10,000 Volt Flashback

Yesterday I received an email from oldT. I’d requested a 2013 statement for my taxes and she replied, writing that she’d send one as soon as possible. I hadn’t been sure she’d respond, so seeing her name pop up in my email sent 10,000 volts of memory and pain through me. In an instant, I was sobbing. Strobe lights of rejection pummeled my heart, memories so fresh, they might have happened yesterday.

Through tears, I tapped a text to T. She tapped back: try to keep your power; don’t give it away. But I felt powerless. Be a champion, T texted. She beat me, I wrote, and it hurts so much. Your little girl is awaiting you, T responds. I got nothing for her, I reply. She can wait, says T, until you’re ready. John Bradshaw writes about this, she adds.

Bringing Hope

Today is January 30^th. I began this rendition of Morning Peeps on the first of the month, and I’ve posted every day, so I think I’ve earned the right to say, “I’ve got 30 days.” Those of you familiar with

12-step programs know that 30 days is an accomplishment – an oft time difficult commitment maintained for, well, 30 days.

I jump-started Morning Peeps this year after a pledge I made at a Winter Solstice ceremony – a ceremony about the transition from darkness to light. I promised to use my writing to help bring hope to others. Without hope for oneself, how can there truly be hope for anything else? For social justice, drinkable water in every town and village, peace in the middle east and our own troubled cities – and a host of other changes that are critically important for our world and ourselves.

You're A Gift

My therapist is still in Hawaii, but we talked on the phone yesterday. I worried she wouldn’t call at the specified time. I worried I’d be forgotten. Then I’d have the dilemma of what to do. Call her? Wait? Both terrible options. Both the result of being disregarded, ignored, neglected, overlooked – all the things I expected. So, at 1:55, I relived all the anguish I carry with me. At 2:02 T called.

T says things can be different. She keeps telling me that. I guess I keep expressing my fear and doubt. Part of me is perplexed that I have been in therapy so long without learning this. The other part is having a difficult time visualizing what “different” might really look like in my life. It’s hard to imagine, I think, because certain core beliefs about myself are so negative. Surely I am not worthy of a better experience. Beyond worthy, maybe it’s not even possible.

Judgement Free Solitude

I’m still thinking about Robinson Crusoe. There is something fascinating about 1) being wholly self-reliant and 2) being completely alone – not just for weeks or months, but years.  It begs the question: what would I do? Another similar question that gets a lot of airplay when the lottery is insanely large is: what would I do with all that money? They are both ideas rich for the imagination and interestingly they are on extreme ends of at least one spectrum. What would you do if you had nothing… or everything? Which would you prefer?

The idea I’ve been pondering most concerns one’s mental state in such extreme solitude. Initially, I wondered how I could survive without having someone to talk with, and I imagined a sort of madness prevailing. Today, though, I am wondering what it would be like to be totally free of outside opinion and the complications of relationships.

Dogs Rule

I looked in the mirror the morning and was frightened by the dark bags under my eyes. I blame it on Sugar, our Lhasa-Havanese-Bischon-ish white mop of a dog. She likes to get up in the middle of the night – sometimes several times, and I have been chosen to get up with her.

Eleven pm is “last time out,” a last call before “nite-nite.” In this cold weather, Sugar gets bundled in her smart, blue, plaid, Worthy Dog coat and sent out to roam the fenced yard. On her heels is Brewster, a Miniature Pinscher and Pumpkin, a Sheltie. Brewster is our skinny boy and constantly cold, so he has a collection of hoodies, sweaters and jackets – most of which must be pushed up to his shoulders when he goes outside so he doesn’t pee on the belly part of the sweater. Oh, and there is also his diaper which must be feverishly removed while he dances at the door, anxious to get outside.

Memories

When I was a senior in high school, I entered a poetry contest. I don’t recall anything about my poem, but there are two things I will never forget. I placed third in the competition and the prize was a book of my choosing up to a specified amount. I hadn’t won first place so the cost of the book I wanted was too much. I made a deal with my English teacher so I could get a beautiful hard copy edition of Roget’s Thesaurus.

The second thing I remember is that the girl who won first prize, she a year behind me in school, married my father five years later.

Robinson Crusoe's Audience

I’ve been listening to Robinson Crusoe on audio book. Despite being the child of an English Professor who loved literature, I missed reading most of the classics. It wasn’t because I didn’t like to read. I did like it. I read all the time – generally three or four books a week. Just not the classics. Now, approaching my sixth decade, I am trying to rectify that gap in my schooling. Using new technology, of course, with my ears instead of my eyes.

This Robinson Crusoe book… it’s a good story, and it gives me so much to consider. Basically it’s the tale of a man in the 1600’s who is shipwrecked on a deserted island, the only survivor. Aside from a few provisions he is able to save from the ship, he must make do with what the island provides.

What Therapist Says

Sometimes things are different.

She says she will help me. She says things can change. She says things can be different. She says it like she means it. Like it’s true.

She apologizes for an infraction so minor, I am startled she says a word. Yet, in those words, she is saying mistakes happen, we can both be accountable, everything’s not my fault.

She says I can ask for what I need, that I can reach out in whatever way I need. She says I can call, text, email.

She says it is her job to establish boundaries so I am safe to do the work.

There is so much hope in these words, I can hardly believe them. Each time she says things I don’t dare to expect, I cry. She shows me a benevolence I barely recognize.

This is huge. Huge. I can’t say it enough. Huge.

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all.  -Emily Dickinson

Hopefully yours -

Lost My Pants

I’ve lost my pants. Surely I put them somewhere reasonable. Surely I did not take them off in public and leave them somewhere. Surely they are here someplace! They are my black pants – jeans actually, that aren’t the usual denim, rather some brushed material that's a magnet to dog and cat hair from miles around. I need these pants. They’re the ones that fit a little looser and are, of course, black. The slimming-black. The don’t-notice-my-big-butt black.

I lost a-heap-o-weight in 2011 and 2012. As I went down in sizes, I shopped at Goodwill to subsidize my wardrobe. Approaching my goal weight, I got rid of all my large-sized clothes. Then I had the year-from-hell in 2013,

Vulnerability

Vulnerability.

I hate it, hate it, hate it. I want to stay in my safe spot – the place where I know what will happen next, even if “next” is something horrible. Isn’t the known better than the unknown? Maybe. Maybe not.

 

I think what occurs, at least for me, is that when moving from the known to the unknown, when we dare to do something differently, we put ourselves into that vast land called Uncertainty. There can be so much discomfort there, we go to great lengths to avoid it. Even if it means staying stuck. Even if it means continuing to hurt.

Say What You Need to Say

I think, perhaps, I write too much in metaphor. Even when words dance on the tip of my tongue, I want to convey meaning and tone in addition to content.  I want the reader to feel what is in my heart and understand what is in my mind. So I look for words that might be a common bridge from my experience to yours.

At times, the words are as water droplets, coursing over the falls at Niagara, gushing with an urgency that no force can stop. Even when I know they will flood the bottomlands, possibly killing crops, my nourishment.

What Do You Do?

What do you do when you don’t know what to do? Or say?  When you are so full of content and meaning and feeling, but there are no words to form nor actions to take? Our words are so important. They are our emissaries to partners, children, co-workers – and therapists. We tell people who we are by what we say and do. But what if you can’t, don’t, won’t? What, then, is the message?

A Therapy Dream

I dreamt last night. I haven’t remembered a dream in a long time, but when I got up with the dogs at 5am, I was aware of one. I wondered if I could pull together the ethereal ribbons to discover what my mind was processing. It was a therapy dream. No surprise since T is out of town for three weeks, and I am grappling with this new relationship as well as her absence.

Setting Boundaries

This may sound like a rant - okay, it is a rant. I am freaking tired of being the local bank. I have let us get into the position of being deep pockets for my BIL and our dog sitter. I’m not talking about annoyingly small amounts like $20 or $50. Let’s start at $500 and go up to $2350.

A recent loan of $900 to the dog sitter for “rent is due tonight” is being paid, though not on the promised schedule. A previous loan for $1200 is being worked off through dog duties, although that was not our original agreement.

Waiting on Therapist

I was going to write about boundaries this morning, because yesterday I reread the chapter on it in Deborah Lott’s book, In Session. Definitely a must-read for those of us who struggle with setting limits. I guess that’s most of us.

Today, though, my thoughts are heavy with the bane of waiting on T. I am so, so not good at it. It is the place where the hill is steep, and my mind tumbles.

Therapist Anxiety

I’m finding it difficult to be inspired right now. My belly is too full of the oatmeal and cherries I ate to stave off compulsive eating this morning, and my eyelids are heavy from the sleep they are not enjoying. I sit, absently, staring out my window, sipping diet coke and swallowing morning meds. I want to go back to bed, sleep until my neck starts hurting, then get up and take a long hot bath. My motivation is lagging and I’m feeling anxious.

T anxiety. Hoping she will receive, read and respond to an email. Hoping she will get the message that I won’t be available tomorrow for a scheduled phone call. Wondering if she might call today. Or this weekend. Or not until next week. And, of course, I am counting. Counting the days until my next appointment. But oops, we didn’t schedule one.

Our anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows, but only empties today of its strengths.  ― Charles H. Spurgeon

 Stay strong -

The Me's Talk To and About Therapist

I actually had two more conversations after that first one with Little Me. Again, these were out-loud talks. What is it about that? About speaking aloud? I think maybe it is practice. Practice taking those dark fears and deep yearnings out of the shadows of one’s mind. Exposing them, giving light to them, shaking them out like an old rug, then saying, hmm… what have we got here?

What scares you, Little Me? I reply to the T in my mind: I am afraid you will leave me, you will abandon me, you will hurt me like the others. I’m scared I’ll become attached to you and you’ll take everything you know about me and use it to hurt me. You’ll destroy me. Then I’ll feel trapped, glued to you by the attachment with the only possible escape being to kill myself. Is that what happened with your parents, the T in my mind asks. Yes, whispers Little Me, and others too.

Getting to Know Little Me

I did it. I talked to her. I talked to the little girl. I talked to Little Me.

I was looking at a photo of Little Me at about five years of age. A real cutie, that kid. At first, I just looked at her, studied her, noticing. Then, I began to speak with her. It was awkward at first, uncomfortable. I spoke softly, as one does with a child when things are scary. I told her what I saw – a blonde little girl with bangs, smiling almost unobtrusively, looking happy and unblemished. As I talked, the tears started, but I continued, telling her things I knew about Little Me, like an Aunt speaking of a favorite niece.

A World-view from My Window

I don’t want to make you jealous, but I have one of the greatest views from the window where I sit to write. Of course, you might not think so. It’s not the ocean or the grand canyon or the mountains – all views I absolutely love. No, it’s a tangled mess of woods. Many of the trees are tall and spindly. Vines have crawled some trees, slowing choking the life out of them. There are trees down and a couple of brush piles (from when I tidy up the woods). There’s a creek in the valley where I sometimes find flat rocks to extend a path in my yard. And I can hike two miles beyond my gate, following deer paths to the Mississippi river.

The very best part, though, is the wildlife. It is their playground, their grocery store, their home. It is a place for flirting and singing, working and playing. It is a good place.  A couple of days ago, a doe and fawn sauntered by, taking their time, nibbling on whatever it is they eat in the winter. I see varieties of woodpeckers and other birds, once even sighting a pileated woodpecker – a rarity in my woods. This is my Netflix, my streaming, my wide-screen TV.

Baby Steps for Inner Child

I never miss sessions, I told T. I always pay what I owe. In thirty years, I have only cancelled once. Why do you think that is, she asks. It is like blood, I respond. It is so important to me. I say this, fearful of how much truth it holds, of how high the stakes are. Then you must have hope T replies, otherwise you wouldn’t keep trying.

Hope. Is it true? Maybe it’s just longing. Yet, I could be hopeless and still longing. Last night I felt hopeless. All the plans I’ve made for the year, my commitment to health, even writing morning peeps. I was ready to drop it all. I felt the past was happening *again* and I thought, I cannot do this anymore.

Attachment, Acceptance, Afraid

I am thinking of little else. On the cusp of my new therapist's 3-week vacation, my mind is heavy with thoughts of Attachment. I said the word. The A word.

During session on Thursday, we talked of how I feel about T leaving for so long, so early in our relationship. I hesitate, thinking immediately of attachment, longing, need – and the abhorrence I fear these words induce. Yet, I melt in the gentle acceptance that fills the room. I speak truthfully, telling T that as we connect more and more each session, I am starting to feel attached to her. Immediately I am in tears, re-experiencing past attachments that left me despairing and suicidal. I am so afraid.

Attachment Needs

Attachment.

A word so big, it needs its own sentence. Its own paragraph. It is my need. So deep and so old that I have only an iggling of an idea about when the seed was planted. Actually, though, didn't it start when we *were* attached? When life literally depended on the connection to one's mother. Then at birth, that cord is severed and thus begins the journey of our independence.

For some of us, that critical component of healthy development went awry. For me, a defective "secure base" has left me with longing that leaks from every cell in my body, every pore of my being. I remember visiting my grandmother as a pre-adolescent. She reached to hug me, but my arms hung limply by my sides. She lifted my arms, forming them around her body and said, "Here, this is how you hug."

Solicitation on Mental Health Line

Progress, not perfection.  I almost lost it with the insurance company yesterday. I was following up on the problem I described in MP 1/7/14.

I called the Behavior Health company that handles my insurance company's MH benefits and I spoke with a woman who said she would submit an inquiry to the Eligibility Department to determine if their system showed I had coverage. (I had already determined through my main ins co that, indeed, I did.) She would call me back.

Gift of Free-flowing Tears

Do you ever suddenly feel overcome by sadness? The kind that just pops out of the blue and doesn't seem connected to anything else? It's happened to me a couple of times here lately. I am perplexed. The sadness washes over me, and I'll feel my eyes swelling. But I don't cry. The tears are like a sneeze that that just won't come.

I told T, and this is what she said:

"Allow yourself the gift of free-flowing tears."

This simple statement blew me away. Like a poem. Powerful words and so comforting. Not T's comfort - rather permission for me to comfort myself.

allow yourself
the gift
of free-flowing
tears

I don't think I can choose to cry. I can, though, allow myself to let down the defenses that hold my feelings so tightly inside. Allow myself to release my breath, relax my abdomen, unclench my jaw, relax my shoulders, unfreeze my face. Maybe not all at once, but I can practice each of these things. I can allow myself the gift of free-flowing tears.

It is such a secret place, the land of tears. - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I wish you sweet tears -

I Didn't Panic

Yesterday my therapist left a voice message for me. She had called my insurance company and was told my benefits expired on December 31st. And, of all the past times she has seen me - maybe 10x - they would pay her for two. I was concerned but confident that I DO have coverage and the problem could be worked out.

In times past, news such as this would terrorize me. I'd become distraught, despairing that my insurance company found me a liability (sick), imagining an impossible financial burden and fearing my T would drop me like a brick. I would begin grieving the loss of an attachment figure. All before making a single phone call to try to straighten things out.

A Good Day

I don't know about the weather where you are, but it is freaking cold where I live. A lot of snow yesterday. And wind. I swear I shoveled the same foot of snow three times. Seriously.

However. My home is warm, the furnace is in good repair, my neighborhood has power, and I have food on my shelves. I am also grateful to have the Internet which allows me to stay home during this bitter cold weather yet be connected to people. I am grateful for the bounty in my life and on days like today, I need to be especially mindful of that.

When I think about gratitude, Brother David Steindle-Rast's video, "A Good Day," comes to mind, and I make a point of watching/listening to it again.

Greed vs Need

Snow again. Pretty much Ditto my 1/2/14 post, except my socks are an itchy wool blend and I'm using my new shovel. Major winter storm, They say, which is fine with me as I plan to stay inside all day. As long as the power (furnace) doesn't go out, I'll be okay. Last night we brought firewood inside and stacked a pile outside the door. And I fully charged my smartphone, my kindle, my tablet, my iPod, my laptop (although its battery is dying), as well as my partner's smartphone, kindle, iPod, and two laptops. Bring it on!

Winter Solstice

It's cold here this morning, as it seems to be across most of the country. (Sorry global friends, I don't know the weather outside of US.) The forecast for tonight suggests that I will be shoveling again - six to eight inches if the weather people are correct. Wind chill of 20 below expected on Monday. Brrrr!

Both my parents came from North Dakota. Mom lived on a farm and used to tell stories of tunnelling through the snow to the barn to take care of the animals. Unfortunately, it seems this extreme-weather-hardiness is not genetic; I wimp out around 35 degrees.

Finally Working in Therapy

Yesterday was T-Day. I used to think of that as Turkey Day (AKA Thanksgiving), but now it has a different meaning. Besides, I'm a vegetarian.

I like this new therapist. I've been seeing her since the end of November, on rebound from a five session run with a T who finally said she couldn't help me. (Full disclosure: I also saw newT for three sessions in June, but hadn't yet been able to disengage from oldT.)

She's older (a handful of years older than I) and wise (surely wiser than I) and compassionate (oh how I've needed that) and experienced (need that, too) and I can see her twice a week (as $$ allows) AND I can call her (sometimes just being allowed is enuf). Alas, she is going on vacation for three weeks in January.

Snow!

Snow! It started last night and came down steadily. Snow is my job, and I like to keep on top of it because if I don't... well, best not go there. Thankfully it is sub-sub-freezing cold here, so the snow is light and easy.

I make my first pass on the deck at about 10:30pm. It's so light that I am able to sweep the 2-3 inch accumulation. As I work, I'm wondering why we wanted a bigger deck. It's a new deck and newly stained - ergo, very slippery. I think about leaving the snow to provide traction for the three pups who call my place home. But snow on the deck is a sure invitation for peeing on the deck. What's up with that? So I sweep again at midnight. Of course, doing the deck includes the stairs and concrete slab at the bottom and then a swath into the yard itself. Yes, I am sweeping the dead, frozen grass. Because I am a good dog mom. How would you like to go out in the snow to potty with legs that are only 4 inches long? Exactly.

Happy 2014!

I cannot freaking believe that we are 14 years into this century. Remember Y2K? It seems (almost) like yesterday. My partner, two Golden Retrievers and I were vacationing in Destin, Florida (note to dog owners: Destin is not dog friendly; they have beach hours for dogs and it's something like 2am - 4am... well, not that bad - but the hours never fit our schedule). Anyway. We were sitting on the beach late on the night of 12/31/1999 (remember partying like it's 1999?) watching the city lights of Fort Walton Beach. The Y2K drama had us wondering if the city would go dark at midnight. So we sat and sat and watched and watched. The lights stayed on. Was it that the computer geeks had fixed everything before midnight - or was it just a lot of hype? Guess we'll never know.