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.

tragedy and gratitude

Today has been heartbreaking. There is no other way to describe the brutal mass murder that occurred in Connecticut. The loss of 26 lives, 20 of those so young. And innocent. And in their loss, we lost our innocence, too.

It is as if nothing is sacred. There is no place we can send our children that is protected enough- churches, school, work, malls. Today is especially awful. These were babies. And their parents, and all who love them, did not get enough time with them. To die such a violent death... I know of no words to describe the feeling in my gut, in my heart. It is pain. It is anguish. It makes me feel sick.

I got home today after a long day at work, and cried. I held my baby and I cried. I looked at her face, and imagined what I would do if she were ripped from my life. I don't know what I would do, how I would survive. And I think of the innumerable parents, and grandparents, and aunt and uncles, and brothers and sisters, who are facing that exact thing at this very moment.

It does not make sense. It hasn't in the past. And it does not today.

For a moment, I thought, "I don't want to live in a world like this." That thought entered my mind as my baby girl was sitting on me, eating a big handful of green beans, and watching a favorite movie. And then I realized something. And I felt gratitude.

I feet gratitude that I have this day. And that I have had all the days before. And that no matter what happens tomorrow, I have today. And so today, I will hold her. And I will pray for those families. And I will do whatever I can to show those who I love how much they mean. And I will do something good for the world. As much as my heart aches, I am lucky enough to have this moment.

It's not that gratitude will heal all grief. Loss is loss and tragedy is tragedy. It's that if I have the strength to be present in this moment, and aware of all the beautiful things, I can be sure that I have not taken a moment for granted. Because we don't know what tomorrow will bring. But today, we are here.

Introspection

My day today began a 4:15 am. I awakened to the sound of a woman outside my house, yelling "help" over and over again. I was flooded with a series of thoughts... "I should run out and make sure she's okay. There could be danger out there. I shouldn't also put myself in harm's way. I should call 911. What if something awful is happening? What if I'm not doing enough? What would my mom do? What would other people do? What is the right thing?" All these things came to mind in a matter of seconds. I elected to call 911, and dispatch was sending police over immediately. Obviously, I could not get back to sleep.

I got to work, and found that one of my clients had been suspended and received legal charges. His family is unwilling or unable to cooperate with therapy, and I feel at a loss about how to help him.

I met with an elementary school girl who is incredibly traumatized, and trying to work through it. But her eyes were vacant, she shook and cried. I couldn't solve it for her in that minute.

I heard from my mom that she was not feeling well, and was likely going to admitted to the hospital. She was not able to care for my baby for the rest of the day. I wanted to find a way to help her, and get care for Kinnie.

Just as I am writing this, something bit me. Twice. Right on my hip scar.


I don't know what I'm trying to say, to write, by detailing all of this. But I don't feel good. I feel disappointed, sad, hurt, scared, angry. Helpless. Helpless. And I am trying to figure out how to put my energy into the places that matter most, and let go of the rest, so that I don't feel so crazy busy. But I can't figure out how to prioritize.


I realized, in a meeting this afternoon, that I have completely lost my sense of people being inherently good. I realized that when I began my job two years ago, I was absolutely convinced that all people are doing the best they can. I don't feel that anymore. And I would like to.

I am not of the perspective that things can't get worse because I know they can. I know that tomorrow will likely contain more successes. But I would like to know how to make today feel more successful. Sometimes its hard for me to focus on anything other than feeling that the day was overwhelming.

Deep breaths...

A doozie...

Today was a doozie. The things that come out of my daughter's mouth astonish me, and make me laugh. I don't know where she comes up with this stuff. I had to write to capture some of it...

-This morning, while coloring with markers, Kin decided to color on herself. I reminded her that if she continued to do that, we would have to put the markers away. To this she replied, "But Mommy, I need to go color on myself."

- Later in the day, Kinnie and I were in her room, playing with her new Dora doll. I play the role of Dora, and Kinnie played herself. Dora grabbed one of Kinnie's toys and said, "It's mines" (meaning, it is mine). Kinnie grabbed the toy from Dora, and said, "No, it's mines." Dora became upset, and asked, "why don't you want to share with me?" To this, Kinnie offered an extensive explanation; something like: "it's special because we got it at the store and so it's special and it's mines." Dora couldn't argue with that.

- On our afternoon walk, with Kinnie in the stroller, and Daddy with the dogs on leash, Kinnie said, "I'm mad at Daddy. Daddy is Daddy Gay." (This remark is thanks to my little brother and his "teachings.") I asked why she was mad at Daddy, and she said, "No, I'm not mad at Daddy. I'm curious." Hmmm...

- At dinner, the discussion turned to private parts. Kinnie looked at Daddy and said, "You have a vagina."

- Kinnie stubbed her toe this evening, and Daddy tried to kiss it. She said, "Daddy, don't touch me. I'm special."

Yes, Kinnie, you are special. I wish I could record every day, all the times you make me laugh. Of course there were other moments today, like when you pooped in the tub. As I was scrubbing it out, you turned off the bathroom lights and refused to turn them back on. That was not fun. But now that all the bleach I could find has been used to disinfect the bath, I can even laugh at that, too. Anyone who does not believe that parenthood is an incredible adventure is not paying attention.

Wow

I was just down in the basement, folding a never-ending pile of laundry, when I had an epiphany. I realized that I had no weight on my shoulders. I was thinking about my adventurous day with my 2-year-old, the coming weekend, starting my new job next week... It all felt... simple. Yes, simple. I thought about using the word normal. And then, being the processor that I am, I wondered why I felt so... simple. Is it about the new job? Is it having had a good day (relatively) with my kid?

(See below for the reason for "relatively." I caught the child doing this while I was cooking dinner. At least the permanent marker was on the mirror. Oh, except for the streak on the wall and the leather couch...)

Then, the epiphany. Nothing, in the last 3 or more months, has felt simple. Nothing has felt routine. I was not able to anticipate an average day. And having been in that place, and coming to this place, is amazing.

I am healing well. I walk without crutches or a cane, and usually without a limp. I don't have limitations, other than getting a bit sore at the end of the day. I even "ran" with Kinnie yesterday. It is weird to jog when you haven't done anything of the sort in months.

My heart is swelling with gratitude. I can't describe it better than that.