-RT
Liese, thanks for commenting. We all do these things, I think. Hopefully, though, less and less. And I think everyone's story inspiring. Start writing!
-RT
-RT
Morning Peeps –
“When you learn how to reparent yourself, you will stop attempting to complete the past by setting up others to be your parents.” - John Bradshaw, Homecoming: Reclaiming and Championing Your Inner Child.
Wow! These words send a flush of recognition through my body. How many times have I done that? For sure with every therapist – and a handful of other people too. How many times has it been successful? Zero. Nada. Zip.
Desires, needs, longings of my wounded little girl? Normal. Expectation that someone who truly cares and understands will fulfill these for me? Trouble. Others can help with some of this, but no one can truly be there 100%. I will never be someone’s top priority. I am the only one who can be that for me. I am always with myself. I am always interested in myself. I’m the one who must step up to the plate.
I have certainly accumulated evidence that others can’t do it for me. Despite buying time (hours and hours and hours) and expertise from caring, trained professionals, those deep, deep dependency needs are still unmet. Have those therapy experiences been useless? No, certainly not; I have learned and grown. But I have still not learned to parent my wounded inner child.
Before I started thinking, reading, learning about the inner child, it always seemed like an awkward paradigm. Was I supposed to think myself into a little girl with ribbons and lollipops and then talk in a baby voice? I doubted that would ever happen. As I move forward on this journey (and I am truly just beginning), I am understanding that my wounded inner child is feelings that have long been squelched.
Growing into adulthood, I became that same critical, unavailable parent that were my first attachment figures. “Don’t be silly.” “You don’t need that.” “Grow up.” “Stop crying.” And a host of harsher words that drove the still undeveloped little girl underground. Taking care of herself, hiding, looking for safety the best she could. That wounded child is under the boot heel of derisions that are no longer there, threats that no longer have meaning.
Working with my inner child now means allowing her to express those longings and unmet dependency needs without criticism or judgment. Those feelings are the voice of my inner child. Sure, my inner critical parent still judges, still feels ashamed. But T is teaching me. I may be only in kindergarten but I am determined to graduate.
It’s a time travel story, and my little girl is waking up to a world she doesn’t recognize.
Give yourself a big hug –
Red Tomato
“When you learn how to reparent yourself, you will stop attempting to complete the past by setting up others to be your parents.” - John Bradshaw, Homecoming: Reclaiming and Championing Your Inner Child.
Wow! These words send a flush of recognition through my body. How many times have I done that? For sure with every therapist – and a handful of other people too. How many times has it been successful? Zero. Nada. Zip.
Desires, needs, longings of my wounded little girl? Normal. Expectation that someone who truly cares and understands will fulfill these for me? Trouble. Others can help with some of this, but no one can truly be there 100%. I will never be someone’s top priority. I am the only one who can be that for me. I am always with myself. I am always interested in myself. I’m the one who must step up to the plate.
I have certainly accumulated evidence that others can’t do it for me. Despite buying time (hours and hours and hours) and expertise from caring, trained professionals, those deep, deep dependency needs are still unmet. Have those therapy experiences been useless? No, certainly not; I have learned and grown. But I have still not learned to parent my wounded inner child.
Before I started thinking, reading, learning about the inner child, it always seemed like an awkward paradigm. Was I supposed to think myself into a little girl with ribbons and lollipops and then talk in a baby voice? I doubted that would ever happen. As I move forward on this journey (and I am truly just beginning), I am understanding that my wounded inner child is feelings that have long been squelched.
Growing into adulthood, I became that same critical, unavailable parent that were my first attachment figures. “Don’t be silly.” “You don’t need that.” “Grow up.” “Stop crying.” And a host of harsher words that drove the still undeveloped little girl underground. Taking care of herself, hiding, looking for safety the best she could. That wounded child is under the boot heel of derisions that are no longer there, threats that no longer have meaning.
Working with my inner child now means allowing her to express those longings and unmet dependency needs without criticism or judgment. Those feelings are the voice of my inner child. Sure, my inner critical parent still judges, still feels ashamed. But T is teaching me. I may be only in kindergarten but I am determined to graduate.
It’s a time travel story, and my little girl is waking up to a world she doesn’t recognize.
quote:She held herself until the sobs of the child inside subsided entirely. I love you, she told herself. It will all be okay. -H. Raven Rose, Shadow Selves
Give yourself a big hug –
Red Tomato
((((RED))))
It sounds like you are getting a lot out of that book. I'm going to have to check it out. Thanks again for a very thought provoking post.
She sounds great! Glad you found her. She can teach you things the other one couldn't.
That sounds great!
It sounds like you are getting a lot out of that book. I'm going to have to check it out. Thanks again for a very thought provoking post.
quote:But T is teaching me.
She sounds great! Glad you found her. She can teach you things the other one couldn't.
quote:I may be only in kindergarten but I am determined to graduate.
That sounds great!
Thanks Liese. I don't agree with 100% of what Bradshaw writes, but most of it is spot on!
-RT
-RT
Morning Peeps –
That’s right: morning peeps. Do you read that and think 1) MPs – that’s just the name of the thread, or 2) MPs – she’s saying Good Morning People, or 3) MPs – she’s writing (peeping) in the morning? My original intention was number two – sort of like Robin Williams saying, “Good Morning, Vietnam!” I’ve also come to think of myself as “peeping,” and that seems relevant since I’m usually watching the birds come to life as I write.
What do our words mean? What do we mean by our words? These questions are with me constantly. Before smartphones and apps, I always carried a dictionary in my car – in all three of our cars. I needed them not only to decipher the “intelligent talk” on public radio but also for the words that popped into my head. Whoa, where’d that come from, I’d think. Then, upon investigation, I’d discover it was just the word I needed.
My dog sitter routinely says, “love you guys,” and my wife will reply, “love you too.” There’s no way I’ll say those words to the sitter. I don’t love her, and to give an automatic and thoughtless response cheapens the words.
In my family of origin, words were honed, sharpened, and used as weapons on a battlefield. There was only ever one winner – my father, the English professor. He could take my words and organize them to use against me. I learned two things: don’t say much and when I do speak, be very careful. I didn’t want to end up crying, “That’s not what I said. I didn’t mean that.”
I don’t want to regret my words. I also don’t want to regret not using them.
Loquaciously yours,
Red Tomato
That’s right: morning peeps. Do you read that and think 1) MPs – that’s just the name of the thread, or 2) MPs – she’s saying Good Morning People, or 3) MPs – she’s writing (peeping) in the morning? My original intention was number two – sort of like Robin Williams saying, “Good Morning, Vietnam!” I’ve also come to think of myself as “peeping,” and that seems relevant since I’m usually watching the birds come to life as I write.
What do our words mean? What do we mean by our words? These questions are with me constantly. Before smartphones and apps, I always carried a dictionary in my car – in all three of our cars. I needed them not only to decipher the “intelligent talk” on public radio but also for the words that popped into my head. Whoa, where’d that come from, I’d think. Then, upon investigation, I’d discover it was just the word I needed.
My dog sitter routinely says, “love you guys,” and my wife will reply, “love you too.” There’s no way I’ll say those words to the sitter. I don’t love her, and to give an automatic and thoughtless response cheapens the words.
In my family of origin, words were honed, sharpened, and used as weapons on a battlefield. There was only ever one winner – my father, the English professor. He could take my words and organize them to use against me. I learned two things: don’t say much and when I do speak, be very careful. I didn’t want to end up crying, “That’s not what I said. I didn’t mean that.”
I don’t want to regret my words. I also don’t want to regret not using them.
quote:Words, he decided, were inadequate at best, impossible at worst. They meant too many things. Or they meant nothing at all. -Patricia A. McKillip, In The Forests of Serre
Because even the smallest of words can be the ones to hurt you, or save you. -Natsuki Takaya
Loquaciously yours,
Red Tomato
Hi Red, I just want to take a moment to thank you for greeting us each day. Your posts are uplifting and meaningful to me. So, thank you. Thank you a bunch. Rebuilding Me
Awww - thanks, Rebuilding Me. That means a lot to me. Sometimes I feel like I'm sending my posts into the great beyond and I wonder how they are received, what resonates, etc. So thank YOU a bunch.
-RT
-RT
You write so well, RT. I find myself resonating a lot with what you say. Thanks for the daily posts! They are insightful, funny, and wise.
Hi erica. Insightful, funny and wise? That's a lot to keep up with. I hope I can maintain your interest! Thanks for commenting; I love to hear from readers.
-RT
-RT
Morning Peeps –
T is back from Hawaii, jet-lagged and weather-shocked, but present nonetheless. I had a session yesterday.
So, says she, how are you?
I told her that my chest felt like it was full of iron, tight, burning, pressing. What does it mean, T asks. I’m afraid. I think when we feel fear, T explains, we’re experiencing something that happened to us before. When we were little. I was afraid you wouldn’t come back, I say, tears silently starting to slide. That’s something that happened to you before, T asks rhetorically. And it happened with oldT, she adds. I bob my head, a little girl’s nod, and bite my lip.
We sit in silence – long pauses of reflection between us. I don’t have words, and T doesn’t seem to expect them from me. Sometimes, she has told me, we don’t have them. Sometimes the experiences first occurred when we were pre-verbal. Our bodies know, but it can be hard to express.
It didn’t happen this time, T says. I came back. There are a thousand reasons, I protest, that you would come back ONE time. One time means nothing. My heart is flailing and I feel the pressure in my chest increase. But I did come back, T says, and that’s different for you. It takes time to learn. Then T tells me telepathically, but I understand.
We exchange more words, share more silences. The quiet is calm. I still have my angst; my chest is still tight. The space between me and T, though, is peaceful. My anxiety is not with her.
I understand –
Red Tomato
T is back from Hawaii, jet-lagged and weather-shocked, but present nonetheless. I had a session yesterday.
So, says she, how are you?
I told her that my chest felt like it was full of iron, tight, burning, pressing. What does it mean, T asks. I’m afraid. I think when we feel fear, T explains, we’re experiencing something that happened to us before. When we were little. I was afraid you wouldn’t come back, I say, tears silently starting to slide. That’s something that happened to you before, T asks rhetorically. And it happened with oldT, she adds. I bob my head, a little girl’s nod, and bite my lip.
We sit in silence – long pauses of reflection between us. I don’t have words, and T doesn’t seem to expect them from me. Sometimes, she has told me, we don’t have them. Sometimes the experiences first occurred when we were pre-verbal. Our bodies know, but it can be hard to express.
It didn’t happen this time, T says. I came back. There are a thousand reasons, I protest, that you would come back ONE time. One time means nothing. My heart is flailing and I feel the pressure in my chest increase. But I did come back, T says, and that’s different for you. It takes time to learn. Then T tells me telepathically, but I understand.
We exchange more words, share more silences. The quiet is calm. I still have my angst; my chest is still tight. The space between me and T, though, is peaceful. My anxiety is not with her.
quote:We are products of our past, but we don't have to be prisoners of it. - Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life
I understand –
Red Tomato
Morning Peeps –
I am looking at an amazing array of taupes, browns, blues, and white. Half is brightly illuminated by the rising sun, the remaining still in shadow. At about 100 yards there is a teepee shaped tangle of bramble, vines and fallen trees. This is where the cardinals gather. I’m thinking it’s their synagogue. Or maybe a rec center. Whatever it is, there’s often eight or nine of the red birds pausing there. My woods. My eye-candy. I know this view will change. Soon, almost undetectably, green will emerge. Soon, the white winter cover will be only a memory.
Today the winterscape is lovely. A year ago I was on the Siberian tundra, enduring the long, dark days. So too, in therapy. T keeps saying things can be different. They are different. I am wondering if this new work with this new T is to be my shift. The imperceptible, undeniable, glacial movement of change. I am wondering if the dynamics between us will slide into the anti-functional. If our discourse will become toxic repartee. If my past will again become my present.
I am noticing differences. T wants me to be honest. She wants to know when I think she doesn’t understand. When I am distressed by something she says – or doesn’t say. When I feel sad or hurt or needy. These are the voices of my inner child. T doesn’t take offense, doesn’t defend herself. Instead she shows a compassion that asks what these feelings tell us about my wounded inner child.
Perhaps I feel frustrated with T for not understanding. I can stew and fuss. I may feel sure that if T truly cared, she would know how much I hurt or how angry I am. I can minimize my feelings, let it ride or wait for T to figure out what is bothering me. All the while this misunderstanding becomes a wedge that could become a rupture. Thus far, the onus truly is on me; T hasn’t done anything wrong. A misunderstanding is not wrong. All along it has been my responsibility to tell T I felt she didn’t understand. This is my first job: to express my truth. What T does with the information is how/when/where I discover if T is ineffective, harmful or helpful. If T takes it personally, she’s ineffective. If she blames me for it, she’s harmful. If she tries to understand and uses the process of detangling to learn my wounds and teach self-care, she is helpful.
When I finally integrate the self-care into my everyday routine, it is summer. And I am grateful for the comforting warmth and light-filled days.
Tell your truth –
Red Tomato
I am looking at an amazing array of taupes, browns, blues, and white. Half is brightly illuminated by the rising sun, the remaining still in shadow. At about 100 yards there is a teepee shaped tangle of bramble, vines and fallen trees. This is where the cardinals gather. I’m thinking it’s their synagogue. Or maybe a rec center. Whatever it is, there’s often eight or nine of the red birds pausing there. My woods. My eye-candy. I know this view will change. Soon, almost undetectably, green will emerge. Soon, the white winter cover will be only a memory.
Today the winterscape is lovely. A year ago I was on the Siberian tundra, enduring the long, dark days. So too, in therapy. T keeps saying things can be different. They are different. I am wondering if this new work with this new T is to be my shift. The imperceptible, undeniable, glacial movement of change. I am wondering if the dynamics between us will slide into the anti-functional. If our discourse will become toxic repartee. If my past will again become my present.
I am noticing differences. T wants me to be honest. She wants to know when I think she doesn’t understand. When I am distressed by something she says – or doesn’t say. When I feel sad or hurt or needy. These are the voices of my inner child. T doesn’t take offense, doesn’t defend herself. Instead she shows a compassion that asks what these feelings tell us about my wounded inner child.
Perhaps I feel frustrated with T for not understanding. I can stew and fuss. I may feel sure that if T truly cared, she would know how much I hurt or how angry I am. I can minimize my feelings, let it ride or wait for T to figure out what is bothering me. All the while this misunderstanding becomes a wedge that could become a rupture. Thus far, the onus truly is on me; T hasn’t done anything wrong. A misunderstanding is not wrong. All along it has been my responsibility to tell T I felt she didn’t understand. This is my first job: to express my truth. What T does with the information is how/when/where I discover if T is ineffective, harmful or helpful. If T takes it personally, she’s ineffective. If she blames me for it, she’s harmful. If she tries to understand and uses the process of detangling to learn my wounds and teach self-care, she is helpful.
When I finally integrate the self-care into my everyday routine, it is summer. And I am grateful for the comforting warmth and light-filled days.
quote:And so, it is not astonishing that, though the patient enters therapy insisting that he wants to change, more often than not, what he really wants is to remain the same and to get the therapist to make him feel better. - Sheldon B. Kopp, If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him: The Pilgrimage Of Psychotherapy Patients
Tell your truth –
Red Tomato
Hey RT,
Just coming back after a long absence and I just want to tell you how lovely it is to see that you're still keeping this thread (although I realize it's branched off from the original) going after all of this time. It's great to read such thoughtful updates from you.
Just coming back after a long absence and I just want to tell you how lovely it is to see that you're still keeping this thread (although I realize it's branched off from the original) going after all of this time. It's great to read such thoughtful updates from you.
Good morning Red
I meant to comment on something you wrote on the 3rd but got sidetracked. I wanted to give you hope re: your dependency needs. Mine are quieting down. I
Starting to feel healed. The problem isn't that someone else can't meet them. The problem is when we get too close, it feels like it used to when it was dangerous to get close to someone emotionally. That feeling is not a good one and its no wonder your needs don't feel like they are getting met. I have a good feeling about your new T. I think she might be able to give you the sense of safety you need in order to reap the rewards of closeness.
I also wanted to say that even though no one can do this for us, our Ts can help carry the burden until we are able to handle it for ourselves. I had so much pain accumulated since childhood. There was no way I could carry it by myself and I kept trying to get other people to help ease the load but it was too much to ask. I will forever be grateful to my T for helping me to carry my pain until the load was lighter and I was able to process pain quicker and not carry it Around anymore. So long story short, you are not alone. It's okay to lean on your T until you don't have to anymore.
(((((RED))))
I meant to comment on something you wrote on the 3rd but got sidetracked. I wanted to give you hope re: your dependency needs. Mine are quieting down. I
Starting to feel healed. The problem isn't that someone else can't meet them. The problem is when we get too close, it feels like it used to when it was dangerous to get close to someone emotionally. That feeling is not a good one and its no wonder your needs don't feel like they are getting met. I have a good feeling about your new T. I think she might be able to give you the sense of safety you need in order to reap the rewards of closeness.
I also wanted to say that even though no one can do this for us, our Ts can help carry the burden until we are able to handle it for ourselves. I had so much pain accumulated since childhood. There was no way I could carry it by myself and I kept trying to get other people to help ease the load but it was too much to ask. I will forever be grateful to my T for helping me to carry my pain until the load was lighter and I was able to process pain quicker and not carry it Around anymore. So long story short, you are not alone. It's okay to lean on your T until you don't have to anymore.
(((((RED))))
Draggers - do you think, maybe, we usually really know our truth? even if it's awful. even if we're in denial. even if we don't totally remember. truth can be rough, that's for sure.
kashley! thanks, good to hear from you, and welcome back from your hiatus.
Liese - thanks for getting unsidetracked and coming back to comment. dependency needs. ug. it is so, so tricky trying to get them met as an adult - the right balance of external support and internal strength and courage. i am grateful i've finally found a T (i'm pretty sure) who has sufficient boundaries to help me. thanks for sharing.
-RT
kashley! thanks, good to hear from you, and welcome back from your hiatus.
Liese - thanks for getting unsidetracked and coming back to comment. dependency needs. ug. it is so, so tricky trying to get them met as an adult - the right balance of external support and internal strength and courage. i am grateful i've finally found a T (i'm pretty sure) who has sufficient boundaries to help me. thanks for sharing.
-RT
Morning Peeps –
Remember the big red triangle with the exclamation point inside? (MPs Feb 2) It meant something.
I got a call last night, just before dark, and so far, the coldest day of the year. Her car wouldn’t start. Call security, call the insurance company, talk to the tow company. Wait, wait. Cold, cold. Two guys with briefcase jumpers are unsuccessful. Tow it? Where? $75.
Ask the tow truck operator to try a real jump and charge the battery a bit before hooking up the tow, I suggest. Uggh. I hear cold hands and fingers in her voice. I hear her missing yoga, her sanity. Missing protein and carbs after a long day of dieting and no dinner. Just ask him, I urge. What can it hurt? Maybe he’ll get it started and you can drive it to the dealer and we’ll leave the car and I’ll pick you up and I’ll wait on the car in the morning and you can drive my mine to work. Uggh.
Will it be the $5 nickel-sized battery in the key fob? (how embarrassing) The $300 12-volt battery? (no, it’s not one I can get at AutoZone) The $2,000 hybrid battery? (OMG) Or something totally unexpected?
Whew! It’s the 12-volt. No need to be embarrassed; no need to raid savings. It’s the first battery replacement and I can’t complain since it’s an ’07 with 182,000 miles. Knock on wood, we’ve only ever had to do maintenance on this car. And at 50 mpg, it’s almost like getting paid to drive the thing.
Still. The warning signals were there. I shudda paid attention.
What signals are you getting?
Red Tomato
Update: The hybrid battery is $3,500 (triple OMG) AND the battery to the keyless key fob was too depleted to start the car without actually using the key. (I'm sure that makes no sense unless you know what I'm talking about.) -RT
Remember the big red triangle with the exclamation point inside? (MPs Feb 2) It meant something.
I got a call last night, just before dark, and so far, the coldest day of the year. Her car wouldn’t start. Call security, call the insurance company, talk to the tow company. Wait, wait. Cold, cold. Two guys with briefcase jumpers are unsuccessful. Tow it? Where? $75.
Ask the tow truck operator to try a real jump and charge the battery a bit before hooking up the tow, I suggest. Uggh. I hear cold hands and fingers in her voice. I hear her missing yoga, her sanity. Missing protein and carbs after a long day of dieting and no dinner. Just ask him, I urge. What can it hurt? Maybe he’ll get it started and you can drive it to the dealer and we’ll leave the car and I’ll pick you up and I’ll wait on the car in the morning and you can drive my mine to work. Uggh.
Will it be the $5 nickel-sized battery in the key fob? (how embarrassing) The $300 12-volt battery? (no, it’s not one I can get at AutoZone) The $2,000 hybrid battery? (OMG) Or something totally unexpected?
Whew! It’s the 12-volt. No need to be embarrassed; no need to raid savings. It’s the first battery replacement and I can’t complain since it’s an ’07 with 182,000 miles. Knock on wood, we’ve only ever had to do maintenance on this car. And at 50 mpg, it’s almost like getting paid to drive the thing.
Still. The warning signals were there. I shudda paid attention.
quote:The time to repair the roof is when the sun is shining. - John F. Kennedy
What signals are you getting?
Red Tomato
Update: The hybrid battery is $3,500 (triple OMG) AND the battery to the keyless key fob was too depleted to start the car without actually using the key. (I'm sure that makes no sense unless you know what I'm talking about.) -RT
Morning Peeps –
newT has been late to almost every appointment I’ve had with her. Not just session late. Arriving at the office late. We have had thirteen sessions. Thirteen times late. This week I said something about it.
Opening the session I said to T, I need to tell you something. I feel really anxious when you’re late. What’s that like for you, she asks. I worry that I’ve got the wrong time, the wrong day, that I’ve screwed up. I worry that I’ll miss my session and wonder if there will be a chance to make it up. I’m afraid I’ll lose session time with you. And you’re probably angry too. I didn’t confirm it, but yes, a little angry. Do you recognize that you first blamed yourself, T asks. It was my fault. I was late. I’ve been late to almost every – if not every – session. T tells me she has been late her whole life. We'll keep talking about it. We'll work it out.
T took responsibility. She didn’t blame me. She didn’t guilt me. She owned it. I was relieved, grateful. AND she acknowledged that it’s hard because I’m starting to need and depend on her. Blown. A. Way. Need. The dirtiest, most shameful word in my vocabulary. And T said it. Like it was okay. Like she understood.
I keep thanking the Therapy Gods for sending me newT.
Thanks for understanding –
Red Tomato
newT has been late to almost every appointment I’ve had with her. Not just session late. Arriving at the office late. We have had thirteen sessions. Thirteen times late. This week I said something about it.
Opening the session I said to T, I need to tell you something. I feel really anxious when you’re late. What’s that like for you, she asks. I worry that I’ve got the wrong time, the wrong day, that I’ve screwed up. I worry that I’ll miss my session and wonder if there will be a chance to make it up. I’m afraid I’ll lose session time with you. And you’re probably angry too. I didn’t confirm it, but yes, a little angry. Do you recognize that you first blamed yourself, T asks. It was my fault. I was late. I’ve been late to almost every – if not every – session. T tells me she has been late her whole life. We'll keep talking about it. We'll work it out.
T took responsibility. She didn’t blame me. She didn’t guilt me. She owned it. I was relieved, grateful. AND she acknowledged that it’s hard because I’m starting to need and depend on her. Blown. A. Way. Need. The dirtiest, most shameful word in my vocabulary. And T said it. Like it was okay. Like she understood.
I keep thanking the Therapy Gods for sending me newT.
quote:Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh," he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, "I just wanted to be sure of you."
-A. A. Milne
Thanks for understanding –
Red Tomato
Morning Peeps –
It’s Sunday, and I have a confession.
Although I’ve been posting Morning Peeps since January 1st, it hasn’t been until this past week that I started reading other threads. I couldn’t jump back in 100%, writing MPs, reading discussions, responding. I knew it would be too much, but I wanted to peep.
In the past, I harshly and irrationally judged my self-worth by the way in which I perceived other forum members interacting with me. It triggered a LOT of anxiety in me. It got so I couldn’t think rationally about it. Now I try to remember (and believe) I am not the center of the world (go figure) and people aren’t out to get me. That others’ responses or lack thereof most likely have nothing to do with me.
None of you know me in real life, although you may *know* me better than my peeps IRL. I am vulnerable with your knowing, so I suppose it’s no wonder I feel anxiety. What happens in therapy, I don’t tell AN.Y.ONE. Except here. All the anguish I went through with oldT last year [If you’ve just started reading me, let me just say it was toxic – with ruptures as frequent and bumpy as the moguls in the Olympics], I didn’t tell anyone. Except here. I was raw and vulnerable. Maybe too raw to expose myself as much as I did. Still, I didn’t have anywhere else to turn for support. Not anywhere people really get it. I rather imagine I’m not alone in this and many of you feel just like me.
My therapy world was in tatters, and I was terribly battered by it. I felt way too exposed on the boards, and my anxiety about it was over the roof. I went on hiatus. I had to. I was in batten down the hatches survival mode. And then I felt very, very alone.
Returning, now, I am being careful, going slowly – as slow as one can while still posting something new every day. (Actually, that kind of seems like a racetrack but oh well.) I’m embarrassed to say, but I’ve created a list of the positive responses I’ve received about Morning Peeps. It does not stick with me at all that anyone likes reading it. So I pull out the list and read the comments and tell myself this is evidence that what I am writing has meaning to somebody. “I love the Morning Peeps. It is a great intro to the days.” I tell myself this person is not lying. Even though it still doesn’t truly sink in. I tell myself it’s evidence and given enough of it, there must surely be some truth.
So, here we are. I’m writing, reading now, and soon I hope, responding. Baby steps, Kimosabe.
Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt –
Red Tomato
It’s Sunday, and I have a confession.
Although I’ve been posting Morning Peeps since January 1st, it hasn’t been until this past week that I started reading other threads. I couldn’t jump back in 100%, writing MPs, reading discussions, responding. I knew it would be too much, but I wanted to peep.
In the past, I harshly and irrationally judged my self-worth by the way in which I perceived other forum members interacting with me. It triggered a LOT of anxiety in me. It got so I couldn’t think rationally about it. Now I try to remember (and believe) I am not the center of the world (go figure) and people aren’t out to get me. That others’ responses or lack thereof most likely have nothing to do with me.
None of you know me in real life, although you may *know* me better than my peeps IRL. I am vulnerable with your knowing, so I suppose it’s no wonder I feel anxiety. What happens in therapy, I don’t tell AN.Y.ONE. Except here. All the anguish I went through with oldT last year [If you’ve just started reading me, let me just say it was toxic – with ruptures as frequent and bumpy as the moguls in the Olympics], I didn’t tell anyone. Except here. I was raw and vulnerable. Maybe too raw to expose myself as much as I did. Still, I didn’t have anywhere else to turn for support. Not anywhere people really get it. I rather imagine I’m not alone in this and many of you feel just like me.
My therapy world was in tatters, and I was terribly battered by it. I felt way too exposed on the boards, and my anxiety about it was over the roof. I went on hiatus. I had to. I was in batten down the hatches survival mode. And then I felt very, very alone.
Returning, now, I am being careful, going slowly – as slow as one can while still posting something new every day. (Actually, that kind of seems like a racetrack but oh well.) I’m embarrassed to say, but I’ve created a list of the positive responses I’ve received about Morning Peeps. It does not stick with me at all that anyone likes reading it. So I pull out the list and read the comments and tell myself this is evidence that what I am writing has meaning to somebody. “I love the Morning Peeps. It is a great intro to the days.” I tell myself this person is not lying. Even though it still doesn’t truly sink in. I tell myself it’s evidence and given enough of it, there must surely be some truth.
So, here we are. I’m writing, reading now, and soon I hope, responding. Baby steps, Kimosabe.
quote:Vulnerability is basically uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure. Vulnerability is about showing up and being seen. It's tough to do that when we're terrified about what people might see or think. - Brene Brown
Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt –
Red Tomato
Morning Peeps –
What do you think about in the random moments between a good belly laugh watching Saturday Night Live and worrying about bills? Between the rupture in therapy and learning you just got a bonus at work? What fills those in-between moments?
I think about the birds. Where do they go at night? How can they fly so fast through the forest without running into trees? And the deer – how do they tolerate sub-zero weather? I am always feeling so cold for them.
Who does the Humane Society think they are soliciting when Sarah McLachlan sings the song “Angel” and a forlorn dog stares at the camera? Folks like me can’t watch those commercials, yet we’re the targeted audience.
Why do cars move forward when the light is red and stop when it’s green? Do people who sing karaoke really think they sound good?
I wonder what it would be like to work in a footie factory. The throw-away footies that don’t really fit like a sock but are available when you want to try on a shoe. I imagine a lone person sitting on a stool beside a long stretch of nylon stocking. The worker has a huge pair of scissors and snips a swatch, then ties one end closed with a string. Snips and ties, snips and ties. All day long.
Who let the dogs out?
Red Tomato
What do you think about in the random moments between a good belly laugh watching Saturday Night Live and worrying about bills? Between the rupture in therapy and learning you just got a bonus at work? What fills those in-between moments?
I think about the birds. Where do they go at night? How can they fly so fast through the forest without running into trees? And the deer – how do they tolerate sub-zero weather? I am always feeling so cold for them.
Who does the Humane Society think they are soliciting when Sarah McLachlan sings the song “Angel” and a forlorn dog stares at the camera? Folks like me can’t watch those commercials, yet we’re the targeted audience.
Why do cars move forward when the light is red and stop when it’s green? Do people who sing karaoke really think they sound good?
I wonder what it would be like to work in a footie factory. The throw-away footies that don’t really fit like a sock but are available when you want to try on a shoe. I imagine a lone person sitting on a stool beside a long stretch of nylon stocking. The worker has a huge pair of scissors and snips a swatch, then ties one end closed with a string. Snips and ties, snips and ties. All day long.
quote:I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members of a weird religious cult. - Rita Rudner
Who let the dogs out?
Red Tomato
Morning Peeps –
Some questions will always be hard to answer. For instance, why do bad things happen to good people? I think there are three possible answers: It’s fate. It’s karma. It’s random. To decide between the three, I must first determine who (or what) I think is in control.
If the control is within me, then I believe in karma. There is a specific link between what I do and what happens. “What goes around comes around.”
If the control is outside of me, then I believe in fate. Fate conjures a power greater than ourselves that has already determined our destiny. “It was meant to be.” This, of course, suggests that there *is* some meaning.
If there is no control, if things happen without rhyme or reason, then I believe in the randomness of life.
Considering this framework, I look at some of my challenges in therapy. Was I “led” to my previous difficultT and if so, why? What was I supposed to learn? What was the meaning? Or, did I do something that warranted me “getting” this therapist. Was I getting my just desserts? Or was it just a crap-shoot, the name that came up in the insurance provider list?
I don’t know.
What’s your answer?
Red Tomato
Some questions will always be hard to answer. For instance, why do bad things happen to good people? I think there are three possible answers: It’s fate. It’s karma. It’s random. To decide between the three, I must first determine who (or what) I think is in control.
If the control is within me, then I believe in karma. There is a specific link between what I do and what happens. “What goes around comes around.”
If the control is outside of me, then I believe in fate. Fate conjures a power greater than ourselves that has already determined our destiny. “It was meant to be.” This, of course, suggests that there *is* some meaning.
If there is no control, if things happen without rhyme or reason, then I believe in the randomness of life.
Considering this framework, I look at some of my challenges in therapy. Was I “led” to my previous difficultT and if so, why? What was I supposed to learn? What was the meaning? Or, did I do something that warranted me “getting” this therapist. Was I getting my just desserts? Or was it just a crap-shoot, the name that came up in the insurance provider list?
I don’t know.
quote:Just because Fate doesn't deal you the right cards, it doesn't mean you should give up. It just means you have to play the cards you get to their maximum potential. - Les Brown
How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours. - Wayne Dyer
Your soul knows the geography of your destiny. Your soul alone has the map of your future. - John O'Donohue
What’s your answer?
Red Tomato
Oh my so many good thought provoking statements RT. I will ponder and come back.
Morning Peeps –
Just recently, I made a book about my pets called, “No Dogs Allowed,” and yesterday I took it to my therapy session. What’ve you got there, T asks. I said it was a Shutterfly book. When T looked perplexed, I explained I made it by uploading photos and, using Shutterfly software, designed a book that was then printed. It’s a glossy cover hardback with a photo of two golden retrievers and my dust mop, Sugar, on the cover. I know T is an animal lover because when I told her a story about a doe and fawn frozen to Mississippi ice for two days, it brought tears to her eyes. It’s something we have in common.
Can I see it, T asked, referring to the book. I was excited to show it to her. Excited to show pictures of my family. Of the dog who saved my life, the one who stole my heart, the blind diabetic, two in diapers, another the object of a civil case between my sister and a schizophrenic childhood friend. I told stories of rescue and of death. Mi familia.
T looked over each page, commenting, asking questions. I stood by her chair to follow along and was eager to tell stories. When she finished looking at the book, I sat down. It was Little Me who brought the book in to show you, I disclosed, feeling a little sheepish. Yes, I told T, Little Me. I know it’s her, I said, because I’m excited to show you the book. When I was little, it wasn’t safe to share things with my parents, and I’ve got years of Show & Tell saved up inside me. It did feel rather like show and tell, said T. Yes, I agreed, and there’s lots more to come. There’s another part too, I continued. It’s my fear of being dismissed, unnoticed, not good enough. If you flip through the book, casually glancing at every other page, I know I am not worthy of your care and attention. I am not worthy, period.
Last year after terminating with oldT, I created a Shutterfly book that was a reflection of the work I’d done during my time with her. I gave it to oldT, sending it through the mail. Half of me believed I wouldn’t get a response from her. All of me wanted one. About six weeks later, I called oldT to ask about something else, but I also wanted to know if she’d gotten the book. Yes, she’d received it. Well, I asked. There was a pause. Then oldT said, I’m disappointed. My turn to pause, to feel tears flooding my eyes. Oh, it’s a nice book, oldT said finally. “But” hung in the air. Little Me was crushed.
Pay attention!
Red Tomato
Just recently, I made a book about my pets called, “No Dogs Allowed,” and yesterday I took it to my therapy session. What’ve you got there, T asks. I said it was a Shutterfly book. When T looked perplexed, I explained I made it by uploading photos and, using Shutterfly software, designed a book that was then printed. It’s a glossy cover hardback with a photo of two golden retrievers and my dust mop, Sugar, on the cover. I know T is an animal lover because when I told her a story about a doe and fawn frozen to Mississippi ice for two days, it brought tears to her eyes. It’s something we have in common.
Can I see it, T asked, referring to the book. I was excited to show it to her. Excited to show pictures of my family. Of the dog who saved my life, the one who stole my heart, the blind diabetic, two in diapers, another the object of a civil case between my sister and a schizophrenic childhood friend. I told stories of rescue and of death. Mi familia.
T looked over each page, commenting, asking questions. I stood by her chair to follow along and was eager to tell stories. When she finished looking at the book, I sat down. It was Little Me who brought the book in to show you, I disclosed, feeling a little sheepish. Yes, I told T, Little Me. I know it’s her, I said, because I’m excited to show you the book. When I was little, it wasn’t safe to share things with my parents, and I’ve got years of Show & Tell saved up inside me. It did feel rather like show and tell, said T. Yes, I agreed, and there’s lots more to come. There’s another part too, I continued. It’s my fear of being dismissed, unnoticed, not good enough. If you flip through the book, casually glancing at every other page, I know I am not worthy of your care and attention. I am not worthy, period.
Last year after terminating with oldT, I created a Shutterfly book that was a reflection of the work I’d done during my time with her. I gave it to oldT, sending it through the mail. Half of me believed I wouldn’t get a response from her. All of me wanted one. About six weeks later, I called oldT to ask about something else, but I also wanted to know if she’d gotten the book. Yes, she’d received it. Well, I asked. There was a pause. Then oldT said, I’m disappointed. My turn to pause, to feel tears flooding my eyes. Oh, it’s a nice book, oldT said finally. “But” hung in the air. Little Me was crushed.
quote:Give whatever you are doing and whoever you are with the gift of your attention. - Jim Rohn
The moment one gives close attention to any thing, even a blade of grass it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself. -Henry Miller
Pay attention!
Red Tomato
RT, I so understand the show n tell. I recently did something very similar with my T. Afterward, I was full of shame. I'd like to try again, but this time without shame.
Rebuilding Me -
Thanks for your comment on my 2/11 post. I'd love to hear your thoughts about it.
I know what you mean about the shame. I've felt a lot of that in similar situations. I think for me, that shame exists, because I am judging myself as not supposed to have the feelings because I'm Grown Up.
What was different for me this time was that I acknowledged it was Little Me. I told T so. We talked about it. Kids are expected to be eager, excited, and it's understood that they get scared. They aren't Big People yet who have everything sorted through. So I allowed myself the tolerance of letting Little Me show up, without any apology. She's not me The Grown Up. She's Little Me. She's inside of me, and she has a heart all her own. Yet, it is my heart too.
I hope you're able to experience this with your T. It was delightful and very satisfying for me.
-RT
Thanks for your comment on my 2/11 post. I'd love to hear your thoughts about it.
I know what you mean about the shame. I've felt a lot of that in similar situations. I think for me, that shame exists, because I am judging myself as not supposed to have the feelings because I'm Grown Up.
What was different for me this time was that I acknowledged it was Little Me. I told T so. We talked about it. Kids are expected to be eager, excited, and it's understood that they get scared. They aren't Big People yet who have everything sorted through. So I allowed myself the tolerance of letting Little Me show up, without any apology. She's not me The Grown Up. She's Little Me. She's inside of me, and she has a heart all her own. Yet, it is my heart too.
I hope you're able to experience this with your T. It was delightful and very satisfying for me.
-RT
Draggers - Glad she's my oldT? You 'n me both! So far I've made five books, and I enjoyed making every single one of them. I like sorting through my photos, trying to put together a story of some kind. I gave one to my step-father with pics of him and my mom (she's deceased). He cried all the way through, but he loved it, loved it, loved it.
-RT
-RT
(((RT))))
What did OldT say? But what? How on earth could she have a complaint about something so beautiful? She is pretty scary.
What did OldT say? But what? How on earth could she have a complaint about something so beautiful? She is pretty scary.
Hi Liese.
Yep. Un-b-freaking-leavable.
-RT
Yep. Un-b-freaking-leavable.
-RT
I'm really sorry about Old T and your book. I'm kind of disgusted by her.
I'm glad your new T is helping so much and that she gave you the attention and appreciation you and your book deserved.
I think it is hard to ask for attention.
I brought my new T first a picture of me and my sisters in the arms of my dad, who died when I was little. Then two cartoons I drew for my Old T. Then a forty-year-old handkerchief with lipstick spots on it from when my mother used to kiss me on the cheek before she went to work. At the time I thought she might not come home someday, so I wanted to collect something from her while I could. I really like show and tell and would be fine bringing something every week.
I told new T that I really appreciated it when she asked me from one week to the next if I had brought something with me. That she remembered that I liked to bring things. Then she stopped asking. Forgot? Doesn't want me to keep bringing things? I don't know.
Anyway, your dog book sounds great. I might give Shutterfly a try.
I'm glad your new T is helping so much and that she gave you the attention and appreciation you and your book deserved.
I think it is hard to ask for attention.
I brought my new T first a picture of me and my sisters in the arms of my dad, who died when I was little. Then two cartoons I drew for my Old T. Then a forty-year-old handkerchief with lipstick spots on it from when my mother used to kiss me on the cheek before she went to work. At the time I thought she might not come home someday, so I wanted to collect something from her while I could. I really like show and tell and would be fine bringing something every week.
I told new T that I really appreciated it when she asked me from one week to the next if I had brought something with me. That she remembered that I liked to bring things. Then she stopped asking. Forgot? Doesn't want me to keep bringing things? I don't know.
Anyway, your dog book sounds great. I might give Shutterfly a try.
Hi Quell, thanks for commenting.
Perhaps I need to clarify that I'm sure oldT's disappointment was in me, not the book. I think she was disappointed because I made it and gave it to her. I don't know why.
I think it is sweet all the things you've taken to show your T. Things that have meaning in your heart. And isn't that where we truly go in therapy - to our heart... If my T stopped asking if I'd brought something with me and I wondered why, I would ask. I would tell her my fears and worries about her not asking.
Keep showing, Quell. Keep telling.
-RT
Perhaps I need to clarify that I'm sure oldT's disappointment was in me, not the book. I think she was disappointed because I made it and gave it to her. I don't know why.
I think it is sweet all the things you've taken to show your T. Things that have meaning in your heart. And isn't that where we truly go in therapy - to our heart... If my T stopped asking if I'd brought something with me and I wondered why, I would ask. I would tell her my fears and worries about her not asking.
Keep showing, Quell. Keep telling.
-RT
Morning Peeps –
I am doing therapy differently with newT. I didn’t go into it with this in mind, but the change is happening. I like it.
In the beginning, I extracted her promise, and gave mine, that each of us would be honest. Though I didn’t realize it, I meant honesty lite. I won’t say I hate chocolate if offered a Hershey bar. I won’t create an excuse for declining. That’s being honest, right?
As T continues to embrace me with her non-judgmental comments, questions, responses, facial expressions and body language, I am becoming secure in a way I don’t remember experiencing before. To me it is a gift, and the proper thank-you is to give back without judging her. Every time I begin to put thoughts into her mind or feelings in her heart, I am saying I know what she thinks and feels. I am judging her character and making it a reflection of my own insecurities.
My acceptance of her gift is honesty. I will not let uncertainty fester between us. Not even little ones. I will ask. I will clarify. I will tell. Maybe not all at once or immediately or fully. But it is my promise: the full version of honesty.
And truly, my honesty is a gift to myself.
Ask it, tell it, give it -
Red Tomato
I am doing therapy differently with newT. I didn’t go into it with this in mind, but the change is happening. I like it.
In the beginning, I extracted her promise, and gave mine, that each of us would be honest. Though I didn’t realize it, I meant honesty lite. I won’t say I hate chocolate if offered a Hershey bar. I won’t create an excuse for declining. That’s being honest, right?
As T continues to embrace me with her non-judgmental comments, questions, responses, facial expressions and body language, I am becoming secure in a way I don’t remember experiencing before. To me it is a gift, and the proper thank-you is to give back without judging her. Every time I begin to put thoughts into her mind or feelings in her heart, I am saying I know what she thinks and feels. I am judging her character and making it a reflection of my own insecurities.
My acceptance of her gift is honesty. I will not let uncertainty fester between us. Not even little ones. I will ask. I will clarify. I will tell. Maybe not all at once or immediately or fully. But it is my promise: the full version of honesty.
And truly, my honesty is a gift to myself.
quote:Never apologize for showing feeling. When you do so, you apologize for the Truth. - Benjamin Disraeli
We tell lies when we are afraid... afraid of what we don’t know, afraid of what others will think, afraid of what will be found out about us. But every time we tell a lie, the thing that we fear grows stronger. - Tad Williams
Honesty and transparency make you vulnerable. Be honest and transparent anyway. - Mother Teresa
Ask it, tell it, give it -
Red Tomato
Morning Peeps –
Happy Valentine’s Day to all you sweethearts out there!
How does an old married couple (34 years in July) celebrate Valentine’s Day?
Her: It’s Valentine’s Day.
Me: Yeah.
Her: Do you want to do anything?
Me: Hmm. I don’t know. Do you?
Her: I don’t care.
Me: I suppose we could go out.
Her: It’ll probably be packed where ever we’d go.
Me: Yeah. That’s no fun.
Her: I suppose we could stay home.
Me: Yeah.
Her: We could go downstairs and watch the jumbo-tron.
Me: OK.
Her: What’s for dinner?
Me: Left-overs.
Yep. That’s what we’ll do. Actually, I did send a card to her work earlier this week. And it was in a red envelope. Except it was the Christmas card I’d meant to give her but couldn’t find when I needed it. She said it made her day, and that’s what counts, right?
But that’s not all I’ve done. I put a kid’s Winnie the Pooh valentine in her lunch box. AND, on the outside of the PB&J's waxed paper bag (where I usually note the number of calories she will have eaten by lunch-time), I drew a heart using a red marker and wrote the calories inside the heart.
I know. I’m such a romantic.
Hugs and kisses
Red Tomato
Happy Valentine’s Day to all you sweethearts out there!
How does an old married couple (34 years in July) celebrate Valentine’s Day?
Her: It’s Valentine’s Day.
Me: Yeah.
Her: Do you want to do anything?
Me: Hmm. I don’t know. Do you?
Her: I don’t care.
Me: I suppose we could go out.
Her: It’ll probably be packed where ever we’d go.
Me: Yeah. That’s no fun.
Her: I suppose we could stay home.
Me: Yeah.
Her: We could go downstairs and watch the jumbo-tron.
Me: OK.
Her: What’s for dinner?
Me: Left-overs.
Yep. That’s what we’ll do. Actually, I did send a card to her work earlier this week. And it was in a red envelope. Except it was the Christmas card I’d meant to give her but couldn’t find when I needed it. She said it made her day, and that’s what counts, right?
But that’s not all I’ve done. I put a kid’s Winnie the Pooh valentine in her lunch box. AND, on the outside of the PB&J's waxed paper bag (where I usually note the number of calories she will have eaten by lunch-time), I drew a heart using a red marker and wrote the calories inside the heart.
I know. I’m such a romantic.
quote:Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be. - Robert Browning
Hugs and kisses
Red Tomato
That was good RT. Happy Valentines Day to you also.
Becca and Draggers -
Wait 'til you hear how we spend the rest of the holidays!
Happy day after!
-RT
Wait 'til you hear how we spend the rest of the holidays!
Happy day after!
-RT
Morning Peeps –
Would you rather?
When my now seventeen year old niece was little, she used to come to our house and spend the night. In the morning while pretending I wasn’t the last one still in bed, she’d crawl up next to me and chirp, “Are you awake?” Slowly I’d open my eyes and then with a speed she didn’t expect, I would grab her for a brief tickle-fest and say, “yeah, I’m awake.”
Then we’d settle back into the pillows and play our game: Would You Rather. In the beginning, when she was still in wonderment years, the questions were funny, silly. Would you rather have green hair or purple hair? “Purple,” she said. “Well how come?” I asked. “Because Barney’s purple,” she squealed. Hot dogs or hamburgers? Swimming or soccer? When she tired of the game, we’d move to the kitchen and she would help me measure flower and baking powder for biscuits.
As my sweet niece matured, I started throwing in questions that challenged her to put herself in another’s shoes. Would you rather be blind or deaf? A boy or a girl? Be missing an arm or a leg? Hmmm. She thought about these things and we talked about the differences, the up and down sides of each. How about an older convertible or a newer Mustang? “Both,” she declared, “and red!”
It was a way for us to talk about things that were “out there,” but increasingly “in here.” In her life, in her home, in her heart.
Those overnights are less frequent now, boyfriends and softball tournaments claiming much of her time. But when an allegation of child abuse came knocking at her family’s door, her folks asked us to “talk to her; straighten her out.” Sixteen and scared, afraid of exploding the family, losing her siblings and being the one to blame…. We talked, though certainly not as her parents suggested. This time the questions were hard. Would you rather live with your Dad or your Mom? That choice wasn’t really on the table, but we used it as a way to talk about her relationships and to sort through the sometimes messiness of truth.
Today, I use the “game” myself to winnow down priorities, clarify values and make decisions.
What would you rather?
Red Tomato
Would you rather?
When my now seventeen year old niece was little, she used to come to our house and spend the night. In the morning while pretending I wasn’t the last one still in bed, she’d crawl up next to me and chirp, “Are you awake?” Slowly I’d open my eyes and then with a speed she didn’t expect, I would grab her for a brief tickle-fest and say, “yeah, I’m awake.”
Then we’d settle back into the pillows and play our game: Would You Rather. In the beginning, when she was still in wonderment years, the questions were funny, silly. Would you rather have green hair or purple hair? “Purple,” she said. “Well how come?” I asked. “Because Barney’s purple,” she squealed. Hot dogs or hamburgers? Swimming or soccer? When she tired of the game, we’d move to the kitchen and she would help me measure flower and baking powder for biscuits.
As my sweet niece matured, I started throwing in questions that challenged her to put herself in another’s shoes. Would you rather be blind or deaf? A boy or a girl? Be missing an arm or a leg? Hmmm. She thought about these things and we talked about the differences, the up and down sides of each. How about an older convertible or a newer Mustang? “Both,” she declared, “and red!”
It was a way for us to talk about things that were “out there,” but increasingly “in here.” In her life, in her home, in her heart.
Those overnights are less frequent now, boyfriends and softball tournaments claiming much of her time. But when an allegation of child abuse came knocking at her family’s door, her folks asked us to “talk to her; straighten her out.” Sixteen and scared, afraid of exploding the family, losing her siblings and being the one to blame…. We talked, though certainly not as her parents suggested. This time the questions were hard. Would you rather live with your Dad or your Mom? That choice wasn’t really on the table, but we used it as a way to talk about her relationships and to sort through the sometimes messiness of truth.
Today, I use the “game” myself to winnow down priorities, clarify values and make decisions.
quote:The problem with certainty is that it is static; it can do little but endlessly reassert itself. Uncertainty, by contrast, is full of unknowns, possibilities, and risks. - Stephen Batchelor, Confession of a Buddhist Atheist
What would you rather?
Red Tomato
Really enjoying the peeps, Red Peeper.
Thanks, Jones. Peeps were hard coming this morning, so it was good to read your comment.
Draggers and Smilingpenguin - I wish I'd had an auntie, too. Big hugs to you both.
-RT
Draggers and Smilingpenguin - I wish I'd had an auntie, too. Big hugs to you both.
-RT
Morning Peeps –
I was almost hit by lightning when I was 20. The current sped through my body like a shiver on steroids. I wasn’t the bullseye, but I smelled smoke and a yard from where I sat was a hole burned into the carpet. Beneath that, concrete chipped from the floor. Wiring in the house was destroyed.
It happened again. I’ll try to explain.
I went to the movies yesterday. In an early scene, a young woman learns her son is being taken away from her, without warning or opportunity to say goodbye. She runs to a window only to see the car with her son pulling away. She sobs, anguished.
At once, I became that young mother in pain beyond words, beyond describable. In the next moment I was me again. A long ago me. My immediate response was to shut down completely. It was the only way to endure the crushing pain. In the same instance I knew I mustn't speak. Not at all. Not for a very, very long time.
I have never been a mother, I wasn’t taken from my parents, nor do I believe in past lives. Yet, every electron beneath my skin was on fire. I know I have had that emotional response before. Little Me was hit by lightning.
Beyond words –
Red Tomato
I was almost hit by lightning when I was 20. The current sped through my body like a shiver on steroids. I wasn’t the bullseye, but I smelled smoke and a yard from where I sat was a hole burned into the carpet. Beneath that, concrete chipped from the floor. Wiring in the house was destroyed.
It happened again. I’ll try to explain.
I went to the movies yesterday. In an early scene, a young woman learns her son is being taken away from her, without warning or opportunity to say goodbye. She runs to a window only to see the car with her son pulling away. She sobs, anguished.
At once, I became that young mother in pain beyond words, beyond describable. In the next moment I was me again. A long ago me. My immediate response was to shut down completely. It was the only way to endure the crushing pain. In the same instance I knew I mustn't speak. Not at all. Not for a very, very long time.
I have never been a mother, I wasn’t taken from my parents, nor do I believe in past lives. Yet, every electron beneath my skin was on fire. I know I have had that emotional response before. Little Me was hit by lightning.
quote:The human heart dares not stay away too long from that which hurt it most. There is a return journey to anguish that few of us are released from making.
- Lillian Smith
Beyond words –
Red Tomato
(((RED))))
I saw that movie. I was triggered for days. It really hit home with the theme about shame.
You have a lovely heart and are so clearly human if you had that reaction.
I saw that movie. I was triggered for days. It really hit home with the theme about shame.
You have a lovely heart and are so clearly human if you had that reaction.
Liese,
Good movie. She carried her "stuff" a long time.
Yes, human. Very human indeed.
-RT
Good movie. She carried her "stuff" a long time.
Yes, human. Very human indeed.
-RT
Dear Peeps,
If you're looking, or have been looking, for Morning Peeps... well, there is none today. Domestic, technological and weather problems have interfered. I just couldn't get it together enough to organize my thoughts in some cohesive way.
Red Tomato
If you're looking, or have been looking, for Morning Peeps... well, there is none today. Domestic, technological and weather problems have interfered. I just couldn't get it together enough to organize my thoughts in some cohesive way.
quote:We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.
Joseph Campbell
Red Tomato