Back in the Trenches

After a restful break, I started back to therapy yesterday.  Did you know that you need breaks from therapy?  It's a very important phase of healing and involves a lot of self-honesty in order to be productive.  At some point in therapy, if you're doing it right, you will bond so strongly with your therapist as to begin depending on them.  You will use them as your coping mechanism instead of creating and employing your own.  In a crisis you will think, "I have my therapy session in a few days.  I'll deal with this then."  And while dealing with your issues in therapy is the main idea, building your own coping tools is one of the main goals.  Your therapist is your partner and there to help you build, not to become your crutch.

So, after taking the mandatory break, I got to reunite with M.T. yesterday morning.  It was wonderful!  We laughed and cried and I left feeling refreshed and motivated.  I also had to admit that I wasn't as healed as I had originally thought during my break.  I found that there are scars so deep within me that I must dig through issues upon issues just to reach the main pain. 

All of you have brought something of your past with you into adulthood.  No matter how Ozzie-and-Harriett your childhood was, you bear a mark, or marks, of trauma on some scale.  Perhaps it was seeing a dead body at the first funeral you attended.  Maybe it was being made fun of at school.  Maybe you don't even know what it was but you have idiosyncrasies that are tell-tale signs of some negative event in your past.  Certain smells, tastes, words, sights...something will set you off.

Most of these traumas are part of what molds us into maturity and makes us who we are, just as the positive events.  For example, the smell of pumpkin makes me think of Christmases as a child.  Good memory.  The smell of fish makes me remember when I was ill as a child and forced to take cod liver oil.  Bad memory.  However, this bad memory is not a make-it-or-break-it event.  It just defines the reason I'm not big on fish.  No big deal.  I don't prefer pumpkin any other time of the year but the holidays...then I can't get enough!  No big deal.

But when the past event was a trauma too horrific for the mind to process, the mind produces a box to bury it in until you are able to pull it out, examine it, and see it for what it is.  These boxes are called coping mechanisms. The shape of the box depends on the severity of the trauma. 

You've probably heard people say, or have said yourself, "I hate hospitals!"  When asked why you may get an ambiguous response.  Upon opening that box however, you might uncover a time when you were in a hospital and treated badly...maybe a loved-one died in a hospital...maybe you saw a lot of blood and passed out.  Whatever the event, every time you are faced with having to enter a hospital, that box begins humming in your head and you have to choose whether or not to open it.  Not realizing the box is even there, however, you simply go through the split second process of memory/association/response.  Hospital/Bad/Don't Go There!

Something I want to tell you right now is that these boxes are there to protect you!  They are kind and will open slowly if you have help.  They will not, however, wait forever.  Some of the boxes erode over time and the contents simply spill out all over your life causing flash-backs, body-memories, and chaos.  Just recognize it for what it is.  Oh.  I had a box.  The stuff is oozing everywhere.  I need to clean this up.  Get thyself to a therapist!  It's what they do.

For those of us whose trauma bears the sign of sexual abuse, there are several boxes.  Have you ever seen Matryoshka dolls, or as Americans call them, nesting dolls?  You find a doll within a doll within a doll, etc.  That is the image I want you to have when learning how to open sexually traumatized boxes.  You will not, hear me, will NOT heal after the first doll.  Not after the second or even the third.  You must be patient. 

Those of you who have only a box here and there and do not have a mind filled with Matryoshkas, this post is primarily for you.  Statistics show that someone you know has been sexually abused.  So, you need skills.  You need to know that sometimes, those Matryoshkas are going to ooze all over you.  You.  Cannot. Fix.  It.  Okay?  But you can be gentle as the hurting friend grapples for help.

Signs of oozing:
Anger.  Anger is probably the most favored of go-to emotions.  Most people who choose anger as their outlet do not do it consciously.  They feel completely justified.  Here's what's happening...

The ooze takes the form of anger and the more rage the person can allow to seep out, the less ooze there is in their mind for the moment.  It becomes all about getting the ooze out by whatever means possible.  For the time-being.  Anger feels good.  It's a balm for the hurting heart.  The violent husband or father; the verbally abusive wife or mother; the yelling teacher, etc...not all of this is due to trauma, but some is.  Just know that.

Another vice of choice to get the ooze out is...well...a vice.  Drugs or alcohol can mask the pain.  For the time-being.  Not all drug-users and alcohol-drinkers are doing so to mask pain, but some are.  Most are.

Promiscuity; self-destructing in relationships; sarcasm at a people-repellent level...sometimes these are signs of oozing Matryoshkas.  Please just know that.

The important thing to know, for those of you suffering from the ooze, is that all of these things are temporary.  Only therapy (through God!) will bring eternal healing.

M.T. and I battled long and hard to clean up after that first nesting doll.  I am not prone to anger like I used to be.  I am not prone to depression like I used to be.  Such wonderful victories!  But we're not done.  Not by a long shot. 

To all of you harboring boxes and Matryoshkas, I love you.  You are so close to freedom.  Do NOT stop battling!

Type-A Confessions

I have GOT to get disciplined!  How?  Some people are simply born disciplined.  And, I guess, truth be told, I am easily "disciplined" to do things I am interested in.  Housework does NOT fall under this category.  How many nights have I gone to bed thinking, "Tomorrow's going to be different.  No television; no books; no phone calls; no computer; no errands; no cross-stitch; no blogging; no logic puzzles.....I'm going to clean the house!  I'm going to wash all the dishes, do all the laundry, sweep, vacuum, make beds, take out trash, put books away, spray Febreeze in the boys' room (multiple times), prepare meals in advance, sweep the porch, write letters to all my family, read fourteen chapters in my Bible, write in my journal, make the children cupcakes and cocoa for their after-school-snack, have dinner hot and on the nicely-set-table when Mark gets home,......"???  I tend to be an extremist.

There something to be said for extremism though.  When I DO start cleaning house, I don't like to slow down until it's done.  The problem here is that if I'm forced to sit down before it's done (phone call, sick kid, etc...) I rarely get back up.  Here's an example:  When we got back home from our Christmas vacation in Texas, I decided to rearrange the furniture in our bedroom.  I'd been wanting to do it for awhile but Mark and I are usually too busy to find a time to both just get in there and do it!  Plus, the furniture is of the old-school heavy-heavy and it appeared quite a daunting task. 

But I really thought I'd go crazy if I didn't do it.  I mean, it got in my head and I became obsessed.  So, one morning, after everyone left for school/work, I just started doing it.  I removed the mattress and box spring; removed all the drawers from the dresser; heaved, the 70-million ton mirror off the dresser (that the painters put on upside down after painting the bedroom...2 years ago), and just started moving, moving, moving.  I got things backwards and had to move several heavy item more times than I should've.  But finally, it was done.  I felt GREAT!  Of course, I hadn't done any dishes or laundry and now my back was out (pb&j for supper).  However, I was proud of myself and felt very productive.  I was able to add a bookshelf in our room and the iron and ironing board fit too!

I was so proud.  I think I talked myself into "deserving" some time off.  So, for a week, I did nothing.  Oh, I might've folded a dishtowel or put away a book.  I think I actually did cook something one night.  Oh, and I made our bed!  Once. 

So, now all the work is piling on top of me.  I'm overwhelmed.  The pride I felt earlier has dwindled to this little of glimmer of oh-yay-look-what-I-did-instead-of-washing-my-family's-socks.  I did a load of laundry and two loads of dishes yesterday.  That's shameful.  Two loads of dishes?!  Why oh why were there TWO LOADS?! (and there are still dishes in the sink)

So, all of you out there who are naturally disciplined, please be patient with me.  I have great intentions...I'm not lazy...I truly love things to be orderly and neat...I do not just wait around for someone else to do the work for me (although, I wouldn't stop them if they did!)...and I actually enjoy the domesticity that comes with being a housewife. 

It's not always this way.  Sometimes I tornado through the house and have everything spit-spot within a few hours.  I wonder why I can do that some days and other days it just seems impossible. 

I like knowing why.  I like understanding.  I research.  For those of you who follow the religion of the Myers-Briggs Put-Me-In-A-Box Stereotype, I am a "Super Feeler."  I am an IF.  This means I have no problem waiting until the last minute to do things and in fact often do a better job when I DO wait.  I work very well under pressure and often require a deadline to motivate me to do anything.  I am more apt to sit and read than to follow a to-do list.  You get the idea.

For those of you who know about the wonders of Blood-Type...I am type A.  This means that I do not require intense exercise to stay fit.  I can drink all the coffee I want.  I don't prefer meat but can pretty much eat all the time.  I am sedentary (not lazy) which means I require a lot "down-time".  I love being around people but often require sleep after having an intense crowd around me.  I enjoy going out and socializing, if I'm able to come home and just sit afterward.  I can never have too much sleep.  In fact, I need all I can get. 

So...having told you all of that, I'm wondering where discipline fits in.  How it fits in.  I realize it starts in my mind.  I also realize that I've conditioned myself to believe that a "good" housewife keeps a clean house all the time; is tireless and organized; is always prepared for company; still has time and energy to do all of the out-of-the-house stuff; takes a shower every day; always has time to sit in her clean house and read or sew or whatever.  That sounds ridiculous when I type it out like that.  But it's what I feel deep inside.

It's why I feel less-than when my house gets overwhelming, like it is now.  Maybe it's not so much that I need discipline; afterall, I do the work and I do it with my family as a priority (i.e., I sort through the mountains of laundry to get the basketball uniforms, underwear, favorite jeans, etc...washed!).  Maybe what I need is a new way of defining housewife.  Maybe I need to be proud of myself when all of my children can go to bed (can GET to their beds) with full tummies and a content smile.  Maybe I should always strive for excellence but remember that I am excellent regardless of my have-done list.

Hmm.  Perhaps I will now get up and wash something.  Maybe. 

Get Over Yourself

I am so sad right now. And mad. And soul-sick. Wait.  Let's go back to mad.  Yeah.  I'm mad.

This semester at Harding, I'm taking a wonderful class about family dynamics in our world. There are some aspects of it that make me glad to be a wife and mom. Some, however, just make me ill. One thing that has stuck in my mind for the past few weeks is how we treat the elderly here in America. It's pathetic. In almost every other country, developed and underdeveloped, the elderly are treasured and honored and cared for. In America, the elderly are, at most, just another person...and at the very least, a burden to be pawned off on some tired nurses in a "home" somewhere.

It used to be that when a person older than you walked into the room (older...not gray-headed necessarily or walking with a cane...older, period) you would stand and give up your chair for them. You'd open doors for them. You'd listen as long as they needed to talk. You'd give them preference and priority and respect!

But let's narrow it down. Let's talk about parents. It is shameful how parents are treated these days. I'm not talking about the years spent at home, growing up, learning your way. Those years could always use more respect, but it's not what makes me sick. I'm talking about after you move away and begin living "on your own". Little by little, your parents get shoved down on the priority list. Yes, you should call your parents often. Yes, you should make contact with them every holiday. Yes, you should do what you can to see to their needs. If they are "nasty" parents, meaning abusive to you and/or a danger to you, then seeking wise counsel about how to honor them is a good idea. But, honor them you must! We are COMMANDED to!

You do NOT get to speak disrespectfully to your parents. Being an adult does not make you a peer with your parents. You can hang out with them, visit with them, be so close with them...and still, they are your parents! If they fall on hard times, welcome them into your home indefinitely. Hard? Who cares. They wiped your bottom. They put up with your mouth. They forgave and forgave and forgave you. How long will they be on this earth? How can you best honor them?

There are three questions you MUST ask yourself every morning:
1. How can I best glorify God today?
2. How can I best meet my family's needs today?
3. How can I best honor my parents today?

Did you notice what you DON'T ask? How do I serve myself today? How can I get the most out of this day for myself? How can I make myself feel good? Myself? Myself? Myself?

Whatever happened to that long-ignored virtue self-sacrifice? Thinking of others? Humbling yourself? Giving respect to that person who raised you?

Yes, I'm angry. I've seen too much of it and I've literally spoken with parent after parent who will cry and blame themselves when their grown child is rude to them; takes advantage of them; feels entitled; and disrespects them. With the exception, as mentioned earlier, of those misguided parents who choose an abusive relationship with their children, parents are a gift. Treat them as such!

Many of you treat your boss better than your parent.  Many of you treat your dog better than your parent.  I have talked back to my parents before.  I've been rude to them, disrespected them, ignored them, and failed them.  And I found it's never too late to rectify that.  So, you may indeed call me self-righteous and call on times when you know I was a smart-mouth.  I will not argue. I found it's never too late to get over myself.

(And let me be perfectly clear.  "Abusive parent" does NOT include a parent you disagree with, don't like, think is lazy, wish had different habits, share different beliefs than, doesn't reach out to you, doesn't call YOU every day, doesn't look after YOUR needs anymore, and who takes a lot of energy and effort to be around.  You're no picnic either.)

Now....I need to go call Mama.

The Mommy Syndrome

Once you have it, it's always with you. I am constantly noticing runny noses, untied shoes, sleepiness, unfocused daydreaming, the pee-pee dance, the overwhelming desire to scream, wet diapers, dirty faces, hugs-in-wanting, tears-about-to-overflow, outside-voices, and too-quiet-to-be-up-to-anything-good.

I am constantly aware of the lack of "yes, ma'am", the shoulder shrug, the mumble, the inside sunglasses, the refusal-of-eye-contact, the slumped posture, the pull-up-your-pants-please!, the eternal pout, and the I'd-rather-be-anywhere-but-here-stare.

My kids participate in all of these at some points. And I do something about it! C'mon, parents! Let's be active! I don't want my kid to be the adult that no one wants to play with....the kid who becomes the adult no one wants to be around... the kid who becomes unhappy with himself but doesn't know why.

Sure...let a kid be a kid. Play, joy, imagination, giggles, fun, games, mischief, jokes, silliness, discovery, faith, innocence, trials, and goodness are all mandatory for childhood. To some of our children, these things do not come naturally and must be nurtured and cultivated. It's our job to do that. I really don't see a problem here in most cases. We want our children to be happy. We'd do anything to get a smile out of them. We hurt when they hurt so we do anything to keep from breaking their hearts. We make excuses for them when there are pending consequences. We ignore certain behavior to avoid conflict. We allow their individuality to become selfishness in the name of open-minded parenting.

Stop it.

When your child gets in trouble, it is NOT our job to cover it up, make excuses, say everything's okay, or come to their defense. YES, we love our children! It is our job, BECAUSE we love them, to stay beside them every step of the way. We must support them and hug them AS they pay the price. This doesn't, as so many parents fear, convey to them that we think they're bad or we don't care. Just the opposite, in fact. It tells them that, no matter what, we are always here for them and love them. It says, "Yes. You messed up. I've messed up too. I understand and am right here as you struggle through this life-lesson." When they don't get their way or their plans don't go as they want, it is NOT our job to re-manipulate the situation so that our sweeties are happy again. It's our job to convey to them that life will do this to them over and over and their reaction to it is more important than the actual plan not coming to fruition.

Parenting is so much more than runny-noses and untied shoes. The future DEPENDS on our efforts in discipline and active involvement in what's BEST for our child (not what's comfortable at the time!).

Preachy preachy. Yes, I know. And those of you who know me know that this must be a lesson I need badly myself. :)

I preach what I myself need to hear. My daughter is going through a difficult time right now. She has auditioned for a play, didn't make it; tested for a program, just missed it; and is now wanting to try-out for the swim team and has only had minimal lessons (I know she won't make it).

When she didn't get into this certain program I was so devestated. It was hard to encourage her when I really wanted to go down and have a "talk" with the administrators. Why would they NOT accept her? She's bright, sweet, selfless, determined, ethical, brilliant, etc... I had several sleepless nights over this. So did Maggie. It reminded me of a time in High School when I didn't get into a certain program. My mom DID go down and have a talk with one of the people in charge and was told that the program was directed toward students who needed the extra-curricular "club" because they needed the confidence...and they thought I didn't. Hooey. But I remember feeling like I'd let my mom down. I know now I didn't; that she was hurting for me. So, when Mark DID go and talk to one of the people in charge, he didn't tell Maggie he was doing it.

Then, right on the tail of this disappointment, was her failed audition. She sang a beautiful solo, did a choreographed dance, followed stage direction perfectly, was bold, etc...and didn't make it. I was crestfallen for her. I wanted to fix it! How could they NOT choose her! But then I remembered how I tried out for cheerleader for four years in a row and never won. I put myself out there for everyone to see and everyone knew that I had never made it. There was cruelty and fun-making. It was miserable. When I did become cheerleader, it was only because a certain girl had moved away and they were bumping up the names on the list. Because a small amount of girls had tried out and they could only accept so many, only one girl had not made it. Me. And, yay, now by default I got to join. So good for the self-esteem to know that I was the absolute least popular girl in the entire school.

And I remembered how my parents handled that. They held me while I cried and then told me how proud they were of me. They assured me that High School popularity in no way defined me. This didn't sink in until years later, but my subconscious heard it. That's what I needed. To know that I could fail and still not let them down. That was more important than them fighting my battles for me.

So, when Maggie's name was not on the cast list, I held her. She actually didn't cry. She handled it with grace and took time to read over the list to see if there were girls she knew so she could congratulate them. She told me she knew she'd done her best, that she'd been very good, and that they just couldn't choose everyone. I thought, "Boo-Hoo! She doesn't need me!!!"

But wait. She doesn't need me.....to define her....to be her strength...to keep her from building her own life and personality. Cool.

So I was in a quandry. Do we let her try out for the swim team? We KNOW she will not make it. But, is that the point? Mark told me just yesterday that he is going to let her try out. He said it's good for her. My first impulse was to argue...to shelter her from pain, embarrassment, disappointment...from a character-building experience, life, growing pains. I must trust my daughter. I must use disappointments to help her grow. And I must NOT convey to her that I don't think she's good enough.

It's hard. But I guess if it was easy, there wouldn't be parenting classes, books, counselling, etc... As parents, let's encourage each other!

We can do this!! And so can our kids!!

Dead Trees and Timing

Today marks the end of one whole week of college life for me. I made it! And I love it! Every day has caused a flashback of college life 15 years ago and I'm reminded how blessed I am today. When I first attempted college, my finances were a mess, my confidence was nil, my physical being was under enometrial siege, my dating life had just taken a very public and embarrassing dive, and I was experiencing a chemical depression that was yet to be diagnosed.

Today is proof that one never knows what's in store. Ten years ago, I was resolute in my decision to never go back to school. My health had only deteriorated, my social life had only deteriorated, my confidence had only....you get the idea. Then the tree began to blossom.

In the summer time when trees seem dead, it's hard to picture them in full bloom. They have to rest, store up minerals, food, and water in preparation for the spring. They look weary, useless, lifeless, as if they have nothing to offer. But then the tree begins to blossom.

Maggie.

Those of you who know the story of my miracle child are probably tired of hearing about it. But, I never am. I am constantly amazed at the turn of events she set in motion. My health...because the endometriosis had killed so much of me, I was seeing five different specialists. On their recommendation, and the prayers and support of my family and friends, I became artificially inseminated. Pregnancy could offer the one last hope of reversing some of the endometrial damage; and if it didn't, then this would be my last ditch chance of having a child.

Let's remember....my life was a wreck. No social life, no future goals, no anything. I simple existed. Through the process of fertility and meeting Mark and maturing in my spiritual journey and deepening my relationship with family, a 180 took place. All of a sudden, my life had meaning. I began to see how all of the physical trials had led me to this moment. Maggie. I'd do it all over again if I had to.

I also began seeing another pattern emerging.

After almost a decade of marriage, I have had the chance to make out a time-line of my life and truly study it. How perfect everything seems now. Heartache, loneliness, depression, shame, destitution, dependence...gathering minerals, water, and food.

I am in school to get my Family Life Education degree which will ultimately lead to me being a family therapist with emphasis on child trauma. What kind of therapist would I be if I'd never lived what my future clients will have experienced? Empathy cannot be taught in a classroom and compassion is on no exit exam. I am so blessed to have had a dead-tree life in order to prepare for this wonderful spring I can now see.

Yesterday, a sweet friend said, "You're a survivor. You're going to be a great therapist!" I was humbled. I've never really thought of myself as being a survivor. Survivors fight through their mess and arrive victorious on the other side. I feel as if I tolerated the mess until God pulled me through to the other side. But regardless of how I got here, I'm here.

I love God's timing. I love His plan. I love that I am not God.

Fort Mascara

First Day of School. This well-known and widely-celebrated holiday seems to touch everyone at various stages of life every year. Today is my first day of school...again. Hi, my name is Kim, and I'm a 38 year old starting back to college in hopes (again) of completing my undergrad degree. So, is it different for me than for, say, my nine year old who is starting Fourth Grade today? Nope. No, it's not. She painstakingly planned her wardrobe, brushed her hair until is shone, packed her lunch with detail to every aspect and had her backpack at the door....last night. Me? I'm too old to care about things like wardrobe and all that right? I mean, as long as I have a pen, some paper, my textbook and the laptop, I'm good to go.

This should be the case but it's not. This is very interesting to me. It's interesting that I thought I didn't care what I would wear until I couldn't find a certain pair of jeans this morning. I mean, I have a few other pair of jeans but for some reason, I HAD to find THIS pair. Then, the shirt. I was going to just throw on a T-shirt. But from the looks of my bed, now strewn with blouses of every color and style, I may have been a little more invested in this as well.

Make-up. I haven't been wearing a lot of make-up lately, but when I was done this morning, I stared at the mask looking back at me from the mirror. Wow....layer much?

So, this is what I've learned....about myself, if not people in general. I care. As much as I wish I didn't, I do. When you see me today, those of you who WILL see me today, feel free to make fun. I am not so much insecure about the outfit, hair, make-up, etc, as I am just traditional. It's like putting up the Christmas tree even though you won't be home for Christmas. You just do it. It's just the way it's always been. I will always arm myself with lint-free clothing and heavy make-up when embarking on something new.

To all you gals out there pumping the mascara tube, may you be blemish-free and may your deodorant work all day today!

When Real is Real Annoying

It occurs to me as I lick my bowl that there's a little "slob" in me. It was a great pasta dish, I'm all alone in my own home, and there was sauce left at the bottom of the bowl! Yummy! So, if there were people here, would I have still licked the bowl? If I was at a restaurant, would I lick the bowl? No. No I wouldn't. Does this mean I'm a fake?

I know people who say, "I am comfortable with myself. What you see is what you get." And that's great. We should all be confident enough to show our true colors, stand by our own opinions, follow through with our words, and unapologetically sport our own style. I encourage this full-speed! In fact, I refuse to define beauty, success, love, reason, comfort, or style in any kind of general sense. These things are defined by each person for themselves. When you see my children wearing polka-dots with stripes, orange with red, hair sticking straight up, flip-flops with taffeta... just know it's not negligence. It's Mark and me setting a foundation of what's appropriate and modest, and letting each person in the house decide what makes THEM feel beautiful and stylish.

But, if I lick my bowl in private, should I lick my bowl public? I mean, I digressed a little with the whole beauty-style-definition thing. Real is real, right?

I believe I can be real and still NOT lick my bowl in public.

I knew a girl in college who was herself, her earthy-natural-selfy self, all the time. No matter where we were. She was sure of herself and didn't seem to need anyone's compliments or assurance. This was such a respectable quality. And I was totally put off by her. I cringed when I knew she would be around. Oh yes, what you saw is what you got. She passed gas, picked her nose, scratched, burped, and yes she licked her bowl. Gross. Not gross because she did all of those naturally human things. Gross because she did them where I could see her.

I'm all about being my own person bla bla bla. But, people, it's not about that. It's about considering others. To thine own self be true? Yes, in the privacy of your own home, feel free to be as true as thine own self would like. But hopefully, within you, there is a true sense of respect that will give you the common sense to hold your tongue when needs be, keep private things private, and observe politeness when politeness is called for.

I know this girl who, in the dorm rooms, would entertain us all by burping the alphabet in two octaves. I still smile just thinking about it. But she would never have done that in public. She was true to herself AND respectful of others.

You're not being fake by having manners.