Legally Crazy; Walking the Tightrope of Mental Illness

Hello My Dear One,

It's funny, how we can pretend that enormous things are little, while we simultaneously create catastrophes out of details that will be forgotten by tomorrow. It's easier to focus on something we think we can control, rather than on a problem that is far beyond our reach. Think about when the grocery store is out of your specific brand of milk, versus climate change or gun violence.

That's the tightrope that we all walk, I think. And for me, visualizing it as a real tightrope helps me understand the issue better. When we imagine ourselves on the cord we only see the tiny sliver of path under our feet and ignore the large safety net below us. We can't even see the crowds in the stands, but we are acutely aware of their presence and the shame we will feel if they witness us fall off.

When one suffers from mental illness, like I do, that rope can seem to shrink to the width of a toothpick, and it feels like I'm wearing clown shoes. To extend the imagery, the tightrope also appears to rise higher and higher off the ground with every step. Before long, the height is dizzying and my anxiety has risen commensurately with the rope. I don't know if this is what it's like for others with mental illnesses, but it's been my experience over the years.

But as much as the mental illness, in my case Bipolar 1, sucks, there are ways to manage it. The largest one for me is the support net[work] of family, friends, religious community, and healthcare providers that I am surrounded by. Were it not for other people who are safely grounded on the floor I would be at risk for a ton of injuries, both psychological as well as physical.

There is another way that I deal with these things so that the fears and emotions don't send me flying. And that is being able to freely express the ins and outs of my illness in written form. Somehow, it makes it more manageable and less terrifying when I can get the words out of my head and into a more coherent form. I can read my thoughts out loud and hear if they make sense or not. I can see more of the picture, more of that balance beam I'm on.

But it's always in the back of my mind, that the disease can take over at any time, and the balancing act begins anew. And perhaps it's the balancing itself that is the issue, not the rope, or the net, or the crowds, or even my clown shoes. Maybe it's the ability to know how and when to lean into or out of a bobble or a potential fall. Maybe it's knowing how to steady yourself with something less instinctive, such as your feet, rather than grabbing out with both hands in a wild panic. Maybe, it's just being present to the situation and waiting for the feelings of fear to pass. Probably, it's a balance of all of those things.

Each day I'm confronted with the task of balancing the needs of my family with the needs of keeping my mental illness in check. Each day I hope that I have done a decent job and that both parties are satisfied with the end results. Each day I strive to be more balanced than I was the day before. But I am learning to forgive myself when I'm not.

The tightrope act.

I'm also learning to forgive others when their words or actions are delivered not with kindness but out of fear or a need for control. I'm learning to see others' panicky grabs for balance as a reflection of their fears instead of my own. I'm learning how to reach out to be a steadying force, rather than a reactive shove in the opposite direction where both of us are now flying off of the tightrope. And I'm learning to see the tightrope at the height it really is, usually no more than a few inches off of the ground, not 50 feet up in the air.

I will probably never master a smooth and steady walk across the tightrope of my life with mental illness. But perhaps, with the right supports and a steady group of people surrounding me, I'll make it to the other side in one piece.

Thank you for walking this tightrope of a journey with me.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself. 

Ari

Legally Crazy; Transgender Happiness

Hello My Dear One,

Recently, I gave a presentation about transgender healthcare issues as well as my personal story of transition. Largely, I keep things light with plenty of jokes, some slightly self-deprecating humor, and an upbeat attitude. Of course, I take a more serious tone when I talk about suicide attempts, losses, transphobia, harassment, and abuse. I balance the softness of the good with harsher realities of Gender Dysphoria and the process of becoming oneself.

This particular talk was especially fun and I engaged with the audience through comical descriptions of what my life has been and continues to be like. We all laughed quite a bit, and by the end it felt like we had collectively shared a special time together. It was truly fulfilling for me to be able to bring a group of people together and transform their understanding about transgender people through our conversation.

After I've done my storytelling portion of the presentation I open up the discussion to questions. Now, I've been asked every type of question, from biology, to psychology, to theology, and a host of other things I've never thought of. I find that there are certain constants, usually having to do with my children - what do they know/how do they feel/how has this affected them - or with surgical inquiries, or how do I reconcile my faith life with my gender identity? All of these topics have multiple answers, and I respond based on the composition of the audience, the setting, and my own personal level of vulnerability in the situation. Mostly, I stress the positive aspects of each of these and explain how transition has made me the man I am today, not just in presentation but in totality. 

This past time someone asked a question I'd never been asked before, or even consciously considered in recent memory. The preface to the question was particularly meaningful given the past year that I've lived through and my own doubts about my mental state of being.

"You seem like a really happy person. Do you think you would have been just as happy or happier if you had been born as the gender you identify as now?"

Wow. What an amazing thing to think about. And I know it took a few breaths before I answered. But, like me, it is was and is a dualistic response that I gave. "Yes and no," I replied.

Of course, my life would have been significantly easier if I had been born physically male. My sense of self was always as a male person, so it definitely would've helped to have a mind and a body that matched. I wouldn't have suffered from the deep seated sense of betrayal that I felt toward my body, and I might not have tried so hard to hide from the reality in an extra 100 pounds of fat. Dating would've been easier. Fitting in might also have been simpler, but then again, maybe not. I doubt that having a penis would've really increased my popularity, much. So yes, I suspect being happy would have been an easier emotion to access if I had not needed transition.

For the sake of full disclosure, I do have Bipolar 1 Disorder, and that plays with the neurochemistry that affects my emotional wellbeing. But, medications have controlled this for 15 years and my happiness now is dependent upon my outlook and how I respond to life circumstances.

But back to the no answer. Why would I say that needing to transition from female to male made me the "happy person" that I am? There are so many reasons, but the primary one is that I had to struggle through the truth that I could not live any other way than as myself, as a man, as the person I am in the world everyday, or I would have chosen not to live at all. It was the horror of finding myself with only 2 choices - transition or suicide - that built the foundation for the happiness that I have today. It was the process of finding that who I am is right and good. It was the risk of losing all that I loved, my wife, my children, my family, my faith community, everything and instead finding them all stronger and happier as I transformed into this body and this person.

My life now is based in the knowledge that I am a beloved child of G-d. I believe that my transition is a gift from G-d that helps me to have greater love and empathy for everyone else. I feel in my core that I am called to experience this transition as part of my journey to being more fully human, and to more fully knowing the Divine that guides my life. This is the basis for my deepest happiness and for how I live as myself each moment that I have. And I am thankful for each one.

Thank you for being part of the happiness that infuses this part of my journey.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

Ari

Legally Crazy; No Longer by the Water

Hello My Dear One,

I recently went to my old neighborhood to poke around and spend some reflective time on the beach. Yes, my neighborhood was on the beach, and no, it's not as glamorous as you might imagine. Still, the coastline of Maine is immeasurably breathtaking and I will always find a special connection to G-d when I am there.

That said, I had a different experience this time, as I realized that 20 years have passed since I've had a physical address there. It was no longer my home. And the changes that I saw had little to do with the buildings, stores, or license plates, but rather with the eyes that were looking at them.

I am no longer a young child experiencing the wonders and freedoms of a largely untouched stretch of rocks, sand, sea glass, shells, driftwood, and beach roses. I am not standing in the surf, delighted by the salty rush of water across my toes. Nor am I repulsed and frightened by the seaweed that wrapped around my ankles.

I am no longer an elementary schooler riding my bike around and around, passing the roaring waves as I sped alongside the cement retaining walls. I no longer plunge my feet into the cold wet sand or scramble across the giant rocks covered in oceanic detritus, daring to get as close to the sea as possible.

I am no longer a young teen about to start high school and witnessing the beginning of the end of my family. I have now seen my father and his mistress on my sacred space of beach, and how I will always know that betrayal. That breaking of my trust, and that breaking of my physical safety net.

I am no longer a troubled older teen, seeing the world through the beginnings of Bipolar 1, filled with uncontrollable emotions, rushing in the middle of the night to sit on the sand in the dark and cry. I do not walk along the concrete walls, curious what would happen if I fell. Or if I were to simply walk out into the unforgiving ocean and its undertow, if I would become one with the sea itself.

I am no longer a young adult, waiting for a future, somewhere, when I can be myself without fear of who that is.

I am no longer a 23 year old lesbian setting off on an adventure of marriage, an apartment, a budget, college courses, jobs, and a new life in a brand new town. 

I am no longer in my 20's still going home to see family and friends.

I am no longer by the water everyday. I am somewhere else and I am someone else as well.

I am a 43 year old transman, happy in my heterosexual orientation. I am still married to the same wonderful woman, but we will be celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary soon. We are living in the 3rd house we've owned, with our 2 sons, a dog, 2 cats, a budget, jobs, and a comfortable life that is fulfilling in most ways. We are part of a faith family that has and continues to support us, and that is integral to our children's development in all aspects of their lives.

I am a man in all my daily experiences, no longer a hurting being that wanted to die rather than live as who I was.

I am made up of all those past selves, but the sum of who I am now is decidedly greater than the sum of those parts.

The ocean is still the easiest place for me to find G-d. The infinite horizon, the infinite sea, the infinite mystery that is unknowable until we move toward it, only to have the horizon continue on ahead. And I will always return to the water to feel that sacredness and holiness.

But I will go as the man I am, the one I dreamt of being, the husband, father, writer, speaker, teacher, and man of G-d.

I am no longer by the water, but I am still in the presence of G-d.

Thank you for sifting through the sand with me on this part of the journey.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

Ari

View through different eyes.

Legally Crazy; Why I Never Got Ordained

Hello My Dear One,

I have severe mental illness. I know you know that, but sometimes seeing it in black and white makes it less abstract.

I was asked recently which of my mental illness diagnoses (I have more than five) was the one that bothered/affected me the most, and without hesitation I replied "Bipolar 1 Disorder." The person was almost surprised, but I explained that it takes the biggest toll on my psyche. It's unpredictable. It's scary. It takes inordinate amounts of time and effort to keep it under control.

It's the reason, besides being half Jewish, that I never pursued any form of ordained Christian
ministry. I knew that the diagnosis would prevent me from passing the psychological fitness exam. But more importantly, I knew that the disease itself would prevent me from being a stable and safe leader. It's always seemed to me that training doesn't guarantee a profession. And further, my training in seminary was more about my transition as a transgender individual than about the spiritual care of others.

To me, the truest mark of why I didn't go for it was that I didn't take the four final classes. I never took Pastoral Care, Introduction to Worship, Church Field Placement, or Clinical Chaplaincy Placement. Those are the "where the rubber meets the road" courses and I put them off until it was too late to do anything about them. For years I blamed my advisor for doubting my call to ministry and her having me take theological/academic courses instead of pastoral leadership ones in the first years of seminary. But perhaps she saw in me something that I didn't see back then. She knew my mental health history, and she never came to terms with my gender identity and transition, but I don't think that was her only reasoning.

In looking back I think she must have seen the academic in me. The lecturer. The professorial dreams. The desire to learn and synthesize vast amounts of information, knowledge, facts, and theories rather than administrative or daily pastoral care. She herself was an academic nun, and hadn't felt the call to ministering to individuals in a pastoral way. Rather, she taught students for decades about the history and enormous value of Torah, or for her, the Old Testament. Even her History of the Bible course had only one class out of fifteen on the Christian Scriptures. She had a passion for the prophet(s) Isaiah and the writings, that was unparalleled in any of the other professors I had. She also had a thing for photocopied handouts, but that was a separate issue.

Now that I'm more than ten years away from that part of my journey, I can look back with a completely different lens. I used to blame her for so many of my struggles, but in retrospect I understand that ordination was never my path, and those struggles were what propelled me to be the theologian that I am. Though I do not get paid in money for my work or expertise, I do receive "G-d" pay for using my gifts of theological studies.

So, after a sermon I gave recently, I was able to name the fact that I am not a pastor, but I am a preacher. I am one who studies the inner depths of scripture and reports back the message that I feel called to share with others. Most of the time, I do this with young children in a religious education setting. But occasionally I get those opportunities to preach to adults and it is always a wonderful time in my spiritual life.


But none of that means that I wish to be ordained.

No, my love is for the studying itself, and the passing on of the understandings that I've gleaned. My heart is in the individual letters of the texts, right down to the vowel pointing in the original Hebrew writings. I gain my greatest fulfillment in parsing out the hidden ideas and ideals in ancient phrases passed down through an oral tradition and then captured in the markings that can relate them to those who will never hear the tales. I adore the process of entering into a narrative and searching throughout it, attempting to find a way that leads to something greater than just the text itself. That is a gift I wholly enjoy.

Preacher man.

So, I know that I want to keep going with what I do. I want to share my deep and profound love of finding truth and meaning in texts that are thousands of years old. I want to share the history, the words, the images, and the ideas that recount the faith of generations upon generations. And I need to communicate these things in all that I do. I need to commit to my passion. And I need to be present to my call in this direction.

Thank you for being present with me on this part of the journey.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

- Ari