Archives: Dying To Be Me

I don’t remember how exactly I came across Anita Moorjani’s book, Dying to Be Me: My Journey from Cancer, to Near Death, to True Healing.* It was touted as the extraordinary story of Moorjani’s near-death experience and her remarkable recovery from terminal lymphoma. Among her many admirers are Dr. Wayne Dyer, the noted author and spiritual teacher, who wrote the Foreword to the book. 

I was intrigued, and I was surprised at how quickly Moorjani’s book captured my interest. Expecting a somewhat sensational story, I was rather surprised as the author, in prose that was fluid and captivating, proceeded to tell a story that could easily be dull and lifeless, but which she crafts as very readable, even compelling. Born in Singapore to Indian Hindu parents who shortly thereafter moved to Hong Kong where she grew up, Moorjani describes what it was like to be raised in an upper-middle-class Hindu household in a Chinese city heavily influenced by Christian westerners.  

Upon entering school, Anita was confronted with the confusing intersection of the various worlds in which she lived.  Her parents first sent her to a Catholic school that was attended primarily by children of foreign nationals. Here, she was told she wouldn’t “go to heaven” unless she converted to Catholicism.

This challenge to Moorjani’s identity caused her considerable angst, and her parents eventually transferred her to another school. While secular in nature, the atmosphere of this school, which also catered to foreign nationals, challenged Anita’s identity as an Indian Hindu girl. She wasn’t like her Caucasian Euro-North American schoolmates, nor was she a part of the Chinese majority, and as she matured, she came to feel increasingly uncomfortable and out of place in her own Indian Hindu community.  

As a result, Moorjani found that she was constantly criticizing herself for not fitting in, not being good enough.  “In fact,” she wrote, “I regretted everything about myself.” “Why am I always apologizing,” she asked herself.  “Why do I have to apologize just for being me? I just couldn’t understand what was wrong with me.” 

This deep-seated feeling of self-rejection, low self-worth and internal conflict was one of two major themes of Moorjani’s life that served as backdrops to the story of her near-death experience. The other was her fear of cancer. As several young friends of hers contracted various cancers, she embarked on a quest to learn about and, if possible, prevent cancer.  

Anita’s efforts, however, only heightened her fears. “The more I read about the disease,” she wrote, “the more I was afraid of everything that could potentially cause it. I started to believe that everything created cancer—pesticides, microwaves, preservatives, genetically modified foods, sunshine, air pollution, plastic food containers, mobile phones, and so on. This progressed until eventually, I started to fear life itself.”

Meanwhile, Moorjani met and eventually married an Indian man who had, like her, forged a path in the world that broke the bounds of the expectations set by their culture. Life was very good for them as they each pursued promising careers and looked forward to the time when they could start a family.  

Their world, however, changed irrevocably the day that Anita was diagnosed with Stage 2A lymphoma. What she had feared most in life had come to her, was within her. Moorjani thereafter describes her “fight” with cancer, her refusal to subject herself to chemotherapy, and her attempts at various types of “alternative” treatments, including traditional Indian and Chinese medicine – all to no avail.

Eventually, Anita ends up in a hospital in a coma, the end near. This is when she begins the account of her near-death experience. Her story is fascinating and compelling, but the key messages that she took away from that experience relate to the two primary backdrops to the experience:  her long-standing ambivalence towards her own self-worth and her fear of life cancer which had caused her to fear life itself. Of the former, she wrote:

“I [came to understand] that I owed it to myself, to everyone I met, and to life itself to always be an expression of my own unique essence. Trying to be anything or anyone else didn’t make me better—it just deprived me of my true self! It kept others from experiencing me for who I am, and it deprived me of interacting authentically with them. Being inauthentic also deprives the universe of who I came here to be and what I came here to express ...  

"Why, oh why, have I always been so harsh with myself? Why was I always beating myself up? Why was I always forsaking myself? Why did I never stand up for myself and show the world the beauty of my own soul? Why was I always suppressing my own intelligence and creativity to please others? … Why have I violated myself by always needing to seek approval from others just to be myself? Why haven’t I followed my own beautiful heart and spoken my own truth? … I deserved to be loved simply because I existed, nothing more and nothing less. This was a rather surprising realization for me, because I’d always thought I needed to work at being lovable. I believed that I somehow had to be deserving and worthy of being cared for, so it was incredible to realize this wasn’t the case. I’m loved unconditionally, for no other reason than simply because I exist.”

As to her cancer and the cause of it, Anita concluded:

“I also [came to understand] that the cancer was not some punishment for anything I’d done wrong, nor was I experiencing negative karma [as taught by her family’s religion] as a result of any of my actions, as I’d previously believed. It was as though every moment held infinite possibilities, and where I was at that point in time was a culmination of every decision, every choice, and every thought of my entire life. My many fears and my great power had manifested as this disease … [It] was then that I understood that my body is only a reflection of my internal state. If my inner self were aware of its greatness and connection with All-that-is, my body would soon reflect that and heal rapidly."

This is in fact what happened. Against all odds, Moorjani revived and began to dramatically heal, eventually being certified as cancer-free. She has since dedicated her life to sharing what she learned from her experience.

I found Anita Moojani’s story to be well-written, compelling, enlightening and challenging. And inspiring. Like Anita herself, her account of what she learned during her near-death experience moves beyond the confines of tradition, culture and religion and offers fascinating insights into the mysteries of health, sickness and human existence. 

* This post was originally published a little over a year ago on one of my blogs that is now closed.

Should-ism

"Have good trust in yourself, not in the One that you think you should be, 

but in the One that you are."

~ Taizan Maezumi, Zen Master

For most of my life, I have been enmeshed in what I call "should-ism." Who and what I am was not good enough. If that sounds whiney, I hasten to add that the person who most persistently told me I'm not good enough was myself. Of course, it was a learned behavior; but I learned it very well. And I know I'm not alone in this regard.

I got annoyed with myself the other day because I became annoyed at a situation, upon which annoyance my ego feasted for several hours. My inner critic went into hyper-drive and told me, "You shouldn't be that way. You should be this way."

And that's when I decided I'd had it. I decided to sit down and write in my journal about what had happened, and I learned a few things.

First, I realized how strongly "should-ism" permeates my life. I should be this. I should be that. I shouldn't be this; I shouldn't do that. 

Second, "should-ism" is totally other, i.e., it directs my attention outside myself (i) because what's inside myself is not good enough, and (ii) therefore I have to look to other beliefs and persons in order to be better.

Third, I realized I'm afraid to let "should-ism" go. I realized I am afraid of the void that my ego tells me would be created if I sent Shouldism packing. 

Shouldism is like a stern, disapproving school marm who is constantly correcting, telling me who I am, telling me when I do wrong, never praising me, always telling me I could do better, telling me I am nothing without her, that I am her, that I can't live without her saving me from myself. 

I realized I have been afraid to tell her that she needs to go. I am afraid to confront her for what she has done to me. This has been my normal, and - I mused - she is the only person who loves me, and I can only feel self-love through her.

What, my ego tells me, will happen if I tell her to go, or if I simply leave her classroom? All these "shoulds" have been my identity, have given me my sense of self-worth as I have fulfilled my shoulds (and my should nots). There is the fear that I will be nothing without Shouldism.

As I have typed this and looked at the words I wrote in my journal the other day, I have had other realizations (which is one of the reasons I blog) that are too personal to share here. Suffice it to say that it became clear to me that the school marm has taken on various personifications throughout my life ...

So what, I asked myself, am I going to do about this? First, recognize Shouldism's presence and be conscious of her influence. Second, work at having trust in myself, not in the person my ego thinks I should be. Third, confront - and, hopefully, eventually overcome - the fear of being alone with myself as I banish Shouldism from my life, resting in the belief that I am good enough.

I realize this probably will sound like absolute gibberish to some people (perhaps most) who may read this post. But that's okay. This is for me.

"Trust in myself with all mine heart and lean not upon the ego's

 or others' understanding. In all my ways believe in myself, 

and my path shall open before me."

Thank You, Judge Shelby

Not for the first time this weekend, I cried last night at the sheer wonder of what has happened in Utah since Friday. 

Like hundreds of thousands of other gay men, I grew up in a time when a realization that one was gay - that one was queer, a homo, a faggot - was in most cases a death knell to the blossoming of one's individuality, one's personhood. This mental illness - for such it was considered until 1973 - was to be suppressed at all costs. 

One learned to hate oneself. Growing up in a religious environment, one also learned that, while others merited God's love, I - and others like me - did not. No matter how hard one tried to believe otherwise, the tides of self-hatred were too strong. Repress. Suppress. Carry on. 

Perhaps there would be some way to redeem myself. I thought I had found the path out of "homo hell" when I converted to the Mormon faith as a young man and embarked upon the "way of happiness." I married. I raised children. I loved to the best of my ability. But as the song, "Blessing" states, every day a bit of me died. I could not redeem what could not be redeemed. Nor, as it turned out, could God ... because even He cannot redeem what needs no redemption.

A little over three years ago, I came out of the closet amidst the death throws of my marriage. Two years ago, I met a man with whom I fell deeply in love. Today, I share my life and my family with him. We had a commitment ceremony in August and plan to marry in the spring.

But with all that has happened this past three years, with all the growth I have experienced, with all the self-hatred that has been rooted out and replaced with the seeds of self-love, I wasn't prepared for what has happened these past few days. For the first time in my life, a federal court in my own jurisdiction has ruled, in essence, that who I am as a gay man is inherently part of who I am and that I have rights - as a gay man - that are worthy of protection by the government of the United States of America.

I wonder, Judge Shelby, if you realize what your ruling really means to me and to people like me. Yes, we can now marry our loved one in our own state. But your ruling goes far beyond marriage. It fundamentally affirms who I am as a gay citizen of my country, my state and my community. And for that, I am grateful beyond words to express.

Thank you, Judge Shelby. Merry Christmas.

"Rather than protecting or supporting the families of opposite-sex couples, Amendment 3 perpetuates inequality by holding that the families and relationships of same-sex couples are not now, nor ever will be, worthy of recognition ... [T]he Constitution protects the Plaintiffs’ fundamental rights, which include the right to marry and the right to have that marriage recognized by their government. These rights would be meaningless if the Constitution did not also prevent the government from interfering with the intensely personal choices an individual makes when that person decides to make a solemn commitment to another human being. The Constitution therefore protects the choice of one’s partner for all citizens, regardless of their sexual identity."

Skewed Memory

Mark took this picture Friday night as we left Big Beach

One of the many highlights of our commitment ceremony weekend was the opportunity I had to see and visit with two of my college fraternity brothers, Russ and Bill, who journeyed from Chicago for the event. I hadn't seen them in 27 years. We have exchanged Christmas cards over the years, but that was about the extent of our communication. Yet, they came out to support me on my special weekend, and I love them for that.

Bill and I

The three of us didn't have much of an opportunity to talk on Saturday night, which I knew would be the case; that is why I arranged for us to have brunch together on Sunday morning. Nevertheless, Russ had had an opportunity to tell a few stories the night of the ceremony - such as the time I and others swam in our underwear in the pool at the country club where his wedding reception was held. I vaguely remembered the incident, but not in the detail that he did (no doubt because he was more sober than I was that night).

The next morning, however, Russ had lots of stories to tell about our college days. As I sat and listened and repeatedly answered "no" when he asked me if I "remember[ed] the time ..." - I gradually realized that it felt to me as if he was describing a different person, not me.

Mark's picture of West Maui from Little Beach 

Russ described, for example, how I had had a marked influence on his life during his college years, how I had encouraged him to look at life more deeply, how I had taken him along to various churches, how I had been an example of a seeker to him. The previous night, he had reminded me that I had given him, 35 years ago, a copy of Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet and had encouraged him to read it. He had done so, he said, numerous times. He had then in later years passed it on to his son, who had read it many times.

Russ talking to some friends at our wedding

I had no recollection of giving Russ that book. Again, I felt like he was describing a different person to me. As I thought about this experience of visiting with Bill and Russ, I came to several important realizations. First, I realized that memory must be fed or it dies. I hadn't seen those guys for 27 years and hadn't really talked to them for more like 30 years. Whereas they have lived in the same areas their whole lives and have kept up relationships with fraternity brothers, I have not. I have not been around any of my fraternity brothers for 33 years, and because of this, I have lost my memories of my college years - or most of them.

Another of Mark's pictures taken on the beach on Friday

The second lesson I learned is that this lack of memory - of my own memories - has skewed how I saw myself during those years. Contrary to Russ' description of myself as a spiritual seeker, in my memory I had tended to view myself as shallow and fake during those years. Part of this was no doubt attributable to the increasing need to hide my sexuality (because it was being more challenged as I grew older). And part of the skewing was caused by my subsequent baptism into the LDS Church and a need I felt to leave all that behind.

The main point, however, is that I realized that I had constructed my own story of myself from my college days and it was a story that was tinged with self-hatred, not self-love. And that story had affected me up to this day. Just as similar stories from my childhood and my youth have affected me and have skewed how I look at myself and at life.

Why is this relevant? Well, for me, coming to these realizations has taught me that I'm not necessarily the person I've told myself for the last 30 years that I am. I'm a "better," kinder, more enlightened being that I have told myself I am. And when my more enlightened 54-year-old self reaches back and tells its younger version that he was ok, that he was even beautiful, it feels as though I am releasing an energy blockage that helps me to heal and move on as a more whole person.

Thank you, Russ and Bill, for bringing these lessons into my life.

On Self-Hatred

I originally published the following post a year ago on another blog.

It is difficult to explain what it feels like to hate oneself because one is gay, because it represents the antithesis of everything one is "supposed" to believe in, because one is taught that it must be crushed out of existence as something that is evil.

The other day, however, I read a passage from a book that my therapist had recommended to me, entitled Loving Kindness, by Sharon Salzberg, that I found nothing short of revelatory.  She was describing certain philosophical systems that existed in the Buddha's time, in which it was believed that if the body was tortured enough, abused enough, the spirit would soar free and be liberated.  Commenting on this belief system, Salzberg wrote these words:

"Spirituality based on self-hatred can never sustain itself.

Generosity coming from self-hatred becomes martyrdom.

Morality born of self-hatred becomes rigid repression.

Love for others without the foundation of love for ourselves

becomes a loss of boundaries, codependency, 

and a painful and fruitless search for intimacy."

I felt as though she was describing my life.  The passage took my breath away.

Spirituality based on self-hatred can never sustain itself.

My spirituality was in large part based on self-hatred. My membership in the LDS Church was based, ultimately, on the premise that it was true, and its teachings taught that homosexuality was wrong and sinful, something that was sent to try and test men and women who were unfortunate enough to be born with "those tendencies."  

I tried, unsuccessfully, to defeat this demon within me. The self-hatred that was a legacy of abuse I endured as child was reinforced twenty times over by the belief that there was something wrong with me, something that I was told could be overcome if I just tried hard enough. But - like thousands of other Mormon men and women who "struggled" with "same-sex attraction," particularly those who came of age before the Church's recent softening of its stance toward homosexuality - this was a war that could not be won. Each lost battle demoralized and reinforced the self-hatred that simmered within me. I also tried in numerous ways to "redeem" myself.  But, like an addiction, these efforts ultimately proved vacuous.  

Generosity coming from self-hatred becomes martyrdom.

One gives and gives and works and works, thinking that in so doing, one will acquire love.  But, again like an addiction, that need is constantly there, but never satisfied. One constantly looks outside oneself because, of course, one cannot look within because of the self-loathing that slithers like a snake in one's ego.  

Morality born of self-hatred becomes rigid repression.

There are "macro" and "micro" applications of this principle, which is true if anything ever was. Christianity at its worst teaches its believers that they must first hate themselves and recognize their need for a redeemer who, only, will save them from their wretched state.  Too often forgotten is the biblical verse that states that "we love Him because He first loved us."

Any gay Mormon knows all about rigid repression, having been taught this from the cradle. Apostles and prophets of the Church have, until very recently, taught that any feelings of same-sex attraction that one experiences must be repressed. But how does one repress who one is without suffering intense psychological damage? I have written about some of the consequences of trying to repress, to control, to eliminate. It wasn't and isn't pretty.  

Love for others without the foundation of love for ourselves

As for love for others, I found Salzberg's words particularly poignant ... and true. When one doesn't love oneself, one searches for validation and love in ways that are more often than not unhealthy and dysfunctional. I know all about losses of boundaries, co-dependency and quests for intimacy that seek to quench a thirst for, ultimately, self-love and self-acceptance.

"We so often in our lives serve as mirrors for one another," wrote Salzberg. "We look to others to find out if we ourselves are lovable; we look to others to find out if we are capable of feeling love; we look to others for a reflection of our innate radiance."

Coming out launched me on a journey toward self-love and self-acceptance.  I am reminded, from time to time, just how far I have yet to go toward that goal; but I am also reminded how far I have come.  And I am blessed beyond measure to have someone in my life who encourages me on that journey and reflects who I am truly am.

You Just Haven't Tried Hard Enough

"Women who can't or who choose not to breastfeed 

are treated in much the same way as gay people."

Thus commented Cynthia, my counselor after I had told her about an experience I had had in Vancouver during my recent visit to my married daughter, Hannah, and her family.

As I have described in previous posts, my daughter gave birth to a beautiful baby girl in early November (which Mark and I have dubbed "Nutella"). She anticipated nursing her little girl. Hannah's mother was and is a huge breastfeeding advocate, and Hannah had been told her entire life, both by word and example (with her younger siblings), that nursing is good and bottle-feeding is bad. Numerous were the times that she heard that women who can't breastfeed simply haven't tried hard enough or they choose not to be bothered with it.

So Hannah was pre-programmed to breastfeed. But, when it came time to nurse her little baby, Nutella would have none of it. Hannah described these early days in a post on her blog, found here.

The experience was devastating for Hannah. She told me that one of the worst days of her life was on a day that she would have liked to have been visiting with her siblings and her mother, who had come up for the funeral of my former mother-in-law; instead, she was crying her heart out in her room, desperately trying to make nursing work.

But it didn't. For the next two months, Hannah struggled with this, as she described here on her blog. She eventually gave up trying to actually nurse Nutella and instead started expressing her milk. But this took a horrible toll on Hannah and on Nutella.

What was more important? Nursing or Nutella? And Hannah? What about her? She had been so programmed and felt such a failure. But she knew that what was "supposed" to be could not be. It has been said that suffering is the result of trying to pretend reality is not really reality, that it can be changed. Hannah suffered. Nutella suffered. Hannah's husband, Cary, suffered.

Finally, they accepted reality. In a heart-rending post, Hannah described this moment. What clinched it was a visit to Nutella's doctor, who summed up the situation, and their choice, like this: "Breast-milk is ideal, but life is not ideal." They switched to formula, and both Hannah and Nutella are thriving.

Hannah was describing this experience as we were driving into Vancouver a couple of weeks ago. She had been hurt because she felt like she hadn't been supported. Breastfeeding was treated as more important than her and Nutella's happiness. The principle was more important than the person. She felt that she had been treated like a failure and told, in effect, "You just haven't tried hard enough. Any baby can nurse if the mother just tries hard enough. There's no such thing as a baby 'not getting it.' The fault is with you, the mother, and not the baby."

As Hannah told me this, I couldn't help but draw an analogy to gay boys and men, particularly within a conservative religious environment like the LDS Church. Like Hannah and other women who are treated as defective if they, for one reason or another, are unable or choose not to nurse, these boys and men are castigated and told, "If you tried harder, you could overcome your homosexuality; you just haven't tried hard enough." They go through the hell of trying to be someone and something they are not. They try to ignore reality, and the result is suffering. Not the least of this suffering is the bitter disappointment and hurt of being treated, by those who are supposed to love them, as secondary: the principle is more important than the person. Denying your sexuality to support a belief system is more important than you are.

Thankfully, Hannah is in a much better "place" right now, having accepted reality. So is her gay father.