The Three Children

The following is a story I wrote over twenty years ago, as a way to understand multiple covenant theory (that there is more than one divine covenant with humanity). I'm guided to share this here, now.

This is a story about a Mother with many children. The Mother, like mothers who came after, had difficulty getting Her children to behave. Sometimes the children would disobey and get hurt; other times they would hurt each other. Distraught by the pain which they so unnecessarily endured, the Mother decided to make a contract with Her children.

Like all mothers that came after, She began by explaining, "I love you and I don't want to see you get hurt; besides, we are running out of Band-Aids. You are old enough now to take on some responsibility around the Home, so..." and She outlined the contract. The Mother would protect them against harm, make sure that their needs were met, and provide a special dessert after dinner every Friday. In return, the children would respect one another, treat new kids on the block with kindness, keep themselves clean, and wash their hands before dinner without being reminded.

All the children protested and wanted to know why things must change. But the Mother knew the children were not yet old enough to understand why, and so, like mothers who came after, explained with, "Because I'm your Mother."

A few of the oldest children, led by Her first-born, accepted the terms of the contract. They had experienced enough of the Mother's stern lectures that they knew when to stop arguing and do as they were told. Not that this was easy for these children, for to this day one can hear the occasional "But Mo-om!" echoing throughout their Home.

The younger children, however, had a more difficult time with this contract, and the Mother realized that She had not made this contract accessible to all Her children. So, after thinking about it for a while, the Mother came up with an idea. She gathered her younger children around Her and said, "I love you and I don't want to see you get hurt. I know that the contract I made with my oldest children doesn't allow for some of your needs and the differences in how you learn. So I am going to ask one of my oldest children to teach you by example."

The Mother then went to Her oldest children, a few of whom were in the middle of a game of Monopoly. Several of those children were arguing over the payment of a Community Chest card when another knocked the board over and said, "Come on, you guys, this isn't about money; we're supposed to be having fun and playing by the rules. Mom wouldn't like it if she saw us fighting." Another group of the oldest children were reading books to each other in a corner, looked up briefly at the interchange, and cautioned the outspoken one, "Shhh! You'll get us in trouble."

The Mother watched all this with a mixture of concern and amusement. Then She pretended to have just arrived and said, "I need a volunteer to teach the younger children how to behave and what I expect from them."

The oldest children looked at each other and then back at the Mother. "Can't we teach them as a group?" some asked. But the Mother knew the younger children would learn best from an individual, and explained as much. "Well, how about him?" the children in the corner said, indicating the outspoken one at the Monopoly game. "He likes talking to us about the rules."

The Mother looked at the outspoken one, who said, "Okay. I'll do it." And so, the Mother explained that there would be a different kind of contract, and She would use the input of this one child to adapt the terms to the needs of the younger children. She also cautioned him to be careful, because his new status could bring about both great praise and great pain from those around him. The outspoken one nodded and said, "Whatever it takes."

The younger children learned well from him, and the contract was adapted to their specific needs. But the youngest children still had a difficult time, and the Mother realized that their needs had not been met by either contract. And so She thought for a while and came up with another idea. She gathered her youngest children around Her and said, "I love you and I don't want to see you get hurt. I know that the other two contracts I made don't allow for all of your needs, and while you have learned some from the the others, I think you need someone else to teach you, to whom you can relate better."

The Mother then went to one of several of her oldest children who had never accepted the first contract. They were busy playing around the sandbox, building elaborate castles and then enacting a variation of capture the flag. She called one child aside, and said, "I want you to teach my youngest children how to behave and what I expect from them. I have watched you playing with your brothers and sisters, writing your stories, dreaming your dreams. I believe my youngest children will relate best to you. I will teach you anything you don't already know, particular to my youngest children's needs."

And so, the one child taught the youngest children, and they learned well from him.

Are there children who accepted none of the three contracts? Of course. Some insist on being rebellious, some have only recently been born and are too young to be accepting such responsibility, and many others—like the Children who were often seen camping and taking nature walks—have made other contracts. But that is for another story, another day.


Copyright © 1997 by Sheyna Galyan

Balance

Sometimes labels are helpful. I have two new ones to add to my collection: post-exertional malaise and orthostatic intolerance.

Post-exertional malaise: the crash that happens after every physically or emotionally intense event. This seems to be particularly strong after emotional intensity more than physical intensity. Orthostatic intolerance: dizziness, lightheadedness, seeing stars, nausea, and/or fainting caused by standing or being upright for too long, or from physical exertion.

I'm seeing the patterns more clearly now. It goes like this:

• I know I have a Big Event coming up (convention, book event, intensive, workshop, trip, etc.)
   
• In order to prepare for it and not have a flare, I am careful about how/where/when I expend my energy. To me, it feels like "taking it easy" in comparison to my "normal" life
   
• I feel great for the Big Event. I have the energy I need, and am able to make choices even during the Big Event, staying aware of my energy and pain levels, sometimes intentionally choosing downtime over going out to do more
   
• I arrive back home, and within 24-48 hours, I am EXHAUSTED. Bone-deep exhaustion. Can't-stay-awake exhaustion. Sleep doesn't help. It doesn't matter how much downtime I opted for during the Big Event. I have no real choice but to sleep as much as 20 out of every 24 hours.
   
• Exhaustion and dizziness continue for several days. Even sitting up is too exhausting. Back support is essential.
   
• Depression and anxiety rear their heads. It comes on quickly. I no longer remember what it feels like to be in alignment with love and joy and gratitude. It is all I can do to stave off urges to self-harm and thoughts of suicide. It's easy to believe that no one remembers me, much less cares.
   
• In an attempt to not isolate, which I know exacerbates the self-harm tendencies, I reach out to safe people. But I immediately regret saying anything, and resolve to keep my feelings and thoughts to myself until I'm better
   
• Then the pain hits. Often starting in my hands and feet, it quickly moves into arms, shoulders, legs, hips, back, neck. Headaches become commonplace. I'm sensitive to light and sound. I cannot focus or track well.
   
• The pain continues for several days
   
• At some point, I catch glimpses of that joy and love and gratitude again. I remember I am not alone. I remember that I am loved.
   
• After as much as a week, I am able to leave my bedroom again, though I'm often trembling and unsteady. Dizziness continues when I'm standing or upright. It's not yet safe to drive.
   
• Then, as quickly as it came, it's gone. I feel back to "normal." I continue with my life until a week or two before the next Big Event, at which point I switch to "take it easy" mode to hopefully offset any flare right before the trip.

And therein lies the problem.

Both post-exertional malaise (PEM) and orthostatic intolerance (OI) are common with fibromyalgia. They're also key components of myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME), formerly known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrom (CFS). It's not uncommon for people with fibromyalgia to also have ME. Neither has any cure, but symptoms can be managed.

The management for PEM? Doing that "take it easy" self-care ALL THE TIME. Not just in the two weeks before a Big Event.

I don't need to skip the Big Events. In fact, I've had a higher percentage of pain-free days when I have numerous Big Events than I do when I'm playing small.

It's about pacing. Balance. Harmony.

I recently learned that my parents were wrong: I'm neither shy nor an introvert. The real me was buried under layers of PTSD-induced social anxiety and fear of rejection. I'm extremely sensitive to energy, and I'm energized by being with another person or small groups. (Large crowds to tend to tire me out.) My Big Events nearly always involve lots of small groups and one-on-one time. It's no wonder I love it!

Even as I step into my dream of helping people connect with their guides, that also needs a balance. Solitude. Writing. Meditation.

In 2016, just a few months after I discovered Supernatural, but before I knew anything about the cast, I went through one of these times. At the time, I just thought it was a depression, with a side of exhaustion and pain. Now I think it was one of these flares. But that was the first time I thought about it in a different way.

I called it molting, and I wrote about it here: http://booksandbeliefs.blogspot.com/2016/10/wings.html

I wrote, "Something about this metaphor gave me hope. That maybe this was a natural process, and my responsibility is to make sure I have a safe "molt." That I eat enough to sustain my energy. That I rest as needed. That I take the time I need to be alone. That I accept I will be out of sorts and off my game. That I recognize that for this period of time, my freedom will be curtailed, my beauty in flux, my compassion needing to be more self-compassion, and my strength sorely tested. During this time, I'll feel unable to fly, helplessly grounded, but appreciating that freedom even more when I get it back."

In the fibro/ME communities, this pattern is called "push/crash." I've already made considerable progress moving away from pushing, but I may have more to do. My changes to my way of eating have helped a great deal, and I can see where I can shift my perspective more into balance and pace myself accordingly. I may not be able to avoid the molt, but I may diminish its frequency or severity.

And if you also are struggling with this sort of pattern, I hope this helps you feel not so alone or misunderstood.

P.S.: this post is for educational purposes only. I am not looking for advice, treatment, referrals, supplements, or any other solutions. I am sure it comes from a place of love and you not wanting me (or anyone else) to hurt, but I'm still not interested. Thank you for respecting this boundary.