Fighting to rest

As my daughter would say, it's been "a day." Generally she says it when it's just been one thing after the other to make stress mount and things go wrong. 

I'm already dealing with some pretty intense personal stuff, as well as trying to be a support to my daughter as she deals with the realization that she can't get any resolution for her knee because she's WAY too young for a total knee replacement, as well as a new diagnosis of fibromyalgia (from a neurologist just this week) and all the emotional roller-coaster that goes with it (the high of finally getting a diagnosis followed by the crash of the reality of an incurable illness.) 

And not to be outdone, work made us do mandatory overtime. I was just about to do three hours tonight when the boss announced today that we had to do 12 more this weekend. HAD to. Yikes. 

Some of us have lives outside of work. Just saying. 

With such a lot (and a lot more I'm not even mentioning) going on, it's hard to find that time to rest and practice self-care. Sometimes, I have to fight to get the rest I need. I have to elbow in there and carve out time for me - or ASK for time for me. It goes against every guilt trip I ever went on (whether booked by me or someone else) but it is so very necessary to take time out and do what I like to do instead of what I'm expected to do. Or what someone else needs me to do.

Photo "Massaging Shoulder As Very Stressed"
courtesy of Stuart Miles at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Those who have an addiction (as I do) to looking after everyone else ... tend to be on the bottom of their stuff-I-gotta-take-care-of list. Sometimes I don't even get to BE on the list. That's not good. My counsellor used to tell me, "You can't give away what you don't have.  Look after yourself, and you'll have something to give to people who need it." That's great advice. I even take it sometimes. 

But lately I've been having to fight to get space to just be. I've therefore had to make some really tough decisions that free me to have that time and that space to devote to the things (and the people) who matter. It's kind of scary, but I know it will be better in the long run. (Of course mandatory overtime doesn't help - but it is what it is). I find myself counting the days until I take my annual vacation  - it starts September 4. Only 8 more days to work (that is, every day for 8 days, some days more than others). And then I get to rest - until school starts again (on September 9) and I add graduate studies to the mix. Oh well - I'll take what I can get. 

In the meantime, it's not forgetting to "Just Breathe" and lots of the Serenity Prayer ... and remembering to do something nice for myself every day. Sometimes even every hour on those stressful days. 

It's a start.

Blah, blah, blahh?

So far it has been a very late, very wet summer. And there is even more rain  ... and showers ... and drizzle ... in the forecast. It's soo hard to get motivated with this kind of weather. Everything feels so BLAH.

So-o, it looks like I need to hold a private gratitude meeting with myself. Maybe by doing that, I can light a candle and dispel the darkness.

Okay-y, hmm. 

I'm grateful that my daughter was able to get the huge drywall compound stain off the brand new floor in the family room last night (where it had dropped from someone "mudding" the new ceiling); I'd been stressing out about whether the stain would ever come out. [Whew!!] I'm thankful that I have my husband and daughter to talk to and that we have good relationships and can talk about pretty much anything. 

I'm relieved that my daughter finally has an appointment to go see the orthopedic doctor in Halifax next month, and that she is continuing to learn to drive a car. Her progress in other areas is slow but positive and steady. I'm thankful for that too. Her totally accepting attitude about her lot in life just amazes me.

I'm pleased about my courses at my online grad school and that I will have the same classmates going into my upcoming fall course as I now have in the orientation. (From the winter semester onward, I won't have the same people in my classes, but that's then and this is now). The course for this fall will explore all different kinds and styles of therapy and the different underlying theories behind each - so it's kind of like a review for me ... but I'm sure I'll learn a lot too (it covers areas my previous program didn't have the time to cover) and continue to develop relationships I've started.  I've been assigned a faculty advisor that will be the same one throughout the program, so that's neat. Plus, I don't have to pay extra for my textbooks - a real bonus!

I am glad to have a pretty rewarding job ... and that my job is far less stressful now than it was six months ago due to some positive changes near the top. 

Photo "Candle" courtesy of phanlop88 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I'm grateful that hubby had a chance to make a few extra dollars in the last few months (thus being able to replace the ceilings in the basement with drywall and the lighting with something a bit brighter for the most part). It's not completely done, but the majority of it is, so our lives can resume their normal rhythms. I'm also grateful that hubby can now return to his normal schedule at home the rest of this year - it gives him more time with our daughter and allows him to be able to take her to her various (multiple) medical appointments. I am happy that my back (sacro-iliac) is doing well enough that I'm no longer using a cane, even though I need to be careful not to aggravate it by standing or sitting or walking for too long (hence my staying home today from church because those pews kill my back and standing up for any length of time is even worse). Nevertheless, it's doing better today (and I want to keep it that way) so for the moment, I'm okay. Okay is good. It's honest. An honest "okay" is better than a faked "great" any day.

I'm even grateful to be able to be there for a friend who just lost her 41-year-old daughter after a long fight against a congenital heart condition which left her susceptible to strokes. It's a rough road ahead for my friend, but I know she will make it - and I feel privileged to be there to help in any way I can. Mostly it's just by being there, and letting her know that her feelings are valid and normal for what she's going through. 

And although I am currently going through what I'd call an existential crisis at the moment (pertaining to the whole idea of fear-based obligation and ritual vs love-based freedom and service), I am grateful that I have a strong faith to ground me while I'm finding my way through what can be a mine-field of second-hand emotions that some people could attempt to put onto me. I have talked about my faith on this blog before, so most of you know that I'm a Christian, but most of my discussions on this topic are reserved for a different audience (different blog), so I won't repeat them here. Enough to know that there are some pretty fundamental changes going on within me, and even if the end result is a different way of living and spending time, it won't be because of a loss of faith. Rather, it will be as a result of returning to a more simple, less complicated (less guilt-based, less fear-based) faith. I see that as a positive thing, and I'm thankful for that.

There, that's much better. The rainy day has not succeeded in keeping me in a downward spiral. In fact, I can even feel the warmth of that candle now.

Good fences make good neighbours

Over the last couple of months, ever since someone tromped all over one of my personal boundaries, I've been doing a lot of thinking about boundaries or personal limits, what they are, why they're important, how to recognize them if and when they exist, and how to respect them. I've even thought a little about when it is okay to cross those boundaries, and when it is NEVER okay to do so. 

Until I was in my forties, I didn't even know that personal boundaries existed, because when I was growing up, they didn't. When I started realizing that I had a right to take up space, that others had boundaries that I was not allowed to cross and that the same applied to me, I started realizing how many times throughout my life that people had barged onto my private property, even in the name of "caring," and proceeded to wrestle my rights to the ground. 

For example, I kept a diary when I was a teen. In it, I poured out my hopes, wishes and dreams, ideas I had, no matter how outlandish. I explored the depth of the feelings I was feeling, confided my deepest thoughts, and I found that in doing so, there was an outlet, a way for me to work through a very confusing and intense period in my life. 

One day, my mother found it. 
She read it.
She was horrified by the subject matter and the intensity.

She made me burn it. Not just it, but all of them that had gone before.

I sat in front of the furnace and wept in grief and intense anger and hatred as I burned - page after page - was forced to destroy what to me represented my soul: literally months and years of a journey I could have looked back on in my twenties and thirties ... and laughed about. 

That was a boundary that should never have been crossed. 
My mom thought she was being a good mom, protecting me, raising me "right." But she violated my privacy, judged me, and her punishment was way over the top.

It took me decades to forgive her. And yes, that was something that needed to be forgiven because IT WAS WRONG, and it hurt me terribly, even though she never apologized. 

Photo "White Fence" courtesy of scottchan at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

When I had children of my own, I made mistakes with them too. I remember freaking out when I saw some things that one or the other of the kids was doing ... and then I remembered my old diary. And it made me stop and rethink. And yes, when I'd jumped over a fence onto their territory, I apologized ... eventually.

I remember that while they were still small and there were going to be people coming over to the house for a visit, people with children their age or thereabouts ... I would tell them to go through their things in advance and set aside those "special" toys that they didn't want to share, and we'd put them in a separate room that was off-limits until the guests went home. That way, they didn't have to feel forced to share ALL of their toys. It modeled for them that there are boundaries, that boundaries are a good thing to have, and that they had a right to their own privacy. That was HUGE. 

And it was one thing (among many) which helped me to build their trust over the years so that later, when I discovered something that I thought was horrible, I was able to listen and find out the "why" instead of freaking out and shutting forever conduits of communication that I wanted to stay open. I don't need to share exactly what those things were, because that's their stuff, not mine. But that communication stayed open, and at the end of the day, I'd rather that than secrets and lies.

So here's what I've learned about fences and about being a good neighbour.

• People have the right to have their own opinions. It is not my job to put them down for their beliefs and lifestyles.
• "Talking down" to someone is never okay. That includes both tone and body position. If someone is seated, sit. If they are shorter than you are, position yourself to be on the same level as they are, at the same eye level. 
• Nobody is any better than anyone else, regardless of age, gender, economical status, social standing, race, or belief. We are all in this together.
• Nobody has the right to tell anyone else what to do. Not even if asked. Giving advice is never a good idea. And downright giving orders (for whatever reason, even "caring,") makes people want to do the exact opposite of what you tell them. And they will never trust anyone who manipulates and controls them.
• People have the right to feel what they feel. Feelings are not wrong and need never be treated as such, regardless of age or gender. Babies to seniors, male to female and everything in between, feelings are feelings and they are valid and real to whoever feels them. 
• Kindness and acceptance go a lot further than condemnation and self-righteousness.

Good boundaries really do make good neighbours, good parents, good friends, and good spouses. The virtue of respect is one that - if cultivated in one's own heart and mind - can make this world a much better place. And, like all virtues, it is developed and nourished from the inside out.

More than meets the eye

For the past couple of months, we've not been able to use the left side of our double kitchen sink due to a leak in the drain. Hubby put a container under the sink to catch the drips from when someone "forgot" and used that side of the sink, but he finally got fed up ... and called a plumber. He happened to mention that the remaining drain seemed sluggish, so the guy agreed to take a look at that too, while he was here.

He arrived early this morning. A few minutes later, the offending pipe crumbled in his hands from being rusted through. A replacement pipe, wow. Things could be worse.

The problem with the other side of the sink, though - the side of the sink we were still able to use - was more involved than just using an auger to clean out the sink trap, or replacing a piece of pipe. No - it went way deeper. All of the drain pipes were up to 50% coated on the inside with the sludge of decades of use, people washing dishes, draining off the fat from meat, etc. Down the drain all that stuff would go, and .. out of sight, out of mind. 

Until now. 

Photo "Rusty Water Tap" by
franky242 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Since I was home today, I got to see (and hear) them at work. It was a rather long and involved process ... and I couldn't help but think of the parallels between our plumbing problem and the situation many of us face when we've been trying to look after everyone else's crud for so many years. We pride ourselves on our ability to deal, even tell ourselves that we're doing what's right ... and then we wonder why we're sluggish, why we're sometimes barely able to function. 

So we ask for help and we think, yeah, this is an easy fix. Until it isn't. 

We end up having to replace some stuff in our lives with other, more functional stuff. That part is fine. But it's when we start digging a little deeper that we find that there's ever so much sludge we've allowed to accumulate. Things like making allowances for other people's mistakes, covering for them, not letting them experience the consequences of their own actions, and so forth. Learning to accept that these tendencies are there is hard - but it's a necessary step in being able to be willing to open ourselves to change. And, the malady goes so deep - it's so much a part of how we define ourselves - that the only way to handle it is to ream all that goo out of our psyches where it's had a chance to congeal and harden ... which takes time. 

It's inconvenient. It's painful, even. We have to put considerable investment into it. But getting help from someone who knows how to navigate those things means that it will take less time with fewer mistakes than if we tried doing it by ourselves. That's worth the inconvenience. 

And having that stuff removed from our lives makes the pain worth while as well. It's just the process that is the hard part. So we knuckle down, pay the price, and let it happen. 

The frustrating thing about inner healing, or growth, or recovery - whatever you want to call it - is that those looking on from the sidelines can't see any of the things we go through to get from A to B. All they see (if they are perceptive enough) are the results - the new attitudes we develop, the relationships that we begin (and end), and the things we say yes (and no) to, for example. This is a journey that is more than what it appears. There is more to it than what meets the eye. There are deeper issues. There is much that is unseen and that may never be seen. 

However, when we enter the process (and truth be told, many times we might not have undertaken the process if we'd known how much was involved), and when we are open and honest with ourselves, it's almost as though the changes happen without us even being aware of most of them. We just suddenly find ourselves doing something that we never would have dreamed of doing before ... and ask ourselves where that came from!  

Yes, there's more to it than meets the eye, but on the whole, it's worth the trouble. And someday, maybe even today, we'll even be grateful that the old pipe sprang a leak in the first place.

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.

A Breath of Kindness

It's been a week of lasts. And it's been a week of firsts. 

This was the week that the last of the insurance money I was hoping for, came to me in the form of a check for the value of my youngest daughter's car before the crash.

This was the last week that I had to dread another car payment coming off my bank for that same car that I had co-bought with her (she in one province, I in another) ... a car in which she was killed a month and a day later. Every time that I had to record that amount in my check register, another piece of me died. Now, nearly 18 months after her death and some 35 payments later, the insurance company sent me a check to pay her loan in full. 

This was the last week that I had to pretend that it didn't happen, that she was somehow still with me, tied to me by that payment every two weeks. 

That is hard. And it's also a relief, which brings me to the firsts.

This week, for the first (and hopefully the last) time, and at the suggestion of my financial consultant at my bank, I ended up having an appointment with a bank employee from a different bank who specialized in estates. She heard me, expressed her condolences, and walked me through the process of paying out that loan. 

"I want to make this as painless as possible for you," she said. Her eyes said what her professionalism could not - "I know how I would feel if I lost my daughter." 

For the first time, I was grateful for this poky little Island with its rural mentality. It had always niggled at me a little bit that everyone has to know each other's business and heritage here. I'm a private person, and that kind of interest in family bloodlines seems ... almost incestuous somehow. But ... this woman across the desk from me remembered me from 30 years ago, remembered my name and remembered that we lived in the country, "down east" as she called it - referring to the east end of the Island and the part that (on the map) looks like it's on Island's underbelly. She was a bank employee back then too, working for a different bank, where we just happened to have our mortgage. And now I just happened to be sitting across from her, thirty years later. 

2009 Hyundai Accent

I don't believe in coincidences. I had prayed, before I left to go to my appointment, for God to go before me and to make the rough places smooth. I believe that He had been working ahead of time (even 30 years in advance!), knowing I would pray that exact prayer at that moment, so He did go before me, much more than I had even meant when I prayed. Thirty years more.

The bank employee even put a rush on the request and stopped payment on another auto-debit that was to come off next week, the day before the payment request was auto-initiated by their computer. (I just happened to mention to her that the next payment was due to come off next week so should I be concerned about it? A flurry of activity from her and it was taken care of. Just. Like. That.) 

She told me that the loan was thus-and-such amount of money, which meant that there would be some money left over after it was paid. And she made it possible for me to be paid the balance left over. In cash. WITHOUT filling out reams of paperwork and WITHIN the rules of the bank itself. I remember standing at the wicket, with her walking another bank employee - a teller - through the screens to process the transaction, watching as the teller counted out the money on the wicket counter and handed it to me - plus the loose change in my other hand. I had the sensation that this was happening to someone else and that I was just watching it unfold ... a curious sensation.

It wasn't the paying off of the loan or the payback of the remaining money that touched my heart, though. It was this lady's willingness to go the extra mile to prevent what could have easily been the beginning of an ordeal for me. 

But it wasn't. It was the beginning of a new chapter in my life instead. 

I kept remembering what my daughter had said to me the day I arranged the loan with the car dealership, and her sitting across from the dealer almost all the way across the country from me. She'd been homeless for a couple of days and she was highly motivated to get a job and "make something of herself" - (she was ALREADY "something", but she had to prove it to herself, I guess.) Anyway, she was on the phone with me and she said to me, "I'll pay you back someday, Mom. I swear." And she meant it.

Well. I guess, for the first time honey, you paid me back. I just wish it wasn't this way.

And besides ... you gave me so very much just by being you, taught me so much about life by the way you lived yours. And that can't be measured in dollars and cents. 

It just can't.

Empathic Listening

It was over 25 years ago and I was a new mother. I'd been given all kinds of misinformation about nursing my baby - from all kinds of sources - and I was really, really sore as a result. At my husband's suggestion, I called a local La Leche League Canada leader. The lady on the other end of the phone listened to my predicament for a good five minutes without saying a word. And I'll never forget what the first word out of her mouth was (said with the kind of feeling that said "I've experienced this and I KNOW it's not fun in the least..."). The word was, "OUCH!"

The empathy in the tone of that one word was exactly what I needed. She went on to give me basic information that fixed the problem in minutes and allowed me to heal within a week.

What I liked most about our conversation was that she didn't come off all superior, she didn't preach at me, she didn't overreact, she didn't jump down my throat, and she didn't try to "convert" me. She just listened and she knew how to show that she was there to help - without making me feel like I was beholden to her. And oh yes, she left the choice up to me without insisting or belittling me, or saying that she was going to check up on me later.

All of those things that she didn't do? I've had them done to me.

Yeah, and by people who should probably know better. Or who have forgotten that people are people, not numbers or statistics.

Photo "Psychiatrist Examining A Male
Patient" by Ambro at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Empathy, as described by Carl Rogers (the father of modern psychotherapy), looks more like a quest to understand what it is like to BE the other person rather than an effort to appear knowledgeable about the problem. In this quest, (these are his own words, below):

... the therapist senses accurately the feelings and personal meanings that the client is experiencing and communicates this understanding to the client. When functioning best, the therapist is so much inside the private world of the other that he or she can clarify not only the meanings of which the client is aware but even those just below the level of awareness. This kind of sensitive, active listening is exceedingly rare in our lives. We think we listen, but very rarely do we listen with real understanding, true empathy. Yet listening, of this very special kind, is one of the most potent forces for change that I know. 

I feel blessed to have had the privilege of seeing a therapist who actually could sense what it was like to be me, to feel my feelings as if they were his own. It was a remarkably freeing experience, one I've never forgotten, and one I want to emulate if I ever get to be a counselor. There was no judgment, no "you should...." (which usually means "You should be more like me...") ... and I must say that being listened to for what felt like the first time in my life was a remarkable step toward wholeness. It gave me permission to find out who I really was, to get to know me, and to learn to like me.

That was huge. And I really hope that someday I can provide that atmosphere of trust for someone else who needs to follow that same path to self-discovery.

Same same

There is a [word-] sign used by the local deaf community that means "Same" - it looks like the ASL sign for the letter Y - as shown - but the hand is not raised up but facing the floor (in other words, palm side down). The hand goes back and forth horizontally a couple of times between the two items or people being compared, as if sliding back and forth on an unseen table. If the deaf person talks when he or she signs, the words that come out are "Same-same." 
The idea usually is that the thumb and pinky point toward what or who is involved in that comparison. 

That doesn't mean that differences don't exist. It just means that at some level, there is something essentially the same about those two things or people. 

Illustration "Sign Language And The
Alphabet,the Letter Y" by
taesmileland at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And that sign can be a complete sentence when the second component is added - facial expression. Take for example the comparison between two people. I've seen my deaf friends sign "same-same" over the years with amazement, sympathy, sarcasm, boredom, delight, disgust, and a whole host of other reactions that convey tone of voice - something that (as yet) the printed word cannot do very well. 

I was thinking about this sign a couple of days ago and it came to me that no matter how same-same people think they are, there is always something that is different. And not just different, VASTLY different - just like the pinky and the thumb point in nearly opposite directions. 

And no matter how different people are, there is always something that is the same between them, just as the pinky and the thumb are part of the same hand and signifying (in their differences) that they are same-same. Basic feelings are the same regardless of gender, gender identity or socioeconomic class; the colour of the blood is identical regardless of the colour of the skin. 

I might feel uncomfortable around someone because of our differences, but looking for common ground helps me to accept that person and acknowledge his or her right to take up space. And ... (this is a more subtle but just as important a distinction) just because I might share an identity label (same workplace, same church, same family relationships for example) with someone else, it doesn't give me the right to assume that this person thinks or believes or has the same values as I do. 

Or that the person can automatically be trusted because of that one similarity. 

Or that someone of another group is automatically untrustworthy because of the differences between us. 

"Peoples is peoples," a wise man once said. (Pete from Pete's Diner in Jim Henson's "The Muppets Take Manhattan", haha). More and more, I'm coming to live my life on that simple principle. Each person is capable of both good and evil. 

My quest in recovery from the chains of my own limitations is to find the people in my life that I can trust, the ones who help me be truly me (without trying to make me exactly the same as they are in every respect), and then surround myself with them. And to discover those - while I might care about them - who are toxic to me, who try to manipulate or control me ... and to distance myself from them. To make sure that the "sameness" between my circle of friends and myself is concentrated in the things that matter most to me, and to let go of the differences that would tear me down and hinder my growth.

It's a tall order, but no other human being has the right to do it for me.

How to make bad things worse

"I see you're looking better than you were a couple of days ago. I wanted to stop by and tell you."

You should have stopped there.

I should have let you stop there. I was vulnerable and needed to talk to someone I trusted, not this perfect stranger to me. In the whole time I've known you, we've only had one conversation - a year ago.

"Thanks. I was struggling earlier this week, things have really been stressful. Thinking I'd be much better off if I just wasn't here."

Bad choice of words - she will think you mean something more than what you're saying. What I'm thinking of is stress leave, not "checking out." Oh what's the difference anyway. I just want her to go away. I wish she would just go away. I'm tired, I want to go home and get out of this awful place.

[condensed version of the repeated 10-minute tirade that followed] "Oh my God, Judy. You need help. You need to get help right now. I mean, call your doctor first thing Monday morning. I'm serious, get him to prescribe some antidepressants. I mean it! and I'm checking up on you on Monday to see if you've called him." 

Back-pedal. Let her know that is really not what you meant. AT ALL. 

Photo "Portrait of
Pointing Male" by
imagerymajestic at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

"Look, I would never commit suicide. Really. But I understand how some people can think that way."

Oops, I recognize that look. Oh crap, she's getting on her white horse and going to save the day. No-o, that's that LAST thing I want. All I want to do is get away from here, to go home, for her to shut up and leave me alone.

"No, that's way too close to the line. You've GOT to get some help. Talk to a therapist, are you seeing someone? you have to see someone." 

Oh great, now she's ordering me around!!! Why doesn't she just go away? Can't she see how stressed out she's making me? How can I get out of this? Maybe a little humour?

[By this time my head is in my hands as she rants on and on about how she was depressed and how she got help and that I need to do the same.] 

"So," I joke, "if I kill myself, THEN will you leave me alone?" 

This attempt at humour only adds fuel to the fire. Her reaction only shows how little she knows me. More and more she convinces herself that I'm in imminent danger and that she has to "save" me. Will she NEVER shut up?? 

[Finally I decide to be straight with her because beating around the bush isn't helping! I hate confrontation, but she's backing me into a corner. And when I am backed into a corner, I go on the offensive.] My voice raises; it is clipped and stern. "Listen. You are treating me like I'm two years old, like you have to be my savior or something. It's making me very uncomfortable, and I want you to stop this, and leave me alone."

She doesn't leave me alone. She goes on the defensive for a while, then turns around and attacks again, same pushy attitude, same ordering me around, same heavy-handed control stuff as before.

And she promises (sounds like she threatens) to check in with me on Monday. Which makes me not want to go there on Monday. Or any other day, if she was going to be there in my face all the time.  As a matter of fact, I hadn't started to consider suicide - even in jest (and it WAS only in jest) - until she started ranting about it. And now I was fantasizing about how many ways I could force her to shut her mouth!

You see ... how much better it might have been for her to say, "You look better today, you looked ill earlier in the week." and for me to say, "Thanks, I do feel a bit better," (which I DID until she started jumping down my throat) and left it at that. But no-o. My guard was down - I was tired - and discouraged - and vulnerable.

And what she actually said to me had the exact opposite effect than the one she wanted. Instead of giving me someone to talk to, she made me not want to talk to her about anything, because she'd only try to control my life and my thinking. Instead of making me feel like I was supported, she made me feel like I was being attacked, assaulted, and harassed. Instead of me knowing that I was cared for, I ended up feeling like now I was going to be her "special little project" and that I'd never be out from under her microscope. 

She may indeed have "meant well"... but her attitude and her actions were way over the top, and more of a hindrance to any help I might have been considering. I felt like someone who complained of a sniffle, suddenly being forced to go to the hospital and hooked up to an IV and a respirator.

Overkill. There's a reason they call it that. It's what makes bad things way worse. 

A Rainbow Day

I forget who said it, but I've heard that whenever there's a day with a bunch of sad stuff mixed in with a bunch of happy stuff, you're having a "rainbow day." Like when it's been raining really hard and it lets up a bit and the sun peeks out from behind a storm cloud ... and it makes a rainbow. 

Today is like that. 

Yesterday I had to make arrangements to help a dear friend of mine say goodbye to her beloved cat. It's a wrenching time, losing a family member you've loved for years, but we all knew it was time. And this morning I awoke and the first thought in my mind was that today was the day ... and I was sad. Sad for the kitty and also very sad for my friend. I know the pain of that kind of loss - it tears at you. 

I checked my phone to see how low the battery was - and found that there was a message waiting on my voice mail. And it was from my youngest daughter's insurance company - a call for which I'd been waiting ever since she passed away in a car crash in October 2013. The only thing remaining on the insurance that hadn't been paid was the car itself - the medical bills and so forth had to be taken care of, and they had to be satisfied that our baby wasn't under the influence of alcohol.... or they wouldn't pay. So I have been paying on the car loan and wondering when they'd make their decision.

The message was that they needed forms filled out so that they could cut a check for the car. 

So many feelings! Relief ... vindication ... even grief as that loan was the last earthly vestige of her presence here. 

But the sun started to peek through the clouds. 

Photo "Double Rainbow" courtesy of
Evgeni Dinev at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

We picked up our friend and her cat, and took them to the clinic ... it was hard, obviously, but the vet made it easier with her gentleness and compassion. My friend and I  decided to wait in the vehicle while hubby stayed with kitty during her final moments - and right around the time that the deed was being done, my friend saw it: a robin. Hopping along the grass by the driveway to the vet clinic, a brilliantly red-breasted robin was stopping every so often and listening for his breakfast. It was a symbol of new life, and (as some of the First Nations believe) of letting go of what isn't working. So apropos.

Another rainbow; another ray of hope. Soon we were back home and getting a bite to eat.

Then - at our friend's request - we paid a visit to the Humane Society shelter. There, a young little momma cat who'd just recently had her kittens taken from her was in one of the cages, up on a perch and looking out at the world - and the moment their eyes locked, there was an instant connection... Twenty minutes later there was an adoption form filled out and instructions to wait until she was able to be neutered before bringing her home.... probably in about a week. 

Rainbows, multicolored and fresh, strewed in our pathway today. Such a gift in the midst of all the sadness.

Goodbyes, hellos, doors closing, others opening. Death, life, sadness and joy all mixed in together. 

Yep. It's a rainbow day.