No worries RT. Life has a way of, getting in the way sometimes. Weather sucks where I am at today also.
Evening RT,
quote:For you, today, I wish a smile in your heart.
Red Tomato
Thank you, Hollow. I certainly understand your reluctance to post on the open forum. I myself have probably deleted over 700 posts during times of extreme anxiety and vulnerability.
Thanks Becca, for your understanding. Life, indeed, has its own agenda. Weather here - iced in on Monday and 50 degrees yesterday. Go figure!
Quell. Thank you, thank you. I'm trying.
-RT
Thanks Becca, for your understanding. Life, indeed, has its own agenda. Weather here - iced in on Monday and 50 degrees yesterday. Go figure!
Quell. Thank you, thank you. I'm trying.
-RT
Morning Peeps -
I'm enjoying the out-of-season delectable-ness of lightly sugared blackberries. It brings a much needed sweetness to my life.
Trouble in paradise. Sadly, sadly true. Anger. It has turned into a monster, and she has been getting bigger and scarier. She attacked Monday morning, screaming, raging. It was the worst ever, and Little Me sought the smallest place to hide - the shower stall, cowering, crying - even though the beast was gone, left for work. Not safe even then.
The monster raged at Little Me when she truly was little. When she had no control, no options, and the only power she could exact was to be a Very Good Girl. Adult Me uses the same toolbox. The angrier the monster, the cleaner the house. Certainly a Very Tidy House will calm the monster. Certainly a Home Cooked Meal will satisfy the monster. Certainly the yard raked, the grass cut, the snow shoveled, the garage cleaned, the cars repaired, the dogs groomed, the Everything done - will appease the monster. And usually, for a while, it does.
In reality, I have no control over another's unhappiness and, in this case, her rageful explosions. I am learning, finally, finally, finally, that I have control only over myself. Over what I think, how I respond, what I do. There are always choices. I may not know exactly where some choices lead, better or worse, but I have that option.
Last night I left this note:
Dear R - I can't be the dog who gets kicked when you have a bad day. It frightens me badly and I can't keep dealing with it. I can't do anything about your job or your unhappiness with life. I can only choose how I respond to it and right now I need a break. I know I'm not perfect and you surely have gripes about me. But right now, I don't want to argue and I don't wank to talk. I need you to figure out what you're going to do about your anger, because I can't take it anymore. I do love you and I trust we can work it out, but you've got to do something differently so I can feel safe in this relationship. Right now I don't. I'm not sure what my choices are if you don't address this, but I'll have to figure something out. Right now I just need some space. Love, Me.
This is my power. My choice. Not an ultimatum, though she may experience it that way. Simply a statement of my boundaries. Her behavior is her choice. My behavior is mine.
Love yourself,
Red Tomato
I'm enjoying the out-of-season delectable-ness of lightly sugared blackberries. It brings a much needed sweetness to my life.
Trouble in paradise. Sadly, sadly true. Anger. It has turned into a monster, and she has been getting bigger and scarier. She attacked Monday morning, screaming, raging. It was the worst ever, and Little Me sought the smallest place to hide - the shower stall, cowering, crying - even though the beast was gone, left for work. Not safe even then.
The monster raged at Little Me when she truly was little. When she had no control, no options, and the only power she could exact was to be a Very Good Girl. Adult Me uses the same toolbox. The angrier the monster, the cleaner the house. Certainly a Very Tidy House will calm the monster. Certainly a Home Cooked Meal will satisfy the monster. Certainly the yard raked, the grass cut, the snow shoveled, the garage cleaned, the cars repaired, the dogs groomed, the Everything done - will appease the monster. And usually, for a while, it does.
In reality, I have no control over another's unhappiness and, in this case, her rageful explosions. I am learning, finally, finally, finally, that I have control only over myself. Over what I think, how I respond, what I do. There are always choices. I may not know exactly where some choices lead, better or worse, but I have that option.
Last night I left this note:
Dear R - I can't be the dog who gets kicked when you have a bad day. It frightens me badly and I can't keep dealing with it. I can't do anything about your job or your unhappiness with life. I can only choose how I respond to it and right now I need a break. I know I'm not perfect and you surely have gripes about me. But right now, I don't want to argue and I don't wank to talk. I need you to figure out what you're going to do about your anger, because I can't take it anymore. I do love you and I trust we can work it out, but you've got to do something differently so I can feel safe in this relationship. Right now I don't. I'm not sure what my choices are if you don't address this, but I'll have to figure something out. Right now I just need some space. Love, Me.
This is my power. My choice. Not an ultimatum, though she may experience it that way. Simply a statement of my boundaries. Her behavior is her choice. My behavior is mine.
quote:Daring to set boundaries is about having the courage to love ourselves, even when we risk disappointing others.- Brene Brown
Love yourself,
Red Tomato
Morning Peeps!
Unharnessed, I’m sure the food I eat is directly related to my mood. This past week was laced with bad food choices. Pasta. Bread. Cereal. Ice Cream. Carbohydrate Frenzy. Let this be an index for how bad my week was.
Tonight, dinner will be at a friend’s – a meal of fresh Atlantic salmon (bought yesterday at Whole Paycheck), over a savory quinoa and vegetables roasted in a balsamic reduction. Doesn’t get much healthier than that. I suppose we could have kale chips as an appetizer. That would be supreme-o healthy. So, like it or not, the Food-Mood Index will be ratcheted high and I’ll have no choice but to feel better.
Another indicator of my well-being is the Body-Mood Index. Right now there is a fever blister the size of a cantaloupe (it feels that big) hanging off my lower lip. Sometimes I break out in hives. Other times I sweat profusely. Or wake up with a headache. Of course there’s the ubiquitous muscle tension. Sometimes I get an itch that has no perceivable origin except whatever is “getting under my skin,” and I might scratch that thing raw.
Finally, there is what I’ll call the Sensorimotor-Mood Index. Depression leads to sluggishness. Anxiety leads to hyperactivity. Overwhelmed leads to tiredness. On Thursday, all of my indices were off the charts. I lay down on the bed and said to the death gods, “ok, come get me.” (Not suicidal – just offering myself for the taking.) Three hours later, I was still awake, still alive, so I got up and slogged into the kitchen for ice cream.
I have no words of wisdom regarding all of this. I’m just watching, trying to notice. If I pay attention to what my body is doing, who knows what I’ll discover.
Hungrily, painfully and sluggishly yours,
Red Tomato
Unharnessed, I’m sure the food I eat is directly related to my mood. This past week was laced with bad food choices. Pasta. Bread. Cereal. Ice Cream. Carbohydrate Frenzy. Let this be an index for how bad my week was.
Tonight, dinner will be at a friend’s – a meal of fresh Atlantic salmon (bought yesterday at Whole Paycheck), over a savory quinoa and vegetables roasted in a balsamic reduction. Doesn’t get much healthier than that. I suppose we could have kale chips as an appetizer. That would be supreme-o healthy. So, like it or not, the Food-Mood Index will be ratcheted high and I’ll have no choice but to feel better.
Another indicator of my well-being is the Body-Mood Index. Right now there is a fever blister the size of a cantaloupe (it feels that big) hanging off my lower lip. Sometimes I break out in hives. Other times I sweat profusely. Or wake up with a headache. Of course there’s the ubiquitous muscle tension. Sometimes I get an itch that has no perceivable origin except whatever is “getting under my skin,” and I might scratch that thing raw.
Finally, there is what I’ll call the Sensorimotor-Mood Index. Depression leads to sluggishness. Anxiety leads to hyperactivity. Overwhelmed leads to tiredness. On Thursday, all of my indices were off the charts. I lay down on the bed and said to the death gods, “ok, come get me.” (Not suicidal – just offering myself for the taking.) Three hours later, I was still awake, still alive, so I got up and slogged into the kitchen for ice cream.
I have no words of wisdom regarding all of this. I’m just watching, trying to notice. If I pay attention to what my body is doing, who knows what I’ll discover.
quote:To keep the body in good health is a duty... otherwise we shall not be able to keep our mind strong and clear. - Buddha
Hungrily, painfully and sluggishly yours,
Red Tomato
Morning Peeps –
Long ago I gave up the idea of having an immaculate house. Just ain’t possible with pets. Not for me anyway. Not for me and staying sane. Three dogs equals twelve paws times eight trips outside each day equals 96 dirty paws. I am not patient or OCD enough to wipe or wash paws after every trip outside.
Of course, there are different stages. Slightly damp ground means only a faint paw print on the hardwood floors. Rainy and soggy increases the possibility of muddy paws which must be toweled if not dipped into a bowl of water, rinsed and dried. The final category is thawing ground, not muddy, and the result is paws that have collected little clumps of dirt.
It was while dealing with clumps of dirt that I received a vacuuming injury. Zoom, zoom, zoom over the carpet, up and back, up and back - my fierce Miniature Pinscher lunging viciously at the vacuum each time it came close. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, a misstep and I twisted my knee. I tried to stand up, but couldn’t tolerate weight on the one leg. WTH? A vacuuming injury.
Ice. Warm bath. Ice. Ibuprofen. Rest. Then out to friends’ house for a healthy salmon dinner. (And for dessert - organic blueberries and strawberries with mango sherbet, vanilla bean gelato and raspberry fudge chunk Greek frozen yogurt.) I hobbled along using a stick cane I found in the garage. One friend suggested reiki for my knee. But I think it was the dinner grace that sent healing ju-ju to my knee. She stood by the dinner table and waved her arm in a circle, encompassing the table and all the people sitting there. “Bless this food and everyone here with light for the higher good. Thank-you, God. Amen.” I almost saw sparkles fly to my knee as I took in the prayer and rubbed my knee.
We ate. We watched the Olympics. We talked about the Academy Award nominated movies. And when I arose to go home, putting weight on my leg was not a problem. On the way home my wife said, “Probably the ibuprofen.” I didn’t reply, but in my mind I’m thinking healing energy was served with the salmon and gelato. Me, the agnostic/atheist. I’m giving credit to healing energy. To the magical power of the universe. To the cosmos. To the things that are just past the reach of understanding.
That was Saturday. No pain on Sunday. Didn’t use ice or ibuprofen. By the end of the day I had just a slight reminder that something had happened. On a knee that has previously shown some instability. But not too bad. This morning the miniscule twinge is still here, if I pay attention. And this morning is Zumba. The old (younger) me would have brushed caution to the wind, gone to Zumba and toughed it out through any pain. The newer (older) me is learning and sometimes accepting that my body can no longer rely on youth. I must take care. I must use caution. I must consider consequences.
So, I did not go to Zumba. Part of me was quite content to sleep in (after a couple of rounds of dogs out, dogs in, dirty paws). Another part felt defeated, wimpy, old. Still, a quiet voice inside congratulated me for paying attention, listening to my body and making choices based in reality, not misperception, anxiety or fear. Things I give power, much too often.
Who let the dogs out?
Red Tomato
Long ago I gave up the idea of having an immaculate house. Just ain’t possible with pets. Not for me anyway. Not for me and staying sane. Three dogs equals twelve paws times eight trips outside each day equals 96 dirty paws. I am not patient or OCD enough to wipe or wash paws after every trip outside.
Of course, there are different stages. Slightly damp ground means only a faint paw print on the hardwood floors. Rainy and soggy increases the possibility of muddy paws which must be toweled if not dipped into a bowl of water, rinsed and dried. The final category is thawing ground, not muddy, and the result is paws that have collected little clumps of dirt.
It was while dealing with clumps of dirt that I received a vacuuming injury. Zoom, zoom, zoom over the carpet, up and back, up and back - my fierce Miniature Pinscher lunging viciously at the vacuum each time it came close. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, a misstep and I twisted my knee. I tried to stand up, but couldn’t tolerate weight on the one leg. WTH? A vacuuming injury.
Ice. Warm bath. Ice. Ibuprofen. Rest. Then out to friends’ house for a healthy salmon dinner. (And for dessert - organic blueberries and strawberries with mango sherbet, vanilla bean gelato and raspberry fudge chunk Greek frozen yogurt.) I hobbled along using a stick cane I found in the garage. One friend suggested reiki for my knee. But I think it was the dinner grace that sent healing ju-ju to my knee. She stood by the dinner table and waved her arm in a circle, encompassing the table and all the people sitting there. “Bless this food and everyone here with light for the higher good. Thank-you, God. Amen.” I almost saw sparkles fly to my knee as I took in the prayer and rubbed my knee.
We ate. We watched the Olympics. We talked about the Academy Award nominated movies. And when I arose to go home, putting weight on my leg was not a problem. On the way home my wife said, “Probably the ibuprofen.” I didn’t reply, but in my mind I’m thinking healing energy was served with the salmon and gelato. Me, the agnostic/atheist. I’m giving credit to healing energy. To the magical power of the universe. To the cosmos. To the things that are just past the reach of understanding.
That was Saturday. No pain on Sunday. Didn’t use ice or ibuprofen. By the end of the day I had just a slight reminder that something had happened. On a knee that has previously shown some instability. But not too bad. This morning the miniscule twinge is still here, if I pay attention. And this morning is Zumba. The old (younger) me would have brushed caution to the wind, gone to Zumba and toughed it out through any pain. The newer (older) me is learning and sometimes accepting that my body can no longer rely on youth. I must take care. I must use caution. I must consider consequences.
So, I did not go to Zumba. Part of me was quite content to sleep in (after a couple of rounds of dogs out, dogs in, dirty paws). Another part felt defeated, wimpy, old. Still, a quiet voice inside congratulated me for paying attention, listening to my body and making choices based in reality, not misperception, anxiety or fear. Things I give power, much too often.
quote:
Pay attention to your body. The point is everybody is different. You have to figure out what works for you. - Andrew Weil
Who let the dogs out?
Red Tomato
I am funny, Draggers. It's just that a lot of people don't know it! 
-RT
-RT
Morning Peeps –
At my twice monthly Deep Ecology discussion group, we’re reading Spiritual Ecology, a collection of essays from various perspectives that assume the interconnectedness of all life, human and non-human. The article we discussed last evening was by Bill Plotkin (who has been a research psychologist studying non-ordinary states of consciousness, professor of psychology, psychotherapist, rock musician, and whitewater river guide).
In his essay, Plotkin articulates a definition of “soul” that’s got me thinking. He describes soul as the “role, function, station, status, or niche it has in relation to other things.” This place, in its truest sense, is the very core of one’s identity, it’s significance, purpose, raison d’être. He describes the soul of Jesus as love and the soul of the Buddha, emptiness.
All of this heavy-duty thinking calls me to ponder my own life. What is my place in this world? My significance and purpose? What is the essence of me that contributes to the world? In the background I hear a voice saying that I am broken and can’t contribute. I hear an existential voice that says there is no significance; it’s all a crap-shoot. Still, part of me yearns for a truth that includes meaning. And if there is meaning, what is my soul?
Since passing my 50th birthday, I’ve thought more and more of my journey, my path. Frequently I think: Cripes! I’ve been through all this sh*t and have only gotten this far? More and more, I am aware that I have developed, am developing, an understanding of myself in relation not only to myself but also my world. Even here at the Psych Café, I am part of the community and I’ve struggled to find my place.
What is at my core? What is my true essence? And how does that soul contribute to the Earth community?
What's your essence?
Red Tomato
At my twice monthly Deep Ecology discussion group, we’re reading Spiritual Ecology, a collection of essays from various perspectives that assume the interconnectedness of all life, human and non-human. The article we discussed last evening was by Bill Plotkin (who has been a research psychologist studying non-ordinary states of consciousness, professor of psychology, psychotherapist, rock musician, and whitewater river guide).
In his essay, Plotkin articulates a definition of “soul” that’s got me thinking. He describes soul as the “role, function, station, status, or niche it has in relation to other things.” This place, in its truest sense, is the very core of one’s identity, it’s significance, purpose, raison d’être. He describes the soul of Jesus as love and the soul of the Buddha, emptiness.
All of this heavy-duty thinking calls me to ponder my own life. What is my place in this world? My significance and purpose? What is the essence of me that contributes to the world? In the background I hear a voice saying that I am broken and can’t contribute. I hear an existential voice that says there is no significance; it’s all a crap-shoot. Still, part of me yearns for a truth that includes meaning. And if there is meaning, what is my soul?
Since passing my 50th birthday, I’ve thought more and more of my journey, my path. Frequently I think: Cripes! I’ve been through all this sh*t and have only gotten this far? More and more, I am aware that I have developed, am developing, an understanding of myself in relation not only to myself but also my world. Even here at the Psych Café, I am part of the community and I’ve struggled to find my place.
What is at my core? What is my true essence? And how does that soul contribute to the Earth community?
quote:Our own life has to be our message.
― Thích Nhất Hạnh, The World We Have: A Buddhist Approach to Peace and Ecology
What's your essence?
Red Tomato
RT... Thanks so much for your thought provoking messages. By the way, at my house, I let the dog out. Only one, but sheesh those paws bring in a lot of dirt, and snow.
You're welcome, RM. I wondered if this post might be a bit esoteric for this forum, so I'm glad to know it stirred your thinking. And those dogs... yep, even only four paws can wreck havoc.
-RT
-RT
Morning Peeps –
How are you? Oh, not so great. Been really depressed lately.
And with that, the questioner averts her eyes and quickly changes the subject. How ‘bout them Yankees?
I loathe “how are you?” because the expected response is “oh, fine – and you?”. I hate lying, and I have trouble discerning when someone truly wants to know how I’m doing. Even when you know they do care and want a truthful answer… how to respond if you can’t just say Fine?
Well, my wife and I had an argument before even getting out of bed and then I spilled the coffee grounds while I was trying to make her coffee as a way to make up and the dogs were frantically barking because they knew something was wrong and they were driving me crazy and then it is so freaking cold outside it makes me want to cry just to step outside and my therapist cancelled my appointment right before going on a two week vacation and I just got a text that I’m overdrawn at the bank. Oh, and I have to go to a company dinner but I don’t have anything to wear and I feel so fat and I don’t like those people anyway and my medication isn’t working but my doctor won’t return my phone calls so I decided to stop taking it and I don’t think that was such a good idea because now I’m feeling depressed and all the stress is making me break out in hives and I get so anxious and despairing that sometimes all I can think about is getting drunk or killing myself. But I’m fine. How are you?
Please don’t ask how I’m doing. Until I change my name to Pollyanna, don’t ask.
So, how are you?
Red Tomato
How are you? Oh, not so great. Been really depressed lately.
And with that, the questioner averts her eyes and quickly changes the subject. How ‘bout them Yankees?
I loathe “how are you?” because the expected response is “oh, fine – and you?”. I hate lying, and I have trouble discerning when someone truly wants to know how I’m doing. Even when you know they do care and want a truthful answer… how to respond if you can’t just say Fine?
Well, my wife and I had an argument before even getting out of bed and then I spilled the coffee grounds while I was trying to make her coffee as a way to make up and the dogs were frantically barking because they knew something was wrong and they were driving me crazy and then it is so freaking cold outside it makes me want to cry just to step outside and my therapist cancelled my appointment right before going on a two week vacation and I just got a text that I’m overdrawn at the bank. Oh, and I have to go to a company dinner but I don’t have anything to wear and I feel so fat and I don’t like those people anyway and my medication isn’t working but my doctor won’t return my phone calls so I decided to stop taking it and I don’t think that was such a good idea because now I’m feeling depressed and all the stress is making me break out in hives and I get so anxious and despairing that sometimes all I can think about is getting drunk or killing myself. But I’m fine. How are you?
Please don’t ask how I’m doing. Until I change my name to Pollyanna, don’t ask.
quote:The game was to just find something about everything to be glad about—no matter what 'twas. - Eleanor H. Porter, Pollyanna
So, how are you?
Red Tomato
Hey RT... So sorry you are having such a bad morning. I won't ask how you are now. But I know what you mean when people ask that. They just want to hear "fine". Oddly enough my T asks me that question and I never know what to say because it seems that he really wants to know and wants the truthful response. So I say I'm "fine" and then launch into all the things that are making life miserable!
I'm not sure what to say to help. Take one step at a time. Clean up the coffee, hug the dogs (I know you love them), deal with the bank and find something in your closet to wear that is black (always makes a person look thinner). I'm sorry about the appointment with T being cancelled and her vacation. That is so hard. I'm struggling with my T going away next week. It's only a week but it feels endless and I'm freaking out a bit about that. I think posting here for support while she is gone may bring you some comfort.
I always enjoy your daily posts.
TN
I'm not sure what to say to help. Take one step at a time. Clean up the coffee, hug the dogs (I know you love them), deal with the bank and find something in your closet to wear that is black (always makes a person look thinner). I'm sorry about the appointment with T being cancelled and her vacation. That is so hard. I'm struggling with my T going away next week. It's only a week but it feels endless and I'm freaking out a bit about that. I think posting here for support while she is gone may bring you some comfort.
I always enjoy your daily posts.
TN
oh RT another so timely post.
It is my first day back to work after my premature withdrawl from the PHP program. No one at work knows where I was but they all keep welcoming me back and asking if I'm ok. Struggling with how to answer.
Just to let you know your not alone. Thinking of you.
Jillann
It is my first day back to work after my premature withdrawl from the PHP program. No one at work knows where I was but they all keep welcoming me back and asking if I'm ok. Struggling with how to answer.
Just to let you know your not alone. Thinking of you.
Jillann
That is also my least favorite question. I've gotten to the point my standard answer is: I'm still kicking. Not very high, but I'm still kicking 
Armored Heart - sometimes I just say, "I'm here," and then quickly redirect focus to the other person. I'll be posting about my other un-favorite question soon.
Jillann - I feel for your struggle returning to work after your "time away." I've been there too many times. Often I wouldn't answer. Instead I would ask a question that barely referenced being gone but that redirected the focus elsewhere. Take a clue from politicians; they never answer the question posed.
How are you? Thank you so much for handling my work while I was gone. Was it very much? OR That blouse looks so good on you. Is it new? OR Are those new glasses? I swear this works 90% of the time. Think up a bunch of answers and pull them out of your hat when you need them.
On another note - I've been reading your posts and I wish I could give you a gentle hug and then get on the phone with your insurance company and kick some ass.
True North - You are a sweetheart. Thanks for your concern. I blush to say that all of what I wrote is not true today. I only meant to show that some days are like that. Yes, parts of it are presently true, but I am not despairing. This morning the sky is a brilliant blue; the air is cold, yes, but crisp and fresh; I was able to make it to Zumba with little discomfort in my knee; and tomorrow I have an appointment with T.
And truly, all of those events aren't the hardest things to say. Yes, they are aggravating. The harder things are My heart is broken because the person I love the most isn't respecting me. AND I am so scared of falling into a deep depression and not being able to function while T is gone. AND I feel like such a failure when I can't meet my bills and get overdrawn. AND I feel so fat because my dad always made cracks about my weight and I know that's what people think about me when I go out in public.
These are the naked truths of "How are you?" And whether there are one or fifteen real responses, it makes saying "just fine - you?" taste very bitter.
Thanks for reading MPs.
-RT
Jillann - I feel for your struggle returning to work after your "time away." I've been there too many times. Often I wouldn't answer. Instead I would ask a question that barely referenced being gone but that redirected the focus elsewhere. Take a clue from politicians; they never answer the question posed.
How are you? Thank you so much for handling my work while I was gone. Was it very much? OR That blouse looks so good on you. Is it new? OR Are those new glasses? I swear this works 90% of the time. Think up a bunch of answers and pull them out of your hat when you need them.
On another note - I've been reading your posts and I wish I could give you a gentle hug and then get on the phone with your insurance company and kick some ass.
True North - You are a sweetheart. Thanks for your concern. I blush to say that all of what I wrote is not true today. I only meant to show that some days are like that. Yes, parts of it are presently true, but I am not despairing. This morning the sky is a brilliant blue; the air is cold, yes, but crisp and fresh; I was able to make it to Zumba with little discomfort in my knee; and tomorrow I have an appointment with T.
And truly, all of those events aren't the hardest things to say. Yes, they are aggravating. The harder things are My heart is broken because the person I love the most isn't respecting me. AND I am so scared of falling into a deep depression and not being able to function while T is gone. AND I feel like such a failure when I can't meet my bills and get overdrawn. AND I feel so fat because my dad always made cracks about my weight and I know that's what people think about me when I go out in public.
These are the naked truths of "How are you?" And whether there are one or fifteen real responses, it makes saying "just fine - you?" taste very bitter.
Thanks for reading MPs.
-RT
Morning Peeps!
Today is John Steinbeck’s 112th birthday. (It is if you believe the Doodle on Google’s home page today, and I believe everything I read on the internet, so it must be true.) Our lives overlapped; I was 12 when he died. When I discover my life overlaps some interesting character, I always feel a brief sadness or regret. Like, “Oh shoot! I might have had the chance to know him, to talk to him, to go to a book signing… if I had only known.” Of course, as a snotty little 12 year old, I couldn’t have cared less. I probably recognized his name, but pfft, what did it matter to me.?
Co-ink-i-dentally, I just finished reading The Grapes of Wrath. I might have read it a long time ago, probably under threat of an “F” in some English class, and I have faint memories of a very dusty movie. But reading this book in 2014, in my 57th year, knowing the history that has passed since it was written more than 60 years ago… Geez-o-pete! The story is gripping, tragic, magnificent. And that guy, Mr. Steinbeck, was an incredible writer. I guess I’m not the only one who noticed as he did receive the Pulitzer Prize in 1940.
The Grapes of Wrath is the story of an Oklahoma sharecropper family who, driven from their failing land by banks and landowners, travels to a glorified California looking for work. “Why, you can reach out anywhere and pick an orange.” Their journey represented the lives of so many migrant workers at that time. They were beyond poverty. They were homeless, starving, sick, pregnant, wet, cold. Yet they persisted with a courage and strength and hope that I’m not sure I could have roused.
Ma Joad, the character of strength in the book, declared, “If you're in trouble or hurt or need—go to poor people. They're the only ones that'll help—the only ones.”
All of us here are the Joad family. We are traveling our unique path. We struggle with problems that seem insurmountable, yet somehow we survive. True, we may be sick (abuse/anxiety/anger), but we can turn to “poor people,” our people, the people who understand what we’ve been through, the ones who are most likely to help. We are all “here” because we are on this journey together. Because we need each other.
Look around. Who is afraid? Comfort them. Who is lonely? Accompany them. Who is starving? Nourish them. Use your words and reach out to embrace the traveler next to you who is so familiar she might be you. In our own discomfort, we recognize the distress in others. We are the poor people and we must help one another. And we are the rich people, because we have one another.
Reach out, now –
Red Tomato
Today is John Steinbeck’s 112th birthday. (It is if you believe the Doodle on Google’s home page today, and I believe everything I read on the internet, so it must be true.) Our lives overlapped; I was 12 when he died. When I discover my life overlaps some interesting character, I always feel a brief sadness or regret. Like, “Oh shoot! I might have had the chance to know him, to talk to him, to go to a book signing… if I had only known.” Of course, as a snotty little 12 year old, I couldn’t have cared less. I probably recognized his name, but pfft, what did it matter to me.?
Co-ink-i-dentally, I just finished reading The Grapes of Wrath. I might have read it a long time ago, probably under threat of an “F” in some English class, and I have faint memories of a very dusty movie. But reading this book in 2014, in my 57th year, knowing the history that has passed since it was written more than 60 years ago… Geez-o-pete! The story is gripping, tragic, magnificent. And that guy, Mr. Steinbeck, was an incredible writer. I guess I’m not the only one who noticed as he did receive the Pulitzer Prize in 1940.
The Grapes of Wrath is the story of an Oklahoma sharecropper family who, driven from their failing land by banks and landowners, travels to a glorified California looking for work. “Why, you can reach out anywhere and pick an orange.” Their journey represented the lives of so many migrant workers at that time. They were beyond poverty. They were homeless, starving, sick, pregnant, wet, cold. Yet they persisted with a courage and strength and hope that I’m not sure I could have roused.
Ma Joad, the character of strength in the book, declared, “If you're in trouble or hurt or need—go to poor people. They're the only ones that'll help—the only ones.”
All of us here are the Joad family. We are traveling our unique path. We struggle with problems that seem insurmountable, yet somehow we survive. True, we may be sick (abuse/anxiety/anger), but we can turn to “poor people,” our people, the people who understand what we’ve been through, the ones who are most likely to help. We are all “here” because we are on this journey together. Because we need each other.
Look around. Who is afraid? Comfort them. Who is lonely? Accompany them. Who is starving? Nourish them. Use your words and reach out to embrace the traveler next to you who is so familiar she might be you. In our own discomfort, we recognize the distress in others. We are the poor people and we must help one another. And we are the rich people, because we have one another.
quote:We only have what we give. - Isabel Allende
Reach out, now –
Red Tomato
How are you?
When T asks: I'm fine and then quickly say, that's not true. Then, I give the correct answer.
When people here ask: I tell it like it is.
When friends ask: I'm fine, How are you?
When husband asks: .... oh wait, he doesn't ask.
When T asks: I'm fine and then quickly say, that's not true. Then, I give the correct answer.
When people here ask: I tell it like it is.
When friends ask: I'm fine, How are you?
When husband asks: .... oh wait, he doesn't ask.
quote:All of us here are the Joad family. We are traveling our unique path. We struggle with problems that seem insurmountable, yet somehow we survive. True, we may be sick (abuse/anxiety/anger), but we can turn to “poor people,” our people, the people who understand what we’ve been through, the ones who are most likely to help. We are all “here” because we are on this journey together. Because we need each other. Look around. Who is afraid? Comfort them. Who is lonely? Accompany them. Who is starving? Nourish them. Use your words and reach out to embrace the traveler next to you who is so familiar she might be you. In our own discomfort, we recognize the distress in others. We are the poor people and we must help one another. And we are the rich people, because we have one another.
Just. Beautiful.
Hi RT,
I don't comment much, but I just wanted to say how much I enjoy reading your Morning Peeps each day. It has totally become part of my routine, and it always makes me think. I love your writing style and how contemplative it is. And I’m really glad you have your new T. I remember how much pain you went through last year. Your new T sounds so much more capable and attuned.
-Bee
I don't comment much, but I just wanted to say how much I enjoy reading your Morning Peeps each day. It has totally become part of my routine, and it always makes me think. I love your writing style and how contemplative it is. And I’m really glad you have your new T. I remember how much pain you went through last year. Your new T sounds so much more capable and attuned.
-Bee
Rebuilding Me - It's a hard question. I'm sorry your husband doesn't ask. I wonder what you would say if he did...?
Armored Heart - Tears, hearts and hugs? Thank you so much.
Nannabee - I feel honored that you stepped from the shadows to tell me of including MPs in your morning routine. I appreciate your comments. Thank you.
-RT
Armored Heart - Tears, hearts and hugs? Thank you so much.
Nannabee - I feel honored that you stepped from the shadows to tell me of including MPs in your morning routine. I appreciate your comments. Thank you.
-RT
Morning Peeps –
If therapists were all Microsoft Office documents, oldT would be an excel spreadsheet. NewT, a powerpoint. OldT was smart. NewT is heart.
In session yesterday T was saying that the better part of her learning to be a psychotherapist came from her own therapy. And at this, she put a hand to her chest and patted it – a gentle acknowledgement of her own work, of her student heart.
I need to be the patient/client/student of a Heart T. My parents were both smart. Growing up, I longed for heart. I am sure that when I was small I had a broken heart. The brokenness of not being loved - not enough, not in the Little Me way I needed so much.
For a long time I have felt my pain in my chest - hot, pressing, and the only way I could describe it was to say that my heart hurt. I would press my hands against my chest to contain the feelings. It always seemed to be burning and I was certain that if a T were to put her hand on my chest, she too would feel the heat.
Perhaps this is why, for the first two months of seeing newT, I cried during every session. T’s heart was talking with mine. My heart is grateful to have a Heart T. Perhaps this is the beginning of the end of my journey. Perhaps when my heart is healed, I will be too.
Listen with your heart -
Red Tomato
If therapists were all Microsoft Office documents, oldT would be an excel spreadsheet. NewT, a powerpoint. OldT was smart. NewT is heart.
In session yesterday T was saying that the better part of her learning to be a psychotherapist came from her own therapy. And at this, she put a hand to her chest and patted it – a gentle acknowledgement of her own work, of her student heart.
I need to be the patient/client/student of a Heart T. My parents were both smart. Growing up, I longed for heart. I am sure that when I was small I had a broken heart. The brokenness of not being loved - not enough, not in the Little Me way I needed so much.
For a long time I have felt my pain in my chest - hot, pressing, and the only way I could describe it was to say that my heart hurt. I would press my hands against my chest to contain the feelings. It always seemed to be burning and I was certain that if a T were to put her hand on my chest, she too would feel the heat.
Perhaps this is why, for the first two months of seeing newT, I cried during every session. T’s heart was talking with mine. My heart is grateful to have a Heart T. Perhaps this is the beginning of the end of my journey. Perhaps when my heart is healed, I will be too.
quote:If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart. - Nelson Mandela
Listen with your heart -
Red Tomato
RT, i had brain-smart folks, too. and like you, i think my little person needed so much more than what was offered, but early on learned to shut off such needs and pretend like it was okay to not have those needs fulfilled. i was a tough little one. but, i struggle with this to this day, and in fact therapy has shed huge amounts of light onto this phenomenon. and it does feel like a burning hot ache in the chest. i think for so many people in whatever kind of recovery they are in, that it is the burning, aching, hollow feeling in the chest/heart that keeps them coming to therapy, looking to have that space filled up so they can finally live life to it's fullest. at least that's my experience. where i wish i could make huge strides, i need to accept that baby steps are the safest and surest way to healing. baby steps.
(((((CD)))))
Yep.
-RT
Yep.
-RT
RT and CD, thank you both for articulating what I feel what is missing in me. I keep looking for this missing piece and have yet to find it. I doubt I ever will but if I give up now, that will be the end of me.
I used to think that, too, Becca. That the missing piece could never be found, that the hole could never be filled. Now I'm finding bits and pieces of evidence otherwise. It took me a long, long time to realize that I'd been looking in all the wrong places. Try thinking outside the box - even if you don't really believe that what you're considering could hold the answers. Then, look inside. (((Becca)))
-RT
-RT
My Peeps -
Thank you all for embracing me and Morning Peeps. It truly warms my heart when I reflect on the many kind and thoughtful replies that have been posted.
Since the beginning of the year, I have been parallel posting MPs on a blog site. It's my first time blogging and is a work in progress, but I'm enjoying it. And, sadly (maybe for some), I've decided to no longer post Morning Peeps here at Psych Cafe. It has taken me a while to sort out my feelings about this, because, you know, you guys truly are My Peeps. But, I'm *hoping* to reach a larger audience out there on the world wide web. I'd love to hear if any of you have feedback about the blog site - nice comments are good, but constructive criticism would be great. I'm using the Blogger platform for those of you with experience.
I'm not leaving the forum, so you'll still see me around, dribbling opinions and advice.
So. Please consider this your personal invitation to follow me to... www.morningpeeps.com. I can't wait to chat with you there.
Today's post is Stop Comparing: You Are Worthy.
-RT
AKA The Peeper
Thank you all for embracing me and Morning Peeps. It truly warms my heart when I reflect on the many kind and thoughtful replies that have been posted.
Since the beginning of the year, I have been parallel posting MPs on a blog site. It's my first time blogging and is a work in progress, but I'm enjoying it. And, sadly (maybe for some), I've decided to no longer post Morning Peeps here at Psych Cafe. It has taken me a while to sort out my feelings about this, because, you know, you guys truly are My Peeps. But, I'm *hoping* to reach a larger audience out there on the world wide web. I'd love to hear if any of you have feedback about the blog site - nice comments are good, but constructive criticism would be great. I'm using the Blogger platform for those of you with experience.
I'm not leaving the forum, so you'll still see me around, dribbling opinions and advice.
So. Please consider this your personal invitation to follow me to... www.morningpeeps.com. I can't wait to chat with you there.
Today's post is Stop Comparing: You Are Worthy.
-RT
AKA The Peeper
good luck!
Good for you RT. I will bookmark your blog pronto! Glad you will still be active on the forum. Good luck!!
sapphire-blue & Becca - thanks much. See ya around.
-RT
-RT
Becca, for what it's worth, i think i know what's missing in me, but like you, i'm not sure i'll ever be able to fill that. i have been, for years, in a great funk with hopelessness at the helm. really don't want to be a downer, but really don't know the way out of the way i feel. i hear you about doubting ever finding the missing piece, but the impossibility of giving up. ((((Becca)))) you're not alone in your pain. keep coming around here, okay? 
RT!! i am so happy you are branching out and exploring different venues that feel better for you! i think that is awesome! and of course i am pleased to hear that you'll be lurking about here and poking your wonderful head in for giving some and taking some. you can count on me to check in on your blog. wonderful! wonderfully happy for you!
RT!! i am so happy you are branching out and exploring different venues that feel better for you! i think that is awesome! and of course i am pleased to hear that you'll be lurking about here and poking your wonderful head in for giving some and taking some. you can count on me to check in on your blog. wonderful! wonderfully happy for you!
Hi RT--- Much good luck with your blog. I will check in there regularly in the evenings when I'm at home. Glad you will still be around here though...
Best
TN
Best
TN
closed doors - I know hopelessness too well, but I still have hope for you.After being divorced 25 years, my mother got married at age 71. You never know what will happen. Thanks for the well wishes on my blog. You've been a good cheer leader.
True North - Hope to see you in the blogosphere - and here too, of course. I always find your posts so pertinent to my own "stuff."
-RT
Today's peep: Life is Precious
www.morningpeeps.com
True North - Hope to see you in the blogosphere - and here too, of course. I always find your posts so pertinent to my own "stuff."
-RT
Today's peep: Life is Precious
www.morningpeeps.com
It's been a hard month, but I think the hiatus from my blog is over for now. Hope you'll come back to check it out.
Today's post: Slingshot Progress in Therapy
Today's post: Slingshot Progress in Therapy