The Child Within

 She's been with me ever since I can remember.

The child - me as a child.

She wants to be cherished, loved unconditionally, and protected.

She's learned that the world isn't like that. 

Free image from Pixabay

She's afraid, self-conscious, shy, lonely, and at times even suspicious. Suspicious of new things, of new people, of letting her light shine.

Afraid of others' judgment, she hides and defines herself the way her abusers did: small, insignificant, a country mouse, a bumpkin, unworthy of belonging. Or love.

She and I have gotten to know each other lately. I helped her see her abuse as not her fault, and as a mistake her abuser made. I told her she was brave, and that her heart was loving and sincere. She started to believe me. I want her to believe that she has something worthwhile to say. But she still shies away from the spotlight; she has for decades.

And now, we face another time when she and I will face the spotlight again. In a few weeks, I'll be giving a presentation I created at a national conference in Halifax, NS for the counselling association I belong to. And I'm bringing her with me. I'm being intentional about inviting her to watch, to see how people react, to experience this honour with me. 

Now, I know that that little girl turned into the woman I am now; I haven't lost my marbles (haha). However, that small child, that afraid little girl, is real to me. I can see her plainly in my mind. She learned early on to cower ... because cowering made her safer. And I'm trying to teach her that while cowering kept her safe then, it doesn't serve her well now. I've been giving her something she never got: compassion, love, and a sense of belonging. She's learned to trust me (that is, grown-up me) ... but she's still unsure about others, even though I have been telling her that they care. Now, I believe she needs to SEE that caring, in action, to understand that she IS worthy of love and belonging, of positive attention, of the gratitude she never got.

I'm not sure if any of this has made sense. I just needed to write it.   

Worthy of Love and Belonging*

 * - Brené Brown

Most of my readers probably know that I'm a psychotherapist (aka a counsellor). My practice includes adults age 16 and up, individuals and couples. 

What some might not know is that in training, student counsellors are taught that it is considered necessary for every counsellor to HAVE a counsellor. So yes, I have one. My therapist helps me stay on track personally, holds me accountable for important things I often forget when I am busy. In particular, such things include self-care, which is written into the Code of Ethics of my certifying body. In fact, it's in the very first article of that Code! 

Blossoms - free image from Pixabay

Since seeing this particular therapist, I've been taking more time to do some of the things I let slide before. I spend more time out in Nature, marvelling at the handiwork I see. I reach out to friends and to people that have touched my life in some way, even if just to say thank you (those are powerful words, just saying). I look after my emotional needs. I tell people that I care about how I feel about them. I spend time thinking about any unresolved feelings about past events that may be hindering me, and I work to clear those things the same way I help my clients do the same. (How can I help them to heal, unless I first heal myself?)  I take time to enjoy the relationships I have in my life.

The other day, I was outside on our property. Our pink weigelas are in a riot of bloom, and there is a honeybee hive not far from here. Coming in close to the bush, I could smell the gentle but heady scent of the flowers. And then I saw her. A honeybee had crawled into one of the weigela blossoms. I could only see the back half of her as the flowers are trumpet-shaped. As I watched, I could see her hind end rhythmically going up and down as she drank deeply the nectar that was inside of that flower. Time seemed to stand still. There was only the bee in the flower. And I marvelled at how bees have two stomachs: one for nectar and one for pollen. And I considered in my soul how the bee takes only what she needs to feed her body, and gives the rest to the hive to feed the colony. In so doing, she is nourished to be able to contribute to the good of all, and she tastes the sweetness of what she will give to her sisters at the hive. What a beautiful picture of self-care in the context of a natural care-giver! 

I've carried that picture with me ever since, in my mind's eye. It's okay to gain strength as I give to those who need some of that same strength. It's okay to look after me on a regular basis - it helps me to better help others. 

The secret - and I think the bee knows this instinctively without having to be taught (unlike us humans) - is in adopting and believing in a phrase that Brené Brown uses often: "[I am] worthy of love and belonging." The bee is a crucial member of the hive and knows instinctively her role and her worth. She is listened to when she returns to the hive to tell the others where to find nectar. She is believed. She is respected. She belongs. And ... just so ... in my new and renewed relationships with those who are my equals, I belong as well. I am valued. I am worthy of love ... and respect ... and friendship ... and belonging. That reality brings me such gratitude. 

These are thoughts that have been percolating in my mind lately. And these thoughts are the reasons why I have been reaching out to people who are in my life, letting them know how much I appreciate them, spending time with them, sending a note to connect with them, and realizing more and more that I grow in attachment with others. Not necessarily in a crowd (because that's not my style) but in individual connections with one or two people at a time. As I do so, I get to remember how very rich (not in dollars, but in the depth of those individual relationships) I am. I'm so thankful! 

Life after Fiona

From an October 2022 post:

[Hurricane] Fiona took away.  She took away a LOT; there is no doubt of that. The topography of our landscape and of our communities is forever changed. Some things will never come back; others will take decades. But Fiona also gave. She gave us a renewed sense of community. She gave us friends we didn't know we had. She gave us compassion and empathy for each other. She spurred our generosity. 

If there is a light in this darkness, I think it could be that.

 

Spring came slowly to PEI this year. The weather was colder for longer. However, the grass did green up, the dandelions came, the crocus and the tulips came up, blossomed, and faded, and the ground was warm enough to plant our garden by early June. 

After Fiona, we thought we might have lost the opportunity to see any kind of positive result, but about two weeks ago, we noticed something in our back yard. One of our apple trees, the one we almost lost because it had been pushed to almost a 45 degree angle by the storm, and which we shored up with some thick, padded staking wire, was producing blossoms. Not just one or two, but dozens of blossoms! One of the branches wasn't, and we decided that come autumn, we would prune it back.  But yesterday, we were thrilled to see that while the other blossoms had come and gone, new blossoms were growing on the branch we previously thought was 'dead'!! 

Apple blossoms from our Red Nova tree, June 2023

So this year, we will see some apples in the fall! This from a tree we thought had bitten the dust. 

As a matter of fact, all the plants in our back yard are looking greener and less spindly since the storm took away trees that shaded them, and in that way giving them more sunlight for longer in the day.  

Even the vegetable garden is growing better. We are getting carrots coming up for the first time in three years, as well as beets, spinach, and herbs, all of which apparently prefer full sun. Who knew! 

Our flowering bushes are budding. We are awash in lilac blossoms, plus weigela, spirea, hydrangea and rose buds. It's lovely to witness. We are so grateful. 

 

As I mentioned in my post, "Hashtag Fiona2022" last fall, we have developed closer relationships with more of our neighbours, and it's been amazing to see how those friendships have enriched our day-to-day lives. 

It's caused us to rethink other kinds of storms as well: events that happen to us that seem unpleasant and cause us distress. Sometimes, while the events themselves are difficult, they may clear some of the debris - things in our lives that are unnecessary - from our lives. These are things like unbalanced relationships, old habits and ways of thinking, and other hindrances to living a full life, making way for new and renewed relationships with equals, new habits, new ways of thinking, and a new capacity to experience joy. 

 

Life gets better if we let it.

Isolation

Today marks day five since my husband tested positive for Covid. He tested positive in the evening, but that morning I kissed him good morning as couples tend to do. What he hadn't told me is that he already felt horrible the night before. (Sigh). 

Blame aside, I think we just got a little complacent. COVID-19 has been around 2.75 years. We had never gotten the bug, so maybe we thought vaccinations were enough, especially at home. 

But vaccines are not the only way to protect the ones we love. We'd forgotten that. And with restrictions lifting for some, people are not as protected as they were at the beginning of this long-term siege.

So, when I awoke this morning feeling completely drained, crappy, and sore all over, one of the first things I did was take a Rapid-test. (Grr, I hate those things...) and it came back negative. I was, quite frankly, disappointed from a very selfish perspective. I missed the company of my best friend and soul-mate. 

However, if there's the off chance that what I have is NOT COVID-19, but some other virus, it would not be good for the two of us to be together to give what we have to each other. 

Picture by Firmbee at Pixabay

 So, I'm writing this from our half-renovated den in the basement. Daughter and I brought the puppy's pen and crate downstairs, set up my computer, charging station for my phone, a few blankets, and supplies I'll need for looking after the puppy, for as long as I'm here. It is so very quiet down here - no TV, just the noise of the heat pump whenever it's on. Part of me wonders how my back will handle the sectional's cushions; time will tell I guess. It has to better than sleeping in my recliner in the living room!! I even brought down a kitty night-light for the night time. (Pitch black is not an option for me.)

If tomorrow finds me testing COVID-positive, then it's back upstairs for me and the pup, and sleeping in my own bed. But whatever the outcome, I will not run the risk of putting my beloved husband in danger. That's what all the vaccines and the masking and the hand-washing are all about.

It should be an adventure, at least.

Living with Crows

Years ago, when we first moved into our neighbourhood, we had a problem. The problem was CROWS. They pecked at and destroyed our garbage bags that we put out by the road, strewed things from it all over the road and the lawn, made so-o much noise in the mornings so we couldn't sleep in, and basically we considered them a nuisance.

My husband even got a pellet gun and shot pellets into their tail ends. They didn't pierce the skin but they hurt, and the crows learned very quickly to stay away from our garbage. They recognized him too, and knew when he had the "sting-stick" with him. In time, he didn't even have to raise the gun to his shoulder.

Smart. (No pun intended.)

When our oldest daughter was in her early teens, suffering from ischemic migraines that left her bed-bound for days at a time, she heard a crow outside her window, cawing as though he was a 12-year-old boy whose voice was changing. She named him "Buck" - and looked forward to hearing his voice. In a couple of years, Buck had offspring and they learned how to caw like him. It became a joke in our family, as we called him "Buck-buck-ba-CAW" ... and slowly our attitude started to change regarding these creatures that we had always seen as pests. 

We noticed their family groups. We noticed how they mated for life and how,when widowed, they would be taken in by their relatives. We heard them feeding their young. We watched them and their social interactions. 

"Black Crow" provided free by
MapleAmber at www.pixabay.com

We found different ways to discourage them from destroying our garbage bags. We would spray Javex on the bags to mask the food smells inside - and the crows were smart enough to leave that stuff alone. Nope, not edible.

And then, about 2 years ago, we got a little dog, a Pomeranian. When he was about 6 months old and had all his shots, we started taking him for walks. And the crows noticed. We observed them as they observed us walking our little guy around the neighbourhood, stopping when he stopped to pee and poo. They watched us pick up his poo in little bags, and when we moved past their sight, they flew to a different tree or pole closer to where we were, and continued to observe our behaviour, and his as well. Sometimes he would try to catch one; it would stay where it was until he was about 10 feet away, and just hop into the sky and fly off. I could imagine the crow chuckling to itself.

That's when we started noticing other, more amazing behaviours. Near our neighbourhood, there are a pair of eagles that hunt small animals and birds. The crows set up sentinels spaced at various intervals throughout the neighbourhood. They would watch the eagles and warn each other when the eagles got too close. They were especially vigilant when we were taking our little dog out for a walk. They would band together and chase the eagles away, dive-bombing them and just being a nuisance to them so they would stay away. 

And it worked! 

These one-time pests had accepted us into the community and were looking out for us. They protected our little guy from a predator that could kill him. (Collars have been found in eagles' nests). 

So, now we use a white noise machine so we can sleep in when we want to, and we have learned to live with (and appreciate) the crows. 

Funny how attitudes change.

The strange face of gratitude

Almost nine days ago, on February 24, 2020 at 10:10 pm, my brother passed away. It was unexpected, as he had been getting slowly better with dialysis and his kidney function was improving. But one of his two catheters, the one that carried his bile out of the gall bladder, became infected and caused blood poisoning (also known as sepsis.) He became too weak to get out of bed, and to make a long story short, after police got to him, he was in bad shape and died later in hospital from septic shock.

I say this only to set the stage for all of the aftermath of his passing.

Free photo by Larisa-K at pixabay

My brother and I were as close as any brother and sister could be. He and I were like soul-mates. We thought alike, felt the same things, and had the same background. We "got" each other. Almost every day, separated by the miles, we talked for at least a half hour, sometimes as much as three hours. And we enjoyed ourselves to the full while doing so. It was a joy to talk to him, to watch him grow as a person, to share experiences and thoughts and hopes with him and he with me, to make plans together for the future, to talk of our love for God, for family, for animals, for nature, for music, and for life.

I miss him terribly. And time will not diminish the pain of that. Only Love can.

In the last few days, I have had the opportunity to look back and marvel at how many wonderful and miraculous things have happened. Leave alone the miracles in his own life: being cured of colon cancer in 2017, surviving two heart attacks (fall 2017 and winter 2019), and witnessing many other smaller miracles of the everyday. Just in his passing and the subsequent events arising from that, I have been able to be thankful for several things:

• He did not die alone and undiscovered. This was his greatest fear, and it was on a day when he was expected at a medical appointment (dialysis) that I finally got someone to check on him and knew enough to call 9-1-1.
• He was spared having to say goodbye to our mother.  He was anxious regarding how he would handle her death. She is still alive (although she has dementia), so he was spared this pain.
• He was ready.  He was finally moving toward feeling at ease in his own skin, and he was growing spiritually and so excited for the things he was learning about how to live life. There is no doubt in my mind that he is waiting for me on the other side, enjoying restored / perfect health and strength in everything that gave (and gives) him joy.
• My husband is retired, and he never left my side during this whole ordeal of going out of province, making arrangements, and greeting people I had not seen in decades (and whom he barely knew) - even though it is outside his comfort zone. That's love, and that heals.
• My daughter was able to stay home and look after the animals all week, and she, too, went outside her own comfort zone to come and attend the funeral with us. This is a huge deal for her, because the thought of losing people in her life makes her very anxious and panicky.
• My work situation is such that I was able to take the time off to make arrangements for his funeral, plus some time to decompress. My boss was unexpectedly understanding about the whole thing.
• Co-worker after co-worker ... each has expressed condolences on Facebook. They really do care. That blows me away.
• I was in the middle of taking a break from my studies when this happened. As a result, my schooling was not interrupted, and I didn't lose any marks for lack of concentration. My brother was so proud of me for taking steps to be a counselor. He rejoiced with me over every milestone. He would want me to graduate with full honors.
• The circumstances of his death, plus the communication with family and friends, re-established old ties long since given up for lost.
• The fact that he died in the winter meant that there was no committal service (graveside) and I was spared the stress and pain of seeing his body put in the ground, the hardest part of death rituals for me.
• The love from family and friends has been nothing short of miraculous and has even now already started the healing process.
• My psychologist is amazing. I saw her yesterday and poured out my heart regarding many of the above things - in detail - and she listened and supported me in my grieving process.

I could say much more, but I will stop there. All of those things (and more) has left me with something I never expected:  the strange face of gratitude in the middle of my suffering, in the process of my grief.  That does not mean that I am untouched by losing him. Rather, it means that I feel somehow honored to have been a part of his life for as long as he was here - with no regrets for having helped him as much as I could - and privileged to be a part of a circle of family and friends that, unknown to me, was there all along.

Gratitude is a strange response to grief. But here I am. Grateful. And grieving. But grateful.

The Long Dark

Ever since I was a child, I have been afraid of the dark. It held unknown things, monsters, the bogey-man, and shapes that in the daylight would never have bothered me. In the dark, though, those familiar shapes transmuted into my deepest fears: being eaten, being buried, being hurt or killed. My dreams haunted me, and when I awoke there was nothing in the dark but those fears. My heart thumped in my chest like a caged animal trying to get out. 

The band-aid solution when I was a child was to leave one of the lights on outside my room (usually the bathroom light), with the door ajar to let everyone else sleep. Yet the fear of the dark followed me into adulthood. 

As I have been "growing up on the inside" the last year or so, one of the things that has been coming to the fore is this fear. I'm finding that somehow, unbidden, it is less than it was. I awaken in the middle of the night and listen - not for monsters anymore, but for the gentle sound of people sleeping, for the furnace coming on to warm up the water in the pipes, and other 'normal' noises in the house. 

Free Image "Northern Lights Aurora"
by Hans Braxmeier at Pixabay

Plus, I am beginning to notice the things that can only be seen in the dark. The stars, the moon, the Northern Lights, these are all invisible at noon in full sun. Slowly I am arriving - I know not how - at the notion that instead of running from or railing at the darkness, I can appreciate the gifts that are available to me at night: the heavenly lights, the odd meteor shower, even the space station if it is overhead. 

I can remind myself that the morning comes. It always comes - whether gray and misty or bright and sunny - the day follows the night.  Being in an atmosphere of acceptance and love, as I have been lately, has a way of bringing with it clarity, purpose, and confidence. And the dark ... doesn't seem so bad now, even if (in the winter) it lasts longer than I would like. I just settle myself down and focus on some small thing - the ticking of the clock, the sound of my husband's breathing as he sleeps, or even my own breath - and before I know it, I'm waking up again, morning has come and the sun is not far from rising. 

Such an attitude helps me when I am waiting for some much-anticipated thing, or when I am undergoing some difficult experience, or when I am sick or lonely. The morning always comes. There is hope. There is something positive even IN the experience, even if I don't know what that is at the time. And I focus on my breath, and I am grateful for the things and the people that are in my life, and the darkness passes. It just does. 

Funny how that happens.

September green

Looking out the window, I see our largest maple tree dancing in the wind, its green leaves reflecting the sunlight and casting shimmers of verdure toward all who watch. Patches of sunlight on the green lawn celebrate the wind and the trees with a shadow puppet show, ever changing with the wind speed and direction. 

In the final days of summer, there is a crispness to the air and a sense of waiting, of hesitation, as if the world of green is not quite ready to admit to the changing of the seasons. My soul echoes that hesitation with a sense of urgency: I want to get out in the sunshine and experience its warmth before the world leans into winter. 

Free Image by PublicDomainPictures
at Pixabay.com

I do so love the autumn (fewer bugs and more colours!), but these last valiant days of summer inspire me to be true to myself to the end, to give of myself and to enjoy each day as a gift - the present, as someone said once - and I find myself reflecting on how to best let that enjoyment play out. 

Truly, I don't know what the next season in my life will hold. However, I can hold onto the image of September green in my mind as I make each choice each day. I can be grateful and make music in my heart for the wonderful gifts the Great Maestro has allowed me to experience: love, friendship, and so much more. I can enjoy those gifts and invest myself in them even more deeply. I can spend quality time with loved ones. I can calm my soul and relax in the goodness of the Creator. I can be inspired to pay forward to the world the light I have received. 

In tender moments like this, I perceive a sense of real communion with creation and with the Creator who has given to me all things to enjoy. It quiets me. I feel peaceful, grateful, blessed, and rejuvenated. 

And somehow, today, I wanted to share that with you.
 

Saplings

I helped my family plant a couple of saplings today in our back yard. They were special saplings ... two different types of apple trees. One was a Honeycrisp and the other was a Red Nova (kind of like a cross between a Cortland and a McIntosh).

They came to us in a box, perfectly packed for shipment, with the root ball protected in a plastic bag with slightly moist compost around it.  And the saplings themselves looked to be little more than sticks. Long, bumpy sticks with a few tiny buds starting to poke through the tender bark. Below these tiny shoots, on each "tree", you could just barely make out the place where the grower had grafted the fruit-bearing portion of the tree onto the original sapling (the one attached to the root ball). That graft, apparently, was our guarantee that the tree would produce the type of apples for which we had ordered the trees... if that makes any sense. 

It will take a couple of years for these little sticks to resemble trees, and to produce blossoms in the spring. They will need to be staked before this fall to grow straight and tall, and they will need to be covered in burlap before the snow falls this year to protect them from the howling winds and deep snow. They have already undergone quite a process to get to the point they were when we received them, and they will need to be carefully tended until they can stand against whatever Mother Nature throws at them. 

Photo by Matthias Cooper from Pexels

I kind of feel like I am at that stage as a budding counselor. I feel bare, but I am showing growth; most of the growth is underneath, and I feel quite vulnerable.

To continue the analogy, even though I have not graduated from my Master's program, I have already done some growing and have experienced some cutting and healing - just like the graft that guarantees success - and I have started to send out a few tentative leaf-tips. I feel as though I've been planted in fresh soil, and part of me feels like I need to have support as I face the next year of my life when I will do the most growing I will have ever done. Hands-on experience is far superior to book learning - and I sure feel like I have done enough reading and studying to last me a while! So now it is time to move onward and put what I have learned into practice (pun intended.) 

My practicum has been approved, and I will be working on my Learning Plan over the next month or so with my future supervisor, in order to start my hands-on work in September. It is so surreal to realize that a year from now, I will have finished my practicum and will be taking my final course in the program. What an amazing ride it's going to be! 

There are still a few things to iron out between now and September, but these will fall into place as time goes on. I am looking forward to continuing my studies, to the helping hands and hearts of those who will be my "stakes" throughout the growing process, and to new growth in the meantime. 

The blossoms will come soon enough. I'm just taking it one day at a time. :)

A Moving Target

Back in 2009 when I first got into therapy and I was learning a whole new (well, new to ME) way of living, I'm afraid I was a little arrogant about it. I thought that I had arrived. How very wrong I was. I had a LOT to learn!

And when my husband and I decided in 2015 to leave the organized church and seek relationships with God and others without the structure of a church family, again, I was pretty "my way or the highway" about it... at least for a while. One would think I would have learned by that time. But no.

Now that I'm in therapy again for something I thought was dealt with (aka buried), I'm not so cocky. Things I thought I knew, I am learning that I have only paid lip service to (plus there were some things that I was completely oblivious to!) And when it comes right down to it, when push comes to shove (so to speak), I revert to the old way of reacting to things that happen, and then I wonder why some people feel uncomfortable around me (or I feel uncomfortable around them). According to my therapist, that's common with people who have experienced trauma such as long-standing child abuse. (Huh. Who knew.)

I want to put that trauma in its proper place instead of being trapped in the patterns of behavior that the trauma has caused. I will need to not only address the abuse, but I will need to learn new skills, like (for example) how to behave in a normal social setting (!!) without appearing aloof, ungrateful, insecure, or not completely present. Old habits will have to die. New ones will have to form.

Clip-art free from http://clipart-library.com/clipart/8c6ozLEri.htm

But the "normal" I thought I was in 2009 and again in 2015 isn't the normal that I hope to be now. 

And more and more I am realizing that normal, as I used to tell my kids, is just a setting on the washing machine. The real "normal" is a moving target. It changes with the situation and with one's level of emotional maturity, which can be at different levels in different situations. Quite confusing! In many ways I feel like poor Wile E. Coyote, trying to catch the Road Runner. There's no catching him. He comes out of nowhere, disappears in a flash of flames, and leaves Wile E. Coyote slack-jawed (and usually injured.) Many times, I am bewildered and overwhelmed by the sheer size of the task ahead.

What is so confusing is the idea that in order to move on, I must "integrate" my experience of abuse into me, make it a part of me, but not be overcome or overwhelmed by it. It seems impossible. All those hurtful words and blows ... well, they are not going to go away. But somehow I need to make meaning (to use a psychotherapy term) out of those experiences and use them and the lessons learned from them to not only get some closure, but also to be able to use them to help others to heal. And that is my goal in this process.

And even though I know a lot about therapy as a grad student studying counseling, I find that as a client, I am just as vulnerable and just as fearful as any client would be about that process. Going through this really gives me an appreciation of how there absolutely needs to be an atmosphere of trust between client and therapist before progress can happen. This is private stuff ... and if I don't feel totally accepted, there is no way I can open up the starting gate and get into specifics. 

But my therapist is doing all the right things to create that atmosphere, to help me look after myself, and to help me find ways to ground myself when I'm stressed. And the next time I see her, she tells me, we will start opening that gate. It won't be for another couple of weeks... but that's okay. Slow and steady is the best way. Which makes me think that if just I sit still and accept what comes, maybe the Road Runner will stop running so fast and come pay me a visit.

Taking Shape

I think that using some of my saved-up vacation this month has been a godsend as I make the transition into my final year of my Masters degree in counselling. This is the "practicum year" and for me, launching out on this exciting but intense and potentially draining endeavour (because it IS so new) has meant that I have needed to devote more time to self-care in all things. 

Something as little as not opting to sign up for cable has had far-reaching results in my life. As most of you know, I had to move to a different province and leave my family behind while I do my practicum, and so, with a lower salary

Photo "Woman Relaxing With Her
Eyes Closed" is photostock, courtesy
of
www.freedigitalphotos.net

and increased expenses (rent AND mortgage, plus all the other expenses involved in living alone), I have had to make certain sacrifices and cable was one of them.  Yet, I can see that I now have more time to devote to feeding my spirit with positive, encouraging music in the mornings, and I have found that I have been dividing the extra time from being on vacation (AND not watching television) between spending a little extra time at my practicum site, and putting on the finishing touches to my apartment, while slowly ridding myself of the piles and piles of boxes, bags and Styrofoam inserts that have been cluttering my apartment's office all summer long (from the move). 

Today, I finally got my Internet up and running, since I will need that for school, for my practicum homework, and for my work (when I eventually start back at it again near the end of September). I had had a call into tech support and they had asked for a service call - but by the time the guy got here, I had figured out that the phone jack I was plugging the modem into was defective somehow, and relocated the modem to a room with a working jack in it.  When the guy got here, he told me that the first jack not a real phone jack at all, but a connector for sharing screens on two different televisions, which the previous tenants had set up. It was a small victory for me to solve my own problem rather than waiting for some white knight to come charging in.

And between running errands at the stores, rearranging my kitchen supplies, putting up wall decorations, and taking the extra trash out the last couple of days, I noticed today that I am not taking the stairs so slowly ... unless I have a super heavy load to carry. Baby steps, but steps nonetheless. (No pun intended).

I am also eating more sensibly. All I had to do when I was living with my family was just mention some whim I had for this or that sweet or salty treat, and it magically appeared within a day or so. Now, I have to buy everything myself, and not only that, actually make the trip to do that. In a strange city, I find I hesitate before going out, especially in the early evening. This evening, I took off to go to the Wal-Mart - but I got lost and ended up about six exits away from where I needed to be. Out came Siri (my i-Phone's GPS), and after I convinced her I wasn't going to the town of New Brunswick in New Jersey (haha) she got me to the Wal-Mart. And she got me back home again - in the dark - so if I am learning anything, it is to recognize when I am out of my league and ask for help. This too is a positive thing.  Of course the main reason I went was for a certain item - and I completely forgot it - but at least I got there and back! 

All in all, everything is taking shape - from the apartment, to my practicum, to my activity level, to my eating, to my self-care. I am tired at the end of a day, but it is a good kind of tired. I find myself looking forward to my practicum days - even though they are intense and action-packed - wondering what I will get to do that day. It is hard, and wonderful, and nerve-wracking, and exciting, and stressful, and I am reaching the end of each day knowing that, as my supervisor puts it, (1) nobody got hurt today, (2) nobody wanted to hurt themselves today, and (3) nobody wanted to hurt anyone else today. 

Yes, things are taking shape. And so am I, from the inside out.

Transition

The last several weeks has been a time of transition, of moving from one way of doing things to something completely different. The next seven weeks will be so as well, a continuation of the changes that have slowly been happening as I get ready for my first time living alone in my 57 years. 

No, my husband and I are not separating; there is no problem in our relationship. In fact, were it not for his support and encouragement, I would not be even considering what I am about to do. 

After months of trying to secure a practicum in my province of residence, and doors slammed in my face at every turn, I found a placement - but this one is in a neighbouring province, and with a counseling agency that wants me to stay on with them after I graduate with my Masters degree. That means that I have to move - temporarily - to an apartment in a city that is two hours' drive (and an expensive toll bridge ride) away from the house I have lived in for the last nearly 29 years. My practicum begins on September 5, 2018.  That is less than seven weeks away!

Anyway, since my family needs to stay here, for a lot of reasons, I must live alone in what amounts to a strange city, on a reduced salary, and live like that for almost a year. Then, the agency will start to pay me, and for another year, I will be working two jobs part-time, until I retire from my current job in the fall of 2020. After that, I can go to full-time with the agency, which will speed up the process of me getting enough experience to launch out on my own. Once I can do that, I can move back in with my family. 

Which brings me to the meantime, this period of transition, this intense, can't-wait-but-no-it's-too-fast time where I have been picking away at things that need doing. Like finding an apartment (cha-ching $$), getting it ready to be lived in (MORE $$), being sure to maintain my quality of homework and assignments (the time requirements this term are SO much higher than ever before!), and trying to find time in there to sleep and eat and MAYBE fit in some self-care and activity. 

Social life?  What's that?

About a month ago, I had to go on stress leave from work because all the stress of all of that PLUS having to be at work for eight hours a day was just too much for me to take and I was approaching burnout. I am feeling a bit more like myself these days, but I still have to deal with that transition period that I am going through, from this place to that place, from here to there, from together to alone. The changes are happening more and more quickly; I have started to get a feel for where things are located in my new place, and I have familiarized myself with my newest friend, Siri (that's the electronic assistant on the i-Phone that can look up directions on Google Maps and talk you through traffic. What a great feature that is for reducing stress!) 

And yesterday, I even got some groceries so they would be there when I moved in - all stuff that won't spoil (canned goods, rice, cereal, boxed meals, and some cleaning supplies.) It makes the reality seem more real... that, and all those trips up and down those stairs to my 2nd floor apartment lugging heavy bags and boxes. 

Transition from "our place" to "my place" - transition from "our" to "my." Fears that I won't be able to handle the winter alone. Excitement at starting the final year of my graduate school journey. Sadness at leaving my loved ones behind and knowing that I will have to get used to sleeping alone. Anger at the system in my own province that cannot accommodate my educational needs. Determination to do my best. Nervousness (and a sort of joy) about working with real clients and making a difference - hoping that it is a positive one. Trepidation at driving in the city and possibly getting lost or stranded. And more, so much more. 

I am so very grateful. My family has been so supportive and helpful during this transition. It feels like they have worked harder than I have to make all this work for me, knowing my physical limitations. They have trudged up and down those stairs to my apartment more times than I have (so far), and worked together to put furniture together (mostly my daughter who seems to have inherited my father's ability to see with his fingers and thread a screw without even looking!). They have popped up and down my step-stool to put up brackets for curtains, change light bulbs, and so much more, WITHOUT the benefit of air conditioning, fans going full blast. 

I am truly blessed. And as I ponder this, the clock is silently ticking away, bringing me ever closer to the reality that will be upon me soon enough. Soon I will be poised on the beginning of a new and different journey, one that will change my future. 

Am I ready? I guess I will have to be. I'm just ever so glad that the future only comes one day at a time.

Hating Waiting

I hate waiting.

That's probably why I spend so much time doing it, I joke. But the joking is wearing thin right about now. It seems that the last few years, all I have been doing is waiting: waiting for the next university course, the next blood test, the next phone call, the next email. 

It wears me down. Especially lately, now that I am waiting for any word of any agency that is willing to work with me for my counselling practicum this coming September - and while I wait, my university's non-negotiable deadline (for submission of a practicum proposal) of April 30 ticks away. 

It was less irritating as long as I was doing something (like sending out literally dozens of feelers since my best option pulled out two months ago), but I've exhausted every option, receiving rejection after rejection, and all there is left to me is the waiting. And of course there is the "not knowing"... and all that implies. It is hard to get motivated to do much of anything with that hanging over my head. And by "that" ... I mean whether or not I will be even DOING a practicum this year, or postponing it yet another year while the mental health care system in my province tries to figure out what to go do with itself. They (whoever "they" are) say they are crying out for counsellors, but they want trained ones, people who already have their certification. They don't have the space or time to invest in someone who is perfectly willing to help them - because they want pre-qualified people. It's supremely frustrating. 

I have pretty much exhausted all possibilities in my province. I know it is the smallest one in Canada, but still!! Anyway, to that end, I have expanded my search to include sites that are out of province, yet still close enough to allow for relatively easy visiting. I have been looking at apartments for rent in some of these places, thinking that I will need to move away - if temporarily - to make my dream come true. That it has come to this is rather upsetting, but I see no other way for it. 

My friends and co-workers have been very supportive and I have had many suggestions from a lot of people, and I have followed up on each one. However, it has all been to no avail. Either the sites don't have enough work for me (they themselves are part-time), they disagree with my university's requirement to allow recording of some of my sessions for evaluation purposes, or they just don't have the space to put me.

Photo "Opening Door Knob" courtesy of
sixninepixels at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Hopefully, I will be able to navigate these rough waters and come out the other side at least holding onto a life-buoy. it is hard to hold my head above water - and the sense of panic is very real at times. There have been times this last month when I have been so close to giving up and dropping out.

My professors tell me I will rock this counselling world - but they are not here with me to see the state of affairs. My family and friends tell me that they believe in me, and I appreciate that, but my fate lies in the hands of those people who are (pardon the expression) looking for their pound of flesh too. 

I am expecting a call from a couple of prospects (out of province) sometime this coming week. Whether that will result in me obtaining a placement is anyone's guess. I have learned that I need to be flexible, and i have the loving support of my amazing husband and daughter for whatever I will need to do to make this work. I have begun to consider options I never thought I would have to consider, options that scare me half to death. Yet here we are.

So for now, I take a deep breath, take one step at a time, and put one foot in front of the other. I have come too far along this path to stop now ... but it's just that .... I hate waiting.

The Sounds of Silence

I've spent most of the day feeling quite down. 

Aside from the fact that I have been concerned about someone I can't seem to reach for some reason, or maybe because of that (in part), someone reminded me this morning of that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that I felt when my youngest was living in Alberta. It was the feeling that I'd never see her again: a feeling of dread, of fear (even panic), and of anger that there was nothing I could do to change it.  

So I've been flooded with memories of those days back in 2013, and I've been allowing those feelings to come to the surface so that I can feel them and deal with them. It's hard, but it's better than stuffing those feelings down underneath the surface, and having them pop up unexpectedly.  

Permeating all of that is also the unspeakable sadness that goes with the outcome of those days - she never made it home alive. 

Even though the television has been on and there is that noise in the background, there is a very real sense of stillness, a feeling of incredible silence, of unspeakable isolation. The background noise of grief took center stage for today. And I chose to let it come, and I breathed and felt my way through it.

And it is still going on. It will last however long it lasts, until it's done - another wave-crest in the flood of loss as I just try to stay afloat and ride it out. 

Photo "Lighthouse At Sunset" by
Serge Bertasius Photography at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Of course it will pass. It always does. Yet it is a journey, a passage from one place to another, this silence, this sadness. Nobody likes to talk about it when they're going through it, only when the "victory" has been won and the yucky parts are done. But this is real stuff. Life really is messy, and sometimes the only victory that can happen is the one-breath-at-a-time survival of the wrenching moments that claw into the soul. It's part of the journey to healing. It's part of embracing life. 

I'm grateful for my husband and my daughter, upon whom I lean when I need to. They see me struggling and - unbidden - they come alongside to help me, just like I've seen them struggling and have come alongside to help them when they needed it. 

And in the silence comes a sort of weird kind of calm. It's a reminder that I've traveled this road before and that I had help then too.  And so - I know that I am not alone, even though it might feel like I am. And because I've been through this before and come out the other side relatively unscathed, I'm going to be okay this time.

Maybe not without scars, but I will be okay. Maybe not today, but I will be okay. For today, I will listen to the sounds of silence and not stifle their voices. Nor will I dwell on them or try to stay here. It will be what it is. It will pass when it passes. And ... though it's not easy, I guess I'm okay with that.

Press Pause

What a whirlwind the last three weeks has been! I have been in a city that is three thousand miles away from my home, knowing only the people I have met online through my master's program, and often depending on the kindness of strangers, or if not strangers, people who are new to my experience. 

Three weeks ago today, I left behind my office desk with a note on it to not give me new work because I wouldn't be back until nearly the end of July, and I went home to do my final packing. In a way, it was like I pressed "Pause" on my work life.  That world would no longer occupy me for a period of three weeks. And so it has not.  I have become immersed in the atmosphere of students desiring earnestly to develop their skills, just as I am. 

Academically, this has been intense - there has been such a strong component of hands-on practice in what some have dubbed "Summer Intensive" (as opposed to Summer Institute, which it is really called).  I can literally feel my mind expanding as I have gone through these few weeks. I chuckle when I remember how the smallest of skills posed such a problem for me at first, and then, looking back, I wonder what all the fuss was about. My confidence in my abilities has increased exponentially. Yes, academically, it has been a good experience. It will stand me in good stead in my practicum, but that won't happen until 13 months or so from now.

As challenging and invigorating as that has been, physically, it has been exhausting. It took me a few days to realize that I was lagging behind other people and feeling out of breath all the time because I was 3,500 feet higher above sea level than I was used to being! Altitude sickness includes symptoms of fatigue, shortness of breath, acute insomnia, headaches and joint aches ....and I had it all!  It lasted for almost two weeks! About a week after getting here, I was given the opportunity to book a place in residence (on the campus). It turned out to be a good move for me, as I could devote more time to self-care than I had in months. And now, a lot of those aches and pains have disappeared or vastly reduced. I can enjoy the walk to and from class now, and it doesn't tire me out like it used to. And I have even gotten some sunshine in the process! It's like I have finally been able to press Pause, to gather my legs under me, to get my bearings physically.

Emotionally and relationally, this period has been difficult.  I have been confronted with just how much of a jerk I can be sometimes (even moreso when I am feeling tired, weak, and lonely), which has led me to begin to re-evaluate my approach to communication in relationships. That was - and is - a hard (and emotionally expensive) lesson to learn. I have had to press Pause, to reflect on a lot of things surrounding my insecurities and fears about how to be a friend and whether I have the ability to be true to who I am and say how I feel without being afraid of making someone mad at me. I sense that this will be a long Pause. There is a lot to work through.

And then there's the homesickness!! WOW have I ever suffered from that!! Especially in the last week, I have been (as my prof described to me) "off" - not quite on my game, if you will. And that has simply been a function of homesickness combined with the stress of public speaking without the benefit of either raised stage or microphone.  (Let me tell you, that is a totally different ball game...) But mostly it's just been that being away from my loved ones is wearing on me, and I just can't wait to see them again!!  I went to timeanddate.com to create a countdown for not only the plane landing back home, but also for it taking off from here.  What's that you say? I got it bad? Yeah you bet!! 

Health-wise, this has been a pleasant pause. I am strengthening my lifestyle choices regarding eating and activity level, and have learned that I CAN look after myself (and yes, medication helps) and eventually beat my health challenges. My sugars are ALMOST back to normal and I feel less draggy and tired than I was two short months ago when I was first diagnosed with diabetes. I can foresee a day when things will be completely under control and I will be able to get back to activities that I had to give up because it was just too uncomfortable and/or tired to do them. (Golf, folks. I was talking about golf.  And horseback riding. Tsk!) 

Photo "Stone And Sand Background" courtesy
of gubgib at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And now I get ready to press another Pause.  After this weekend, I will be officially finished this course and won't have to start another until September - and even then, instead of two courses, I will only be taking one. August is a month I look forward to simply because it is a breather from the constant need to stay on top of a pretty intense school routine added onto an already full plate of work and home (not to mention sleep, nutrition, and activity).  One less thing to focus on gives me a slight break in that routine. I'm thankful for that; it will give me a chance to reconnect with my friends and spend time with my family.

That way, when September comes and I release that Pause button, I will be energetic enough to dance to the music again. 

Direction ... Not Destination

“It becomes easier for me to accept myself as a decidedly imperfect person, who by no means functions at all times in the way in which I would like to function. This must seem to some like a very strange direction in which to move. It seems to me to have value because the curious paradox is that when I accept myself as I am, then I change.”
- - Carl Rogers, On Becoming a Person: A Therapist's View of Psychotherapy

About a month ago, I sat across from someone who really listened to me and heard my concerns. He wasn't a therapist, and quite frankly, to listen to his career accomplishments, I would have considered him to be unapproachable under normal circumstances (at least, what normal was for most of my life). However, I had heard him open his heart and share his passion with people... and I knew instinctively that he could be trusted.  So I poured out my heart to him. And he listened. And he cared. 

In doing what I did, I admitted to myself that I was not happy with the current state of affairs and that I wanted something to change. I also admitted to myself that I didn't have the power to change anything about my circumstances, but I could talk to someone who did. 

And you know, it happened. When I heard what had been done to fix things, it was like someone removed a 70-pound pack from my back, one that I'd been carrying around for a year. The relief was so great and so tangible that I welled up and spilled over in tears for a few minutes. And then I contacted the man who had listened - and I thanked him. It was all I could think to do. And it was as natural to do that as to take my next breath. 

I write all that because ... because seven years ago, I never would have been able to reach out like that and ask for help. I would have suffered - perhaps not in silence, but in helplessness and misery - and today I realize that the person I was then was me, and the person I am now is still me ... only better, healthier. And the catalyst for change was nothing other than accepting the me that I was then the WAY I was then - and learning to like that person. (By the way,  I had help.)

Photo "Woman Relaxing With Her Eyes Closed"
courtesy of photostock at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Without realizing it, my behavior and my attitudes about things (not necessarily in that order) began to change. The change was automatic. I didn't have to work at it, except to realize and be aware of my behavior patterns. There were a lot of uncompleted sentences and one-eighties in the beginning as I learned a new way to be. I was becoming a better me. And I still am.

As you can tell from the above quote, I love to read things that Carl Rogers (father of modern psychotherapy) said or wrote. (I even listened to part of one of his taped sessions once. It was amazing.) He also said something else about personal growth. He said that it wasn't a destination ... that it was a direction. A process, not a product. That is my experience. Some of that experience was pretty intense - it involved doing things that were hard - but I tackled them when and as I was ready for them, and not before ... and I still do. 

But the weird thing about it all is that without that core of acceptance of who and what I am at the moment, none of the changes I've experienced (and am experiencing) would have been possible or would be possible. It is, as Rogers said, a "curious paradox." 

I can't explain how it works. It just does. Slow but sure, millimeter by millimeter.
And I'm okay with that.

Diamond formation

A large lump of coal, under great pressure, over the course of years, forms a diamond. Such constant trial transforms a common stone into a treasure cherished by many. 

There are some people I've met who are diamonds, so formed by such intense suffering that it is hard to describe it. 

One such person cannot remember back past the time when her life was untouched by pain. 

When she was very young, she took a tumble and fell on her head. Unknown to her, it misaligned a vertebra in her neck. All of her childhood she suffered from rare migraines caused by a lack of blood flow to the brain; these were marked by nausea, extreme vertigo, and other unpleasant symptoms including temporary blindness on one side of her vision, but rarely any headache. 

She endured doctors not understanding her symptoms and then misdiagosing, several times. Not until she was 14 did she get a diagnosis (and only after extensive research by her parents who presented their research to the doctor): basilar artery migraines (BAM) also known as vertebrobasilar insufficiency. She was unable to take any medication for these attacks; if she did, she could have a stroke because the migraine medications constricted blood vessels. Since the migraines were caused by a lack of blood flow to the brain, further constriction (from medication) could shut off blood flow to the brain. It took only one such scare in an emergency room to drive that message home. The pediatrician had left standing orders to use a medication called DHE or dihydroxyergotamine, administered through an I.V. This medicine would constrict her vessels. The parents disagreed and objected; the attending physician (wanting to appease them) only gave her a half-dose. She had a mild heart attack and her migraine spiked off the charts. If she'd had a full dose she might have had a stroke.

She had to drop out of high school in grade ten due to missing so much time from the migraines, which came in clusters of up to three weeks at a time. This led her to believe that she was not intelligent, when in fact, she was extremely smart. Otherwise she couldn't have made it through elementary and junior high school with the high marks she did while still missing as much time as she did.

When she was 19 years old, pain in her neck led her to seek chiropractic help, where the slippage in her vertebrae was discovered on X-ray. The chiropractor gave her neck exercises to do with weights attached to her head, and within two months she regained some curvature to her neck and the slippage was reversed slightly. Over the next six months her migraines slowly tapered off. 

During that time, her dentist had to do a root canal in one tooth, and told her that she had to get her wisdom teeth out. She underwent both procedures about a year apart, and was left with TMJD - temporomandibular joint dysfunction. She still suffers from pain in her jaw (which extends into her neck and shoulder) and an inability to open her mouth wide, or chew tough meats.

However, the migraines were far less frequent - she occasionally had a regular one in her head but the debilitating vertigo was very rare. One day she just up and decided to go back to school and get her GED. She had it within 2 months. About six months later, she decided to go to college and become an executive assistant. She did, graduating at the top of her program. 

Photo "Single Blue Diamond" by
MR LIGHTMAN at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

She'd been at her job, living a relatively normal life for the first time in her life, when she stepped out of her work place after work one evening in late November 2012, crossed the sidewalk to get into her parents' vehicle, and slipped on a patch of black ice. She fell. Hard. 

She noticed a numbness in her left foot, and looked down. To her surprise, her kneecap was not in the correct place, but on the side of her leg. She reached down and wrenched it back into place. She doesn't remember feeling pain at this.

Her father helped her get into the vehicle. The pain hit on the ride home. It took her parents two days to convince her that she should get it seen to - she was that wary of doctors!

Thus began another pain journey. Over a year and a half and two surgeries later, she still walks with a crutch (or a cane on her good days) due to the surgeon making an error in the first surgery which was not detected during the second surgery. She has been on disability insurance since April 2013. Her surgeon has declared her unable to work indefinitely. She struggles with depression, loneliness and anxiety on a daily basis. Several months ago, her life was touched deeply by grief. She has symptoms of PTSD and battles panic attacks, multiple chemical sensitivities, and asthma.

I've told you all that to tell you this. This young lady is an absolute joy to know. She is deep, sensitive, thoughtful and loyal. She accepts people the way they are. ALL people. She's passionate about what she believes in. 

She is honest about how she feels if you ask her, even if she feels horrible. Yet she is not bitter and she doesn't use her disability as a tool to get a person to do what she wants. In fact, she has even used her crutch or her scar to start conversations and put people at ease; she understands people in pain and is one of the most empathetic people I know. Yet she won't snow you. If she thinks your behavior is hurting someone she loves, she will find a way to tell you in a way you'll be able to accept.

She has grown so much because of her pain, because of the things she has experienced. She's learning to look after herself, to believe that she is well worth the space she takes up in the world and in our lives. Pain - in her case - has become that constant pressure that has transformed her into someone absolutely priceless. She is indeed a diamond ... a precious gem in our lives. She always was.

I'm proud to know her. My life is richer because she is in it. 

And that's no lump of coal.