28
Dec

all these worries

Writing really is therapeutic for me. I should do it more often. Because there’s no question about it, I could use some therapy. [I am in ‘compose mode’ all day long, and that’s almost as good as therapy!] I talk to myself and have long strings of conversations that I would write if I were writing. The problem is . . I’m afraid someone might read this. The other day I got a very sweet and supportive handwritten note from one of my sisters and she said she caught up on my blog, and I immediately panicked. I wondered what I had written here that might offend, or say too much, or too little. I pillaged through my memory and even went to the computer and looked for myself if there was anything that would expose myself. Expose my very personal feelings, or expose me as a fraud.

It’s disconcerting to have a bizarre inclination to write about my complicated, often miserable, sometimes contented, other times jubilant life. I hear rumors that what you write and share on the inter-web is there forever and can never be taken back [even if you get rid of it the best you know how] and is available for billions to use against you at a future date. And I [sometimes] worry that it might be used against me on judgement day with pointy fingers in my direction. Ugh.

I wonder if what I write on a private blog might be used against me in a court of law! It’s no secret, I guess, that I’ve been going through a rough patch and that the law or courts might eventually be involved.

The other thing I worry about is that my boys might read it and then turn away. I know my daughters love and support me and understand the bulk of what is going on, but one of my guys is totally in camp [L] and there’s nothing I can say or do to convince him what’s been going on. We’ve had a few conversations that have ended up, I’ll just say, distancing us. I don’t like that. I don’t want that.

Another concern is that when I write something, a person [reader] might take that as the sum total of what, who, why, I am. For example, if I have a particularly bad day, a horrific experience, and I write about it and then am actually able to get over it through the ‘process of processing’ but the other person, the reader, doesn’t get over it, well, that’s a conundrum for all. And then they bring it up and say, “Remember when you wrote this . . or that” . .  It’s the same principle that’s used over and over in marriage counseling to not discuss your problems with other people. Because after you have worked through something and forgiven the partner, the person you told all those horrible things to, doesn’t forget, doesn’t forgive, and makes your life a living heckola by reminding you what a butt you are married to. They basically hijack your life and don’t let you get to another place. They want to keep you right in the middle of the worse place.

OK, I’m just talking here, cause I’ve never actually had that experience! But I’ve heard it happens.

Oh, my goodness, and the advice I get!! Just the other day one son said, why don’t you call your blog something else? I said, it’s about weighing my thoughts, weighing what’s important to me, weighing my experiences. It’s not saying that weighing on a scale everyday is important. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve explained this . . . OR a dollar for every time I’ve explained that my weight actually does pretty much control everything that goes on in my life, even though, admittedly it shouldn’t and I thoroughly wish it didn’t. You have to be in my shoes to understand this part of me.

Anyhoo . . . that’s why I don’t blog. All these worries.

 

1
Oct

ther*a*py A-

Therapy. I highly recommend it.

I suppose it does come with a stigma. A stain, an automatically pre-judged shame. I remember a few people who spent time in a ‘facility’ [spelled State Hospital] when I was growing up, and although I think highly of them now, I remember thinking of them as weak, broken, even lame. People whispered about them. They averted their eyes, hung their heads, and arms hung down, as well.

Now I think very differently of therapy. It’s the bomb-dot-com! I decided back in May or so that I wanted to talk to someone about what was going on. I felt like I needed a third party to look at my stuff, all laid out on a table, so to speak, and tell me what I could do to better sort out and filter and discard. I knew I had received several spiritual directives, through temple service and two priesthood blessings. I had also visited with my Stake President about ‘everything’ and was given sweet, loving council. I had gotten a bit of advice from some legal friends and was gaining a pretty wide scope of options. Therapy was just one more learning tool that I grasped on to.

In fact . .  I thrived in therapy. Once I got past the intake forms, [one 18 pages, and one 19 pages!!!] I knew I’d be OK. I wondered if they’d made those so long, difficult and maddening in order to weed out the faint of heart, the week in character!

I gotta say it was wonderful talking to someone who pretty much verified and confirmed that what was going on was not. my. fault. !! Mikelle likes to say, “I didn’t Cause it, I can’t Control it and I can’t Cure it.” [not that it’s not curable . . . I just can’t cure it!!

The therapist, herself, was a little odd. She wasn’t well-kept and was a bit late and untidy. But her advice, strategy and logic was something I readily identified with. We each eventually shared heartbreaking experiences in our past and bonded in a temporary fashion. We’ll never be close friends, but I can admire and respect her as a professional who helped me see more clearly.

And as fate would have it . . . she clearly supported what I concluded was best for me in the long run. She could have disagreed. That’s her job. She could have steered me in another direction; that’s her job. She could have told me I was waaaay off base. That’s her job. But she didn’t do any of those things.

Instead . . . she graduated me. She said, “You, Dorothy, are doing well. You are coping. You have several wonderful healthy coping skills. You are not sabotaging your beliefs and covenants. You are true to them. You are still functional, able to take care of your needs, responsible, productive, able to go to work. You have several support systems including family, friends, church and community.  You are not suicidal, self-destructive or about to kill anyone. Your anger is understandable but it’s under control. You are level-headed and fairly logical.”

I mean who wouldn‘t want to hear that?!?

So, ya, I’m giving therapy an A- [B+ at the worst] and highly recommend it to anyone who is struggling to see their way out of a difficult situation and into a livable, do-able outcome.

 

 

1
Oct

the virtue of nothing

This seems foreign to me. It’s been at least four months since I wrote. And with good reason. We’re in a bit of upheaval in my world. Many days I wanted to sit here and type away writing about the chaos and the ugliness of the situation. I wanted to be brutally honest. I wanted to blame and scream and cry, but I was seriously, prompted to not do those things. And when I say seriously . . I’m talking in-the-temple prompted. By-God prompted. By-the-spirit prompted. And not just once. Over and over and over.

There were about eight or nine weeks in a row that I went to the temple. And I prayed. Boy howdy. I prayed my guts out. It was gut-wrenching. And I double checked with God to see if I was understanding and hearing the correct direction. I thought surely it was wrong. At first. But as time went on, I realized it was heavenly advice.

The message was to do nothing. Nothing! Seriously.

So, I went through each day acting as if nothing were wrong. I stepped back from everything. I waited and went on with life. I prayed. I listened.

And sure enough it was the right thing to do. Without going into too much detail, here at least, waiting and ‘nothing’ were the best thing to do. Because if I had reacted, if I had blown up, if I had screamed and raged . . . I’d have been in a much worse place than I’m in. As it is, I’m still in my own home, I sleep in my own bed each night. I am surround by things that speak of my life. I have family and friends and support. I’m in my ward family. I still have my callings. So I have comfort and peace instead of tumult in my life. [There’s still plenty of upheaval, but it has been manageable, through prayer, temple attendance and scripture study.]

Sometimes nothing is better than everything.