Taking the Bridge

http://blog.measurableadvancement.com/?tag=bridge-phobia

Counseling appointment today: I need to attack my illustration-block the same way a bridge-phobic conquers going over the Bay Bridge. I need to suffuse myself in it. That means going back to Freshman Chemistry (where my to-be-boyfriend-husband carried me down the stairs to our freshman basement study lounge against my will and locked me down there with my materials because I was procrastinating studying so badly).

I have my desk clear. All I have to do is commence, starting tonight. I will touch the project EVERY day until it is done. I will enlist my husband in propelling me to the desk each night. I don't like it but trying to deal with it as usual is not working. I am to be very soothing and talk comfortingly to myself to get past the initial anxiety, which is what I have been avoiding. Once I am started I do fine. Once it is part of a routine I'll progress rapidly, I think.

Also I need to lower my caffeine intake so that I will stop staying up until 3:00AM reading and eating frozen raspberries with sugar.

Self-hating Saturday

When I played a sport or worked toward a degree I remember being told that one has to do it for oneself, not for someone else. It's logical then to conclude that it is unacceptable to be living for someone else and not for yourself.

"And I'm going to be 40....some day!"*

http://www.marketday.com/shopping/products.aspx?sk=0&itemid=4521

I have made it to the night before my 40th birthday.
The kids are asleep, and my husband is asleep in there with them.
The dog is eating dinner. <crunch crunch slurp slurp crunch>

I am cross-legged on my bed with my laptop, an old teddy bear of mine, my sleeping/snuggling blanket (that my mom gave me) and a white furry bunny "tummy time" blanket that looks like a bear rug only it's a bunny.  I couldn't bear to give it away.  (Story forthcoming.)

If you are in the habit of checking here, you have noticed that I was not writing much this past week or two.  I've not been functioning all that highly.

Such a fat-assed waste + UPDATED: Wise Woman

I wrote this entry on March 16, 2012.  Today is the 18th.  I am going to go through this and write in responses that I imagine come from the "wise woman" within me.  (These will be in blue italics.)  This is a technique that my group therapist came up with, herself.  To me, I imagine my wise woman to be myself, only older, perhaps at the end of my life, with all the wisdom of having lived through the life I am struggling with right now.  The key is not to give advice, but to be accepting and present with the feelings of your present self, to soothe and comfort yourself as you might a good friend or young child.  I find it comforting to do.  This can also be done with drawings, where you draw one drawing about something you are struggling with.  Then with a different color or pen or whatever, you see what the wise woman would add or change about the picture.  It can be very interesting.

I have been upset this evening about turning 40 on Monday (I can see how that might be an intimidating milestone for you) and not being able to feel acceptable. (That must have been pretty rough, huh?) My husband took the day off (How nice of him!) and I stayed in bed until 4 or so as if it were a Saturday. (Maybe he felt good to be able to give you some extra rest.) 

Breakthrough!

http://bonobo.rcdc.it/archives/tag/little-april-shower/

I had a breakthrough today at my counseling session. I made some connections that I had not realized before, regarding 2 of my issues: the napping-in-the-car-thing and my negative feelings about growing-up.

I was telling my counselor how in my group session last night we had decided that the nap-thing was not necessarily all about sleep, but more about feeling safe.  I feel safe in my car, lying back and passively listening to the radio or music or sometimes just the wind and birds.   I get to feeling safe and soothed and then sleep follows. Today I realized that when asked the last time i felt safe, my brain goes first to a prominent memory of taking a nap in my bedroom in South Carolina in 1975 or so.

Pigs, Rainbows, and the Invisible Gun

I don't really want to write tonight.  My molar hurts and I don't know if it's one of the ones I know needs to be worked-on or not.  I refuse to deal with it or acknowledge it.  I want to stay lying on my stomach in my daughter's pinkly-lit room on her bed, next to her, with my little son on the makeshift trundle on my right.  I want to lie with the beginning chapters of Charlotte's Web on my mind, dimly remembering playing on and under the unfinished basement steps of my childhood, pretending to be Templeton, the rat, after watching the cartoon special.  In those days, you could see between the steps and children could play in the space under them, in the

Too Sensitive on Saturday

Found at http://dantudor.com/how-to-get-physical-with-your-recruiting-letters/

It is Saturday.  I usually sleep in and my husband and kids bring me breakfast.  Today I slept, woke, meditated a bit on who I am, who I was, who I've become.  Then they came home and I enjoyed my donuts and chai.  I checked Facebook and the stats for this blog and listened to the end of Metro Connection on WAMU (NPR).  My husband informs me that he isn't going to tell me what to do, but that sitting in bed on a day like this was stupid.  My daughter says, "I wouldn't want to sit around like you, Mom."  I can see the strangely warm February sunshine lighting the trunks of the trees in the wooded common area that fills my window.  The Splendid Table has begun.  They are talking about oysters.  Husband is driving the kids out to Bell Branch Park.  Do I want them to return to take me to lunch, er, dinner?  Yes, please.

Date Night: Gluttony & Levity

KrispyKreme

Short and sweet tonight.  My son's preschool had "Parents' Night Out," when some of the teachers babysit kids for the evening en masse.  My husband and I use these as our date nights.  There's maybe one a month or so.  We usually go see a movie, but there was nothing we really wanted to see tonight, so we had dinner at The Cheesecake Factory at the Annapolis (MD) Mall.  For the most part, the food was OK, but worth neither the price nor the 50 minute wait.  Our two person table was crammed into an row filled with as many tables as possible, which was not even remotely romantic.

The one thing that was worth the rest of the inconvenience was my desert.My husband stuck to his diet and did not eat the bread at the table or have desert.  He's such a good boy.  I ate the bread AND had desert: a butter pecan milkshake made with vanilla ice cream, caramel, and pecans.  It was amazing.  I also laughed more tonight than I had in a really long time, which I think was pretty good therapy.  Unfortunately, I probably consumed enough calories to last the whole weekend. 

At some point soon I am going to have to bite the bullet and get back to eating sensibly and exercising, about which I am decidedly unenthusiastic.  I'm fine  once I get started, but I have the worst problem committing to giving up the carbs I love: soda, ice cream, Chic-fil-A sauce, bread and butter.  Pasta I'm over.  Conquered that one since my husband gave it up.   Oh, and pancakes.  And donuts.  I love me a glazed donut or three.  Especially on Saturday mornings.  On Saturday mornings I get to sleep in and my husband and kids bring me some glazed donuts and a tall, no water, 4-pump, Starbucks Chai Tea Latte.  They open my door, leave their offering, and retreat before I eat them as well.  If they do, all is well.  If they do not, there is suffering.  I love Saturdays.  I live for Saturdays.  Tomorrow is Saturday.  It is good to be the Mommy.  At least, it has its moments.

TOOLBOX: Seeing a Psychiatrist or Psychologist is No Big Deal.

http://psychology23.blogspot.com/2008/11/vii-psychology-today.html

 
Now for the 2nd in our "No Big Deal" series:  What is it like to see to a psychiatrist or go to psychotherapy/"talk" therapy/"counseling" appointment?  

All together now, "It's No Big Deal."





I am trying to remember my first counseling appointment.  I think I actually saw a psychiatrist (a psychologist with a M.D. who can prescribe medication) first, back in 1997.  Then I saw a University-employed psychologist for talk therapy.  Additionally, I did group therapy at the University (usually a small group that meets with a psychologist-leader all together).  After that I graduated and wasn't seeing anyone for a while, then I went back to seeing a (new) psychologist.  Then I moved here, got off medication and was on my  own for several years.  I saw a psychologist while I was pregnant just in case I got post-partum depression, which I did.  I then came to be a patient of my current psychiatrist (a M.D. and Ph.D. who specializes in women's mental health).  I switched to a new psychologist and also joined a women's Cognitive Therapy group that meets twice a month.  So my experience with this adds up to: two psychiatrists and five psychologists.

Monday Is Whiny Blog Day

Sorry,  folks, I'm feeling pretty whiny today.  I read the 2/2/12 Momastery post tonight and it was of her usual high caliber, and it just put me out of sorts.  She's always so damn inspired!  And it was Monday.  My husband has warned me against writing whiny posts but that's really all I've got today.  So I whine about my little life,  then I fret about world peace and my lack of contribution to it.
Do you ever feel this way?


Well, it was a Monday.  I only did really one of the things I was supposed to get done today:  I got my butt to the gym.  Even that would not have happened if I hadn't asked my daughter on Friday to remind me by saying, "Mom, ya big fat cow, get your butt to the gym!"

WORDLESS WEDNEDAY: Get more Sleep!

Psyche's Dream by Josephine Wall

FYI: Sleep and Depression Article