Blind Spots

Blind spots are a motherfucker. By definition, we can’t see them. That means we aren’t even aware of them; regardless of our level of self-awareness, or how much work we do on ourselves. We’ve all got them. It’s part of being human.

That’s one reason why community is so important. And by community, I’m talking about your tribe that extends far beyond your immediate or extended family. Your family is sometimes a component of the blind spot itself. So they usually aren’t the ones who can spot them, no matter how close they are to you. In fact, that kind of family closeness can work against you. Being able to see a blind spot requires, amongst other things, the ability to be able to look at your behavior, thinking, and perspective with some objectivity. When it comes to you,  family members tend to be…..less objective than is required.

Let’s use the analogy of a blind spot while you’re driving. If the person is sitting too close to you, they can’t see the blind spot either. It’s the person who’s able to see the road from a different perspective that is able to see that there’s another car occupying the space you can’t see.

That isn’t to say that people close to you can’t see your blind spots. On the contrary. It’s people close to you, who know you well, who love you and care about you, who are invested in your well being; they’re the ones who may be able to see them. But they need a certain distance from the blind spot itself to be able to see it. They have to be able to separate themselves from you and the road you’re on enough to have a wider perspective. Family probably can’t do that, because they're usually part of that road.

The people in my life who can see my blind spots are those close to me who are able to take a step back and look at me with love and some objectivity. They need to be able to back up a little to see whatever behaviors, thinking, or beliefs are raising a red flag. These people include girlfriends, friends, counselors, people I’ve met in treatment, and anybody close to me who is doing their work. 

Ultimately, I have to be able to see the blind spot, or it will remain hidden. Just because someone alerts me to it, doesn’t mean I’ll do anything about it. I have to be ready to hear it. I have to be ready to see it. And then I have to do the work I need to shine some light onto it. 

When are we ready to see a blind spot? From my experience, it happens when we continue down a road that isn’t working, and run into so much pain that we realize that whatever we are doing, or not doing, just isn’t working. Several people very close to me raised the issue that I was possibly abusing substances. I wasn't ready to hear that, because I hadn’t hit my wall yet. Once I did, however, I didn’t waste much time deciding I wanted a different path. 

Pointing out another’s blind spot is risky, often painful. You’re watching somebody who is unaware of something you can see more clearly, and you care deeply about them. You can see that, ultimately, whatever they are pursuing won’t give them what they are looking for, or what they think they’re looking for. It takes courage to bring this to someone’s attention. Courage and awareness. Awareness of self. 

Persistent blind spots are usually attached to old patterns of thinking, behaving, or believing that no longer serve you. Taking my abuse issue as an example, I’ve been a social user of alcohol and drugs for most of my adult life. I’ve gone through spells, like after my father died, where I over did it because I was in so much pain and didn’t know how else to cope. But for the vast majority of time, I didn’t have a problem with them.

Recently, however, things shifted, and I started using them to deal with pain again, instead of for social purposes. Right now, I can’t use because it gets in the way of the work I’m doing. I’ve had to be reminded of that, several times. I’m not sure if I’ll use again. I haven’t figured that part out yet. But I know, for now, use can not co-exist with my healing and my growth. And there’s nothing more important to me than that.

I’m extremely talented at seeing other people’s blind spots. First of all, I've very intuitive, and I'm connected to that intuition. My gut can ring like a fire alarm, and when it does, I pay attention. I've been cultivating self-awareness since I was a teenager; since before I even knew what I was doing. It’s in my nature. I’ve done a lot of this work, starting in my mid twenties, at, of all places, The Boston College Graduate School of Management. Continuing on that path, I’ve done workshops, seminars, retreats of all kinds, individual and group therapy, read books on personal development, written about personal development, and practiced a life of it. And for the past three months, I’ve been doing very intensive work in that area. I’m also a seeker, and a healer. And I care a great deal about the people I’m close to. All of that adds up to somebody who’s acumen about blind spots is well honed. I’ve been told, by laypeople and by professionals alike, that I’m one of the best unprofessional counselors they’ve ever met.

I encourage you to take risks with those you love regarding their blind spots. We need others to help us with them. I have been that person for people I love, and it’s worth it. Be that person for someone else. I am forever grateful for the people in my life who were courageous enough and wise enough to help me see mine.

And I can be one obstinate son of a bitch.

©2017 Clint Piatellii, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

The Frankenstein Mom (MotherLand part 3)

Some of the most fertile ground for growth and healing is an intimate love relationship. Because such relationships bring up all of our deepest, well, everything, if you both love each other like fire, are each committed to personal development, and are both devoted to fully support each other on this journey, a healthy love relationship is a remarkable place, a magnificent gift, for transformation. 

Part of the therapy I’m doing is what I call The Frankenstein Mom Process (that’s not an official term, just my name for it). What I do is, with the help of a therapist, create a mom. And I create this mom from other women who embody the qualities that I would have wanted in my own mother (hence, Frankenstein). For me, these women are my Aunty You-You, my sister Cheryl, my cousin Kym, and my Aunty Barbara. 

Initially, the wall I immediately ran into when asked by the therapist who I think of when I think of being mothered, my heart and mind go right to my recent ex-love (if I was currently with somebody, it would go to her). When asked who I think of when I think of mothering qualities like nurturing, loving, affectionate, tender, attentive, and warm; when asked who I want giving that to me, I think of my most recent ex-love. That’s because I’ve completely sexualized all those qualities. Yes, one more dysfunctional behavior. Stick around. There’s more.

Because I sexualize these qualities, the only woman I want giving me that mothering is the woman I’m in love with, or the most recent woman I was in love with. Now, if you asked any woman I’ve ever been in love with if I was “needy”, and wanted to be mothered, I doubt any of them would describe me that way. That’s because when I was with those women, I’m aware, on a conscious level, that I want them to mother me. But I also know how unattractive that can be. So I bite back on that need, at all costs. I shut it down. Because I don’t want the woman I’m with to see me as weak, needy, or basically, a big pussy. I’m not saying I’m not loving, tender, gentle, and vulnerable with my lover. Because I absolutely am. But needing to be mothered? No way. I don’t want her to ever see that in me.

This is all my stuff, never hers. Part of it is my own male macho ego bullshit. You can call me stupid, unattractive, even old. I don’t react too strongly, because I know I’m none of those. But call a guy a pussy? If he’s got unresolved mother issues like this, it’s a huge trigger. Probably his biggest. Because it goes right to the core wound. And, because of the social context. The worst thing a guy can be called, at least in my mind, in today’s culture, is a “pussy”. That means he can’t take care of himself. That means he can’t take care of his queen. With a woman, I would think calling her ugly or unattractive would hit the same nerve.

The problem is, whenever I bite back on a need, any need, I pull back, I pull away, even just a little. I’m not aware that I’m doing it. It’s just a natural and unavoidable consequence of holding something that deep back. But the need doesn’t go away. It just gets stuffed. And stuffing isn’t good. For me. For her. For the relationship. 

I’ve never been able to fully articulate this until now, which is another reason no woman ever knew that about me. And, because I attach a shitload of toxic shame to this need to be mothered. If I had ever been able to articulate this issue clearly, and drop the shame around it, I would have been able to share it. 

Well I’m doing that now. Most importantly, I’m learning to give it to myself. And, let me tell you, it’s like getting rid of a sack of bricks I’ve been carrying my whole fuckin’ adult life. It’s like sprouting wings.

Sharing this with my lover would be part of healing it (that and me doing whatever work I need). If she loves me enough, is doing her work, and is solid enough, she can handle it. My last love was all of that. But I wasn’t yet in a place where I could open that up. Live and learn.

When you’ve got no memory of your real mother giving this to you, and aren’t yet able to give enough of it to yourself, you end up, eventually, putting that on your lover. Or, just never sharing that. And in the long run, neither options work. Women who had poor fathers and haven’t completely cleared this up do it to their men, too. 

When both partners are aware of this dynamic, are working at it on their own (through whatever methods are effective for them), then the relationship becomes a beautiful place to share this and deal with it, together. And both of you will most likely be dealing with it, to some degree, for the rest of your lives. Because we never get completely rid of this. We heal it enough, and learn how to handle it better. 

That’s a good thing, in my book. Because it’s one more place for the two of you to get real, get vulnerable, share, connect, love each other up, and heal. 

And that, to me, is just fuckin’ beautiful. 

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Leviathan

My recovery from trauma and depression, and all the maladaptive behaviors that go with it, is akin to a deep dive into a black hole. I wasn’t sure what was at the bottom of that hole, but I was willing to jump. Because if I stayed where I was, at the precipice of that dark, cavernous maw, my life wasn’t going to get any better. In fact, it was going to get worse.

So I took a leap of faith. The ride down has been beautiful; also painful, and the most challenging thing I have ever done. I made great progress. I got better. I healed. I inspired people and impacted lives. I kept going, and the deeper I dove, the better I got. 

Recently, I had a breakdown. Like I hit a sharp lip on the way down the hole.

And fuck, does it hurt.

It’s battered me like nothing else has yet. It’s bloodied me something fierce. It’s opened up my deepest wounds; wounds so old, I can’t remember where I got most of them. Wounds that I knew about, but that only bled occasionally. Now I’m hemorrhaging. Now, I have no choice but to heal these wounds. 

I’ve spent most of my adult life either running from, or bandaging, these deep, massive cuts. I, foolishly perhaps, thought they had scarred over enough so that, maybe, they wouldn’t open up so bad again that they would bleed all over my life.

I was wrong. 

Now, I’m up against it. Up against that which I knew, eventually, I would have to face. I’ve opened a wound that I knew I would have to heal.

The core wound is Abandonment. Specifically, early childhood abandonment. And all the other wounds it creates.

In technical terms, it comes under the umbrella of “Developmental Relational Trauma”. It happens early in life and continues to get reenacted. I mention that because, a lot, if not most of us, have this. Some of us have these cuts much deeper than others. Some of us, for a myriad of reasons, aren’t as effected by them. We all develop coping mechanisms; some, more effective than others. In adulthood, this trauma manifests itself most intensely in intimate love relationships, and the way we attach to others in those relationships.

This is my Core Trauma. I thought I had done enough work, picked up enough tools, and enough skill with those tools, to deal with this one more effectively.

Wrong again.

So I have to dive deeper still. Into the very darkest depths of this abyss. I have more diving to do. I’ve got more work, to do. 

I knew I wasn’t at the bottom yet. I just didn’t think I was this far from the bottom. Maybe I’m not. Maybe it just feels that way right now. Doesn’t really matter. Because I’m not stopping, no matter what. 

I could look at this like I’m even more fucked up than I thought. There are moments, I still do. But that sentiment won’t last. Because if there is one thing I have been, through all of this, is tenacious. I’ve faced every fear with a voracity I didn’t know I had. 

I will eventually see the opening of this gash as another amazing gift. I will get through this the way I have gotten through everything else I’ve faced over the past three months. I will come out of this with more healing, more growth, and a higher version of myself. This, just like everything else I’ve faced, will contribute to my being far more free.

But right now, it just fuckin’ hurts.

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved. 

The Fuckin' Good News

I’ve hit a bump in the road. And that bump is me.

A wise man told me that he starts his day by looking in the mirror, pointing at himself, and saying “YOU are the biggest problem you’re gonna face all day”. 

Ain’t that the truth.

Getting smack dab back into the real world has proved more jarring than I anticipated. 

Currently, I'm an absolute raw nerve. That’s not a bad thing. But it's very challenging. Sometimes I don’t know where to put, or what to do with, all the raw emotional energy that seems to be constantly charging through my body like sizzling electric current. I’m still learning to live life from this other side.

Before treatment, there was always an undercurrent of sadness in me, no matter what. Sometimes it was barely perceivable, but I was constantly aware of it, like a stone in my shoe. That’s not there anymore. And that’s a bloody miracle. Another thing that’s stopped are the barrage of negative thoughts and voices that used to constantly race through my head. That’s an even bigger miracle. Both of these miraculous events have me considering petitioning for Sainthood. Yeah. That would fly. 

My heart has always been huge. I’ve always been sensitive. I feel very deeply. And now, there’s so much more space for all of that. Nature abhors a vacuum, so, that space is now filled with even more emotional energy. More feeling. More love. More sensitivity. More everything. I’m still navigating my way through that. Still learning how to manage it. 

That’s truly a great thing. I know it’s improved my writing, not to mention, well, my entire fucking life. Everything feels more vibrant. Everything looks different, tastes different, smells different, feels different. The colors of life are screaming at me, even more than before.  It’s sounds are clearer, louder, more beautiful. As an artist, the potential to translate all of that into my creative endeavors is positively delicious. 

Instead of going directly from my transitional living space in LA back home to Boston with an after care plan in place (which is normal protocol), I went to Phoenix to hang out a bit. Yes I know. Far be it from me to do ANYTHING according to protocol. That maverick approach, however, does not always serve me. As we shall see. 

Before I left Los Angeles, I knew I would be going back there to take care of some business and do at least one more week of treatment. What I didn’t know was what these two weeks in Phoenix would be like. Or what I would be like, when I returned.  

Well, now I know. And there’s Good News. And there’s Bad News. 

Bad News first. I’ve always been a “Bad News First” guy. It suits me. When I boxed in college, I was a pretty damn nasty counter puncher. That means I will take a punch (bad news) to give a punch (good news). I have a good chin, so I could take a hard shot. Then I could nail you with one of mine. The tough part about that approach, however, is that you can get battered and bloodied in the process (you should have seen me after a few of my fights). I’ll get my licks in, but I’ll take some hard knocks to do it.

Being here in Phoenix for two weeks, I’ve taken a step or two backwards. I’ve lost a little bit of ground; slipped into some old maladaptive behaviors. Gotten some blood on my chin. Split my lip. Maybe even broken my nose. For the fifth time (the first four times were literal, not figurative).

The Good News is that none of this negates any of the progress I’ve made, or diminishes any of the work I’ve done. In fact, it clarifies, it reinforces, the shit that I still need to get. Despite the fact that I’ve done nothing short of change my life, I’ve still got a lot to learn. I will always still have a lot to learn. That’s My Life Path. Even though I’ve come home to myself, I’m still getting used to the place. It’s a big house. Actually, it’s a freakin’ mansion. 

And, I still have be on top of my ego. Literally. There’s a BDSM term, “Topping From The Bottom”. It means that, in sexual role playing power exchange scenarios, the person who is submissive, the “bottom”, is still trying to control, or “top”, the scene. Usually because they have serious control issues, and can’t let someone else take the reins, even when they have agreed to it. That’s kinda like My Ego. He’s a total control freak. And He thinks he knows everything. He does not. Arrogant Motherfucker. 

The process of recovery from mood disorder, from anything, is not a linear one. It’s bumpy, messy, beautiful, really. I have seen, I have experienced, so many people I love, change through this process. It fills my heart. I have been a part of their journey, and they have been a part of mine. We have become intertwined in a way that nobody who has not been through it will ever truly get. Nonetheless, we will share our story. Because sharing our story makes this planet a better one. Sharing the magic we’ve been through can help the lives of everyone who listens, so much better.

And that’s the Fuckin’ Good News. 

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights (both top and bottom) reserved.

Balanced Motorcycle CD Mind Love

Balance. How do we get it? How do we maintain it? Is there such a thing as “too much balance”, where our steadiness can be an indication that we aren’t taking enough risks? 

Actually, as I write this, I’m figuring it out. Maybe my frame of context is wrong. If I use balance metaphorically, say, as in riding a motorcycle, then it helps translate the term of “balance” into the nuts and bolts of life much more concretely than the abstract concept I’ve been writing about. This is one of the most beautiful things about writing; I actually come to new insights and connections about what I’m writing, precisely because I’m writing about them. Figuring it out on the fly. Kind of like riding a motorcycle. And speaking of motorcycles….

Balance on a motorcycle is critical. If you lose your balance riding on one of those bad boys, you can crash. And that can be mildly or tragically disastrous. If I look at my life like riding a motorcycle, it makes sense. Sometimes, I see balance as a rather staid, prosaic, even downright boring, concept. But that sort of thinking needs to be examined. Because it is potentially indicative of something I learned about in treatment called a “Cognitive Distortion”.

We all have Cognitive Distortions. It’s a function of humanity. Some of us have more than others. Those ‘some of us’ usually end up in treatment, recovery, or the halls of 12 Step Programs. No matter. Nobody is free from Cognitive Distortions, or “CD’s,” as I call them. And we can all get a better handle on them.

Cognitive Distortions are exactly what they sound like: thinking gone awry. Maybe I’ll do a whole piece on it, but for right now, as it relates to “Balance” (oh yeah, remember that?), let’s just say that I need to be aware of how my mind is working. Because when I do that, and only when I do that, can I direct it. Only then can I direct my mind and allow it to work for me, as opposed to against me. And that’s very important; I learned just how important over the past three and a half months. 

Those of us who are big, heavy, deep thinkers, we have a wonderful mind. A beautiful mind. When I sit down to talk to you, look into your eyes, and off we go, part of what I love about you, part of what you’re showing me, is that beautiful mind. And part of what I’m showing you is mine. I don’t ever want to lose that. I don’t ever want to discount that. Your mind, my mind, is indeed, beautiful. And, Our Minds, are, like, well, many things. Our Minds are like Fire: because fire can cook our food or cook ourselves. Our Minds are like weapons: in the right hands, they can serve us; in the wrong hands, they can destroy us. Our Minds can be like bad neighborhoods: Don’t go there alone. The Mind, like Money, is a wonderful servant and a poor master.

Jesus, there I go again. Off on another fuckin’ tangent. Part of my process. I’ve gone from “Balance”, to “Motorcycles” to “Cognitive Distortions” to analogies between “The Mind” and “Weapons Of Mass Destruction”. See, THIS is exactly how MY mind works. This is exactly why I have no idea what to call this post. This is exactly why I have a writing coach who keeps me focused.

Which, TA-DAH!, leads me back to “Balance”. And as it relates to one of my favorite topics, Love.

When I am with a woman who is Grounded, Centered, and Balanced, she’s really good for me. And I’m really good for her. Because I am a constant reminder that she needs to fly. I am, in fact, The Gold Standard Poster Boy of Flight. Which is precisely why I need a woman who has her pretty little feet (that I constantly touch, kiss, and pay attention to), on the ground. Ultimately, in our mutual respective unbalancedness, we balance each other.

It’s times like this when I fall in love with writing all over again. 

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.