Tag Archives: therapy

A Personal Reminder

“Stop thinking about the past, and don’t worry too much about what’s going to happen in the future. Your presence is a present, so live for today, and appreciate everyone and everything you have. Stop thinking about what you don’t have, what you wish you had, who walked out of your life, and whatever else that falls in that category. Think about what you have, who you have in your life, and how fortunate you are.”

– Junethea Crystal Centeno

A Mrs. Colleen Brown over at The Chatter Blog recently blogged about what she is thankful for, in a post entitled Merry Christmas To Me. While I posted about a few things I am thankful for around Thanksgiving, I felt it was time to post about those kinds of things again, especially because those things are exactly what I am struggling to keep focus on at the moment.

I had a consultation with a therapist last night and it was better than I expected. Joe drove me there – he is so supportive and I am so thankful – and dropped me off in front of the building, in a tiny, rich, beautiful neighborhood about 40 minutes from our house. Christmas lights were strung from every quaint shop and the weather was abnormally warm.

She greeted me donning a sequined Christmas sweater and I immediately smiled as she lead me into a soothing room where a Yankee candle was lit (French Vanilla; I felt the need to look).

I felt comfortable enough to immediately spill my heart out and even shed a few tears. This is good. I told her I have been blogging about my issue, and she praised me for it. I received homework which included doing one thing each day that makes me happy. There was a list, with spaces to add my own ideas. I took an idea today that was already on it: Light a candle.

I unwrapped and lit a new candle Joe and I bought last week. It’s called something like “Log Cabin”, and really does remind me of the woods. I checked it off. Tomorrow I may check off “Take a bubble bath”. I haven’t taken one of those in quite a few years.

I already have plans to see her again. Even a consultation proved helpful.

I am feeling very, very calm – and happy – at the moment. 🙂

Anyway, to the true inspiration behind today’s blog: Why I will have a very merry Christmas this year:

1) I am loved by a wonderful man.

2) I am loved by my parents and a group of close friends.

3) I can pull  off a short haircut.

4) I am creative.

5) I have a pretty decent singing voice.

6) I am strange and Joe doesn’t mind.

7) I’m a little bit crazy and Joe doesn’t mind.

8) I am healthy.

9) I may not be rich, but I’m not poor.

10) I am sitting in front of the television, drinking red wine and watching HGTV.

11) I have lost a lot of weight, with the aid of nothing but exercise and my own will power.

12) I love to blog; I love reading the blogs of others.

13) B101 and 98.1 have provided me with unlimited Christmas music on all my lonely drives around town.

14) Singing at the top of my lungs while driving has really been making me feel better lately.

15) My income has raised significantly since switching jobs and that makes me very, very happy.

16) My Christmas shopping was done days ago.

17) Joe’s parents (who live in Florida) will be arriving this Saturday morning; we haven’t seen them since last Christmas.

18) There is a light at the end of every tunnel. I know this.

19) Christmas morning will consist of Bloody Marys.

20) Christmas morning is when I get to give Joe all of his presents.

I am fortunate.

For a moment, I’ve come unglued. But I’m slowly becoming reattached.

Happy, Happy Holidays.

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I Obsess, I Digress

Today, I did just a tiny bit of self-pampering: I  got my nails done. They’re red and green and have little bows on my left ring finger and right middle finger. I spent some much needed time with my very pregnant best friend, resting my palm on her tummy and feeling the baby push back at me (an insane experience); I went to the gym for the first time in 3 weeks, I did some reading,  I started work on a new short story, and I dusted off my flash drive to take a look at my novel-in-progress.

I’m up and down but mostly up this week, and I thank my blogging family yet again for your constant words of encouragement. I’ve made the decision to see a therapist, and am honestly excited by the idea. I’ve talked to several people now who have been to therapy, and they all say the same thing: “Everyone should see a therapist at some point in their lives.”

The excitement of the holidays is among us, and I must say my mind (and gut) are getting fully into the Christmas spirit. Let’s eat – I’ll feel bad about it later.

I’m including a short excerpt from where I left my novel, in the mist of NaNoWriMo and my negative attitude. I’m feeling suddenly inspired to get back on track. 🙂

      

        I sat on Mr. Paoli’s couch, one afternoon when I was seventeen, drinking lemonade and wiggling my toes through the dust that floated in a ray of sunlight filtering through the window. My father had shrunk our bank account with his trips to the liquor store and I needed a car, so I bought a new pushup bra at the corner store and snapped it on with my tightest, low-cut shirt.

“And what do I get out of it?” He sat next to me and moved my feet to his lap.

“Like you don’t already know the answer to that.” I lifted one foot and moved it gently over the crotch of his pants. My disgust for him had been stifled by my love for his money.

He grabbed my ankle and pursed his lips. I looked up at him in confusion. “What’s wrong?” I laughed. “Something else?”

“One of those afternoons”, he started, “when your father was at work and I offered to help your mother. One of those afternoons she let me.”

He stared at me, his hand still on my ankle. I sat up and curled my knees into my chest, releasing it. “Let you what?” My gaze fell to the half empty glass of lemonade on the coffee table.

“Angel.” He reached over, trying to put his hand on my knee, but I backed into the arm of the couch.

The room began to go dark around me; the sunlight narrowed to slits in front of my eyes before fading altogether. I felt cold, and a layer of clammy sweat formed on my hands and forehead.

“Don’t” I mustered through the fog.

 

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