and acceptance. She may need some boundaries.

I think I can give her those things now. Maybe I can even tell her that her name is Ok and that not everyone is mad at her.

My parents used to take pictures of me when I was younger. In two of them I am unhappy. In one I am crying, red faced and angry, maybe age two or three. In another, I am standing in a metal basket attached to a parachute on a ride at Knott’s Berry farm, terrified, just before the basket drops.

My parents didn’t know any better. I imagine they saw my emotional state and it registered as memorable or interesting.

But for me, I think pushing away Susan, my given name, was my way of saying no to something that felt hard, or in trouble, or angry. And maybe that is a little bit lately of why I feel squirmy. Maybe there is some energy there that I am integrating.

I don’t have to just be Susie that Grandpa and Grandma loved. I can be Susan too, who sometimes, had a pretty hard time navigating life. She felt grown up even when she was young and she didn’t feel right in her skin. Eventually, she changed. Including her name.

Today she is here, squirmy and all and I am with her ready to say no when she needs it and also saying yes to the little being who needs to be seen.

Oh, and Susan didn’t make lists when she was young. But she did get things done. She got almost all straight A’s in school except for one B+ in PE that she will happily enjoy resenting for life. There is an energy in resentment that she is savoring. That’s ok with me. She is smart and she is sassy. She is a survivor and she has a good heart even when she thinks she messed up.

I am glad she is here. With me.

And I am glad we are in this room, with some great music playing, writing. She wrote a story in pink ink about ducks when she was little. That story got lost and she is sad about it. She misses it. But now she is writing stories here with me. Today there were chickens in it.

Do you have some places like that that are maybe, sometimes, a little bit squirmy? Places that need to be seen again, that you can maybe put your arm around, with a little care and kindness for all they went through and for how good they are, really, even if they have been pushed away for a long time?

Maybe finding a “No!” to things, like we did last week, makes a little space for places like that to be here now, with all their gifts and their need to be seen and offered some care and some boundaries.

And I have to say, that the next day, I felt a lot less squirmy.

Here is a video on How to Integrate Your Shadow—The Dark Side is Unrealized Potential that you might find interesting if this resonates for you in some way. It does seem that learning to say, “No!” is part of the process, so if you are doing that and get a bit squirmy, it is a good sign that things are just fine.