An end, A beginning

I have been doing a lot of reflecting these past few days. I suppose ringing in the new year brings this out in all of us. All that has happened, and all that I hope for, motivated me to write- for the first time in a long time.

When it first dawned on me that the New Year was near, I felt relief. 2013 has not been easy. I wanted to label it a bad year, and be done with it. Family has struggled. I have struggled. And not just in the every day type of way. There was an intensity with which 2013 presented its challenges.

For better or worse, I am a thinker. As I continued to ponder 2013, I reflected on who I was on January 1, 2013, versus who I am today. And it is amazing to say that at age 33, I have changed SO much in one year. Some of the change has come from having to face life's circumstances. Some of it came about because I chose to face my own struggles, and to heal. The culmination of all this is powerful beyond words. I feel I have gained wisdom and insight that some might not be fortunate enough to find in their entire lives. I feel humble, and grateful, and tired.

So even though 2013 could have been labeled a "bad year," I think I cannot view this kind of growth in a negative light. And despite all the challenges of the year, I have incredible people with whom I am more connected. Including to my little girl.

In 2014, I hope for fortitude. It will bring the birth of my second daughter, the fourth birthday of my first daughter, my twelfth wedding anniversary. It will bring more opportunities and challenges and changes. But if I can stay in this space, I think I can face them better than ever before. There is no greater gift. Thank you, 2013.

Happy New Year to all.

The therapist's heart

Had a bit of a sleepless night. And that was only partly due to my almost three-year-old who awakened twice and attempted to refuse to go back to bed. It's not often that my work interrupts my sleep, but when it does, my brain just won't be quiet.

The kids and families I work with are a part of my heart. I dedicate a lot of thought to how to help them achieve their goals, whatever those may be. Sometimes even at 3am. And when they aren't getting better, or when things have been better, and they slide backwards, it's really tough. Especially when there is real risk to the kids, or families, of bigger consequences. And sometimes I have to make judgments about what to do next that weigh on me.

It's not that I feel guilt, or blame myself for the suffering, the struggling. It is that I want so badly to help. Because I don't want the Mom who lost one son to lose another. I don't want to send a girl into harm's way. I don't want the boy whose heart is good to get swallowed up in his pain and anger.

So that's why I'm up thinking. What interventions should come next? What haven't we tried? What are we missing?

This is a beautiful job, in so many ways. And the rewards are amazing, when real progress is made, when a mother hugs me and thanks me for all your help. But the reality is that, at least in my practice, that those moments have to feed me through a lot.

And in the meantime, these kids become "my" kids. Because I choose to let them in, and choose to be one more person to try to help them on their path. I have hope for every single one.

It has been a while...

Interesting that my blog posts slowed significantly once I returned to grad school. I suppose I write more than enough for my course in PTSD. Still, writing about my life, and the light of my life, feels so much more important. It's just so hard, sometimes, to find the time.

I met a sweet old lady in the grocery store yesterday. I had picked up a Hello Kitty stuffed animal, and she looked at it longingly, and shook her head. I smiled and said something about how cute it was, and how tempting. That was all it took. A twenty-five minute conversation ensued. I learned that Georgia is 87. She has 8 great-grandchildren, including a nine-year-old who has Georgia wrapped around her little finger. She married her high school sweetheart after graduating in 1944, and he served in World War II after being drafted. They had two, maybe three, children. Georgia's own parents died at relatively young ages. Georgia and her beloved Leroy lost their oldest daughter 12 years ago to cancer. She was 54. Within two years of her death, Leroy passed away, too. Georgia was tearful as she recalled watching her daughter fight her disease, and as she spoke of how much she still misses Leroy. She admitted that she sometimes feels depressed, and does not know why she is still here. Then she shared more about her 9-year-old great-granddaughter, who is actually her step great-granddaughter, but does not know the difference. The 9-year-old lives nearby, and stays with Georgia on occasion. Georgia said that her great-granddaughter holds Georgia's face in her hands and tells her she doesn't know what she would do without her. I said, "Well that's why you're here." Georgia has some health problems, including a pace maker and a replaced knee. She said she doesn't have much money, but keeps busy anyway. She was picking out Easter eggs, and said she tapes dollar bills to some of them as an extra surprise for the kids.

Georgia apologized for taking my time, and thanked me for giving it. I told her I had lots of time, and was grateful to have met her. She said that despite everything, she had had a blessed life. She said that all that really matters are the children and being kind. We parted ways so that she could get a Starbucks, and then had one more goodbye when she walked back from Starbucks, disappointed that they had closed at 6, and it was now 6:10. I went to pick out a Rotisserie chicken, only to discover that the store had run out, and I would have to go somewhere else to get our dinner.

I think this chance meeting was something more than that. It was a reminder that life will pass by. And who knows what my story will be, if I am lucky enough to get to 87 years old. And there will never be a happy ending, but there will be many beautiful moments. And also some that are incredibly painful. But the point is the process. It is about being kind, and about taking care of our kids. Georgia was right. If we are those two things, somehow I think we come through it all with grace. There are no guarantees, other than this moment.

So, I'm going to go now, and embrace my two-and-a-half-year-old, who is decked out from head to toe in princess and ballerina gear, and has been since 4:30 am. And that's okay. Because even that early, there are beautiful moments.