Friday, November 21, 2014

My Thoughts on Group Therapy

Once again, life has taught me that words I thought held a stigma or meant one thing actually don't really mean all that much. They are just, you know...words.

About six months ago I started attending a therapy group. I went out of desperation, because I was feeling low and really struggling with some things. A friend of mine sent me the information, and at first when I received it I was a little offended. She thinks I need group therapy? Whatttt???


I quickly realized she was just trying to help. And also that group therapy isn't a bad sort of place. Attending does not mean I am somehow broken, nor is it a blatant acknowledgement that I am unable to cope with life. (Note: I can't cope with life sometimes and that's okay...)

It's a place of healing. It's a place I've found others who are dealing with the same things I am. I'm not alone. All the women in my therapy have supported me in some manner, and I hope I also have supported them. They are wonderful living breathing women who are struggling with infertility, miscarriage and child loss, just like me. Their stories are wonderfully poignant and moving and I am touched that they have chosen to share them with others.

I went because I was bitter and searching and desperate. I found healing and a place of acceptance.


So if you are thinking about therapy, and if you are scared or feeling vulnerable--don't let that stop you. Go. We are all hurting, we are all experiencing disappointment and sorrow as we traverse this thing called life. We all make mistakes. And we've all been let down by others. There should be no shame in attending. Coming together, hearing stories of others who are walking the same path--it really helps. And I'm not ashamed, nor do I feel lesser in some way. I love my little group, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Now if only there was a therapy group for people "unable to finish writing a novel". Because I would also attend that.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Fall Wears


Fall really is a perfect time for wigs. They keep you warm, and don't feel as cumbersome as they do in spring or summer. I'm still in love with this lavender creation from Miss Violet Lace. It's holding up well, and considering I have no idea how to wash and restyle it, that is great news to me. I recently tried to straighten my pink wig I bought from her and I think I ruined it. We will see. I should have looked up what to do instead of just plowing ahead.


So I've been enjoying this wig recently. I love having colorful fun hair. And I love falling leaves. Everything is gorgeous right now where I live and I'm trying to soak it all up before the barren winter descends and absconds with all the color.


I have another thing to talk about. It's nano month, so that means everyone and their mom is writing a novel or talking about writing a novel. Remember when I was writing a novel? And I said I was going to finish it? Well, I can't. I mean, I don't know how. I'm stressed up to my eyeballs even thinking about it and I hate where I was taking it and I don't know how to go back and fix it and... I just feel frustrated and that I let a lot of people down. So yeah, there's that. Not sure what to do exactly.

I really want to finish but I just feel so stuck. I feel like I've lost connection with the hearts of my characters. And I don't want that.

In short, I'm giving up. Shelving the idea. For now. Maybe I'm just not ready, or maybe I'm trying to do to much (blog, youtube, take care of husband, wash my own socks and you know, all the other regular adult stuff...) or maybe it's just not meant to be.

And yes, if you must know, I have cried over it and I feel so torn. But what can you do?

Monday, November 17, 2014

Differances

I've noticed a few interesting differences in the way my husband I view the world. I wanted to put them down here because I think they are important, but I don't exactly know why. I don't know if it's because my husband is male, or the way he and I were raised or...just a reflection of the way today's world works.


Last week my husband and I pulled into Walmart. It was dark, and we found a parking spot near the back and went in for our things. On the way out with our groceries in tow my husband leans into the front seat, the car door wide open, his body half in and half out, searching for his iPhone. He even runs to check the trunk in case whatever it is he's lost was misplaced there. And this makes me really nervous. 

When he finally gets in the car I tell him tersely that he needs to get in quickly and not sit there with the door open. It's dangerous, I say.

He does not understand.

I am confused. My mother taught me to be very careful in parking lots. You look around as you are walking. You get in the car quickly and close the door and lock them before you search for anything. And you don't ever exit the car to check the trunk. It's dangerous and stupid, doesn't he know that?

I tell all this to my husband, wondering why his mother never taught him this. But he is looking at me like I'm crazy. I realize then that Brian does not have a fear of dark parking lots. Not only that, he is confidant in his ability to either fend off an attacker if need be--but he mostly thinks no one would mess with him. I mean, my husband is 6ft 2inchs. And male. Statistically he is probably right.

For some reason I thought what my mother taught me was universal. Or understood by people.

It's weird to think that my husband Brian does not experience fear or even caution in a dark parking lots! I know what that feels like. My husband does not.

And that's the thought of the day.