Showing posts with label random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random. Show all posts

Sunday, April 27, 2014

On A "Mom's Day Off" -- Pent-Up Thoughts

Be prepared for rapid changes of subject.

DOG:
Juno the Pup

  • We have a puppy, in addition to our two older dogs.  Not my idea, but she's cute and relatively smart and well-behaved.  THANKFULLY.  
ANXIETY DREAMS ABOUND:

HOLY CRAP.  I really, really hope not.
  • I have been having piles and piles of anxiety dreams in the last several months, some of which combine my areas of typical anxiety dreams.  They include the usual: giving a performance wherein I realize I have forgotten how to play the flute OR my flute falls apart OR some other iteration of this problem.  Or I have lost one of my kids or they have been hurt or kidnapped.  Or my house is on fire.  OR every time I try to speak to someone, my voice diminishes, I lose my voice entirely, or they can't understand me.
SUDDEN AND UNEXPECTED WISDOM:

  • I've been having sudden deep flashes of insight into life situations.  It's peculiar to abruptly see the best path to take, or to experience forgiveness, or to feel peace with a decision.  I keep thinking, "Really?  That's it? No angsty navel-gazing? Huh."
HONESTY ABOUT DEPRESSION:
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  • Recently, a client of mine asked me if I was just naturally so cheerful, or if I had to work for it.  I said that I think I'm just a "see beauty if at all possible" kind of person, and if you keep your eyes open, it's everywhere.  However, later in the morning, we discussed methods of combating clinical depression (medication, homeopathic stuff, exercise, meditation, therapy, etc.) and she said, "But you said you were naturally cheerful! How can you be both cheerful and depressed?" I had to explain (with some difficulty) that depression (when untreated, anyway, in my case) is like the ground level.  If it's mushy and gross, it can and probably will affect the pond that's on it, but it's still possible to float on top sometimes. Sometimes there are waves, sometimes it's so nasty that the water gets sucked down into it and you're just lying there in the mud, and sometimes it firms up and the water is nice and calm. But they're definitely not the same quality of thing.  One is surface and one is structure. One can also be sad, but be stable underneath.  It goes both ways. I think she was surprised by how readily I admitted to my depression, and how honest and unembarrassed I am.  I look at it like my thyroid deficiency.  It's chemical, and mostly treatable, and it sometimes affects lots of stuff, but mostly it's just there, part of my makeup. It's not something I did or that anybody gave me or did to me. And I don't hide my thyroid thing (although I rarely discuss it because it's pretty boring), but if there's somebody suffering with the kind of stuff I did before I got treated, I'll share my experience and suggest they talk to their doctor, because feeling bad/exhausted/gross when you have some thing totally treatable is a ridiculous waste of time.
PEOPLE MISSING THE POINT:













  • People who pick on one stupid detail that is completely off-topic and use it as an excuse to push their own agenda:  annoying, but suddenly, much easier to just mentally dismiss these days.  Like one person talking about beautiful art from long ago, and how lovely the painters made the skin tones. Then another person reflects that "all the subjects in those paintings are morbidly obese!  And we shouldn't say/do/profess anything that promotes such unhealthy images!"  Oh, fer Pete's sake.  Can you not get past it for ten seconds and actually see the beauty of the colors? The sheen of well-executed light? Move on, Judgy McBoringson. 
SELF-REFLECTION:
  • Holy crap.  My feet are like hooves.  I need to get a manicure, or maybe just an industrial-strength sander.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Painfully Trusting

Brace yourselves.

That moment when your beautiful blonde child obediently opens her little mouth and waits for the spoonful of cough medicine.  It is one of the worst moments of parenting.

Why, you ask?

Trust.

They trust that the Mama knows what she's doing.  That Mama is doing the right thing.  They trust that these chemicals Mama is putting into the child are the ones that will make her feel better.  To heal.  To soothe.  They don't even get to hold the spoon themselves.  They just open up like little birdies.

It shakes me to my core.  What if I'm wrong?  What if I'm WRONG??  How could I stand it?  I get flashes of the evil and unreal possibilities -- of families gone horribly wrong.  Of mothers gone around the bend.

I know that I am going to take every care; to read each label.  To only give as directed.  To be appropriate.  To be safe and healing and soothing and nurturing.  But why oh WHY do they have to be so trusting?
And why does this cause my soul to shiver the way it does?  The little fevered forehead, the damp hair, the watery eyes.  "Mama. Fix it."  It humbles me in a way that is most unpleasant. 

I love the feeling of bathing them, getting them into cozy flannel jammies, getting them a night time snack of apples and peanut butter.  Reading the book.  Tucking the blankies around the thin shoulders.  Kissing the forehead, patting the hair.  It's all nice and comfortable.

Giving medicine makes me shudder.  All because they trust me so much.