Beyond Blue

Beyond Blue

Therapy Ruins Everything

Here’s another of Cathy’s post that I identified with. She’s right. Sometimes life is easier BEFORE therapy, back when you blissfully ignore the problems. Once you wake up to a Thanksgiving table full of dysfunctional folks (and we ALL are dysfunctional), the picture isn’t as attractive … but then, when you get to the other side (or at least more than half-way there), it does get beautiful again, much more beautiful than before, actually. (Before it gets hard again, of course.) You can get to the following post, called “Uncle. Uncle. Uncle,” by clicking here.

Even after I berate myself one more time, I affirm the conclusion from earlier today that: This is the hardest Thanksgiving EVER.
I love my folks. I like them, too, now in the present tense.
But I’ve been doing good therapy lately, and I pretty much can’t imagine talking to them about anything besides whether or not the stuffing is going to be okay.
Compartmentalization. Dissociation.
Eat turkey. Smile. Bring at least half of the dinner so that I can help Mom deal with her anxiety.
I don’t get over the hard stuff because it was acknowledged once, under pressure, and never processed.
I want to scream.
I want it all stopped. Or I want to be dead.
If all this nonsense was stopped or acknowledged or never happend, then maybe I’d look out on the wasteland of my life and see a small dandelion growing up through the mud. I love dandelions. They are bright and cheerful, and they know what to do with anger and stuckness.

  • Larry Parker

    But Cathy (and I realize we all feel hopeless sometimes — OK, a lot — if we have depression and related conditions) …
    You’ve already engaged in the greatest act of hope possible (and continue to do it everyday) for someone who suffered trauma as a child and now has PTSD:
    You’re raising a child. (A true fairy, for all her terrible twos, from what I can tell.) Give yourself — and your hubby — credit. As in, the amazing comps for the best high rollers in Las Vegas kind of credit.
    That’s certainly more than I’m capable of — 10% because of genuine concerns about what the world is going to be like in the future, but really 90% because of my own issues. (And that’s a reality I’ve accepted, not distorted David Burns-type thinking.)

  • cathy

    Thanks, Larry, for recognizing that it is hard/brave/triggering/healing for me to raise a child.
    I was 40 before she was born. I lived my whole life thinking I was too broken (spiritually and physically) to have a child. I even wrote papers on voluntary childlessness in my Sociology classes in college. I never wanted to damage a child the way I was damaged.
    She’s sleeping now after raising heck on a shoe-shopping trip. I got pretty mad at her for not behaving. (I’m patient but not when the tantrum is happening in a busy parking lot.) Hopefully, the evening will be easier.

  • Wisdum

    Re -Cathy
    If all this nonsense was stopped or acknowledged or never happend, then maybe I’d look out on the wasteland of my life and see a small dandelion growing up through the mud.
    ** You may have just hit the jackpot answer of all Time!
    I love dandelions.
    ** Me too! Dandy Lions are misplaced flowers, that turn into fairies and up and fly aWay!
    They are bright and cheerful, and they know what to do with anger and stuckness.
    ** And of course adolt human beings, just want to kill them with poison, cut and mow them down, rip them from the ground and blow them aWay! And we wonder if mankind is “F****d Up”? Get real people!
    LUV 2 Dandy Lions / LUV 2 ALL

  • Margaret Balyeat

    I too love dandelions (except when I attempted to rid my front lawn of them to satisfy neighbors who didn’t WANT my “fairies” landing on their lawns. Frequently after a spring recess period I would receive a tattered offering of the bright blooms which I always put in water and a little vase to set on my desk to remind myself that even the “weeds” of the world have something to offer. (And yes, there were inevitably some “weeds” in every class of students. They were often the ones who brought me the dandelion bouquets. At least they weren’t picking flowers from someone’s front yard on the way to school or denuding someone’s lilac bush to bring their offerings to me…always a positive) Instead they were spending their precious recess minutes thinking of me!(Now THAT’S humbling!)

  • Margaret Balyeat

    Another thought: Who decides what’s a weed or a “wildflower,” anyway? Is it possible that the dandelion’s inate ability to thrive even when constantly attacked is what earned it its designation? If so, what does that tell us about those of us who are determined to thrive as whole souls in spite of all the poisioning, mowing down and ripping out which we’ve endured? Just because at some very early point in our lives someone designated us as unworthy to bloom doesn’t mean we can’t, like the dandelion, send a long root down into the groud and stubbornly blossom.

  • Lynne

    Lemme see if I can remember this correctly. If you plant,fertilize, carefully water and nuture and it dies…it’s a flower. If you pluck, trample, burn, and poison and it thrives…it’s a weed! Seems to me that I’d rather be a weed!

  • Lynne

    RE: Margaret P.S. I believe it is the gardener who decides. So who’s tending the garden these days?

  • Marco Guske

    A weed is simply a plant that is growing where you don’t want it to. One (wo)man’s weed is another’s wildflower. Why does it have to be either or? Me, I prefer to spray them because they ruin my lawn.

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