The wind is blowing outside my window tonight. I hear it through the trees of the woods next to our townhouse. There is occasionally a clear ting from the wind chimes the kids broke in the back yard. I am tired, but for the first time in a long time it is just the feeling of a tired body and not the desperate need to be unconscious, to disaparate, to flee the world. This is a huge relief which I dare not hope might continue.
I had an appointment with my regular counselor this morning. I did well in getting up on time and getting the kids ready for school (with help from my husband), preparing lunch for one and a snack for the other, kisses good-bye to Daddy, and off to school. I arrived at the office half an hour early for my appointment and decided to listen to NPR in my car. I locked the doors, put the seat back, turned onto my left side, drew my knees up and pressed my face into the microfiber plush of the seat back. Morning Edition droned in the background. When Diane Rehm came on, it would be time for my appointment, until then I could rest in the capsule of a womb that is my blue Prius with the Darwin-fish on the back. I woke up fifteen minutes late for my appointment, cursed, and raced into the building.
I apologized for being late, but it was OK. I eased myself into the oversize wicker chair with the big cushions next to the table with the miniature terrarium on it. I would love to be a miniature person, like a Borrower, stretched out on the moss in that little green world. It reminds me of the conservatories at Longwood Gardens. The last time I was there I was child-free, meeting an old friend to attend an Indigo Girls concert. It was so wonderful I actually relaxed.
So I told my objective, impartial, paid-friend about the past two weeks and especially about how I've been feeling better lately and the seeming correlation of that with changing the time I take my meds from in the morning to before bed. Of course, as the words trip out of my mouth I start to feel the stirrings of butterflies in my stomach, afraid that I've jinxed the whole thing and that the moment I leave her office the rest of my day and week and who knows how long will swirl down the proverbial toilet. I told her about starting the blog and yes, it did seem to be linked with the change in motivation and energy I'd been feeling. Another big part was that someone put a link on Facebook to another mom's blog, Momastary, that I checked out. Honestly, until the past week or so I had nothing to do with blogs. I didn't read them in general unless sent a link from a friend's blog about her kids' latest adventures. I had been thinking that starting one though, in order to get back to writing. I needed something to make me write.
I also mentioned that the homework from my women's cognitive therapy group was to write as many of these as came to mind:
I could do X if I weren't afraid of Y.
I could take scuba diving lessons if I weren't afraid of spending the money on it.
" " " if I weren't afraid of how I'd look in a wetsuit.
" " " if I weren't afraid of my ears hurting deep
" " " if I weren't afraid of being one of those few
who get some kind of psychosis deep under
water and rip their face-masks off only to
" " " if I weren't afraid of getting the bends.
" " " if I weren't afraid of dying due to my own
After checking out Blogger, it seemed easy enough to set-up a blog, and I am one of those nerds who enjoys fiddling with margin widths, adding gadgets to the layout, you know, all the organizational things you can do without actually writing anything. I'm also the type of person who considers wandering through The Container Store a recreational outing. My husband assures me that I'm not anal-retentive, I'm detail-oriented. Anyway, at some point I unconsciously decided that if the Momastary lady could do it, so could I, and without really thinking about it just started and here we are. I am happy to report that the rest of my day did not suck, as I was afraid it would. Maybe tomorrow will be OK too?
I could start a blog if I weren't afraid of adding yet another incomplete task to the
" " if I weren't afraid of being mediocre.
" " if I weren't afraid of losing the very little privacy I allow
" " if I weren't afraid of alienating friends and family who will
see some of what I really think.
" " if I weren't afraid of revealing that the confident person I
imagine I sometimes project to be the impostor I often
feel I am.
" " if I weren't afraid of revealing myself as a poor or incom-
petent or unfit mother or person.
" " if I weren't afraid of losing potential future employment
because of what I write.
" " if I weren't afraid of embarrassing or disappointing my father.
" " if I weren't afraid of being successful because then I'd have to
write my book which would inevitably be rejected many
times before/if ever being published, which would be
depressing, and anyway, boy would THAT be a lot of work.
I could go to bed now if I weren't afraid of this post being incomplete orOr I could stop thinking, dive in and dream about swimming with sea turtles in Hawaii. No, WHALES in South Africa. Yeah, let's do that. (No sharks!)
having typos I missed or being bad enough to be
" " if I weren't afraid of bringing on a tomorrow that begins
another downward spiral and that all this progress was