Three clients to go today and all I want to do is go home and read something earthy, simple and beautiful. Willa Cather, maybe.
“ “And that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. ...””
Viewing entries in
Just Sayin'
I'm conflicted about whether or not I should be conflicted about my blogging (or lack thereof) habits. Should I be concerned that I don't have an urge to chat about anything online? Should I be worried that nothing in my life seems to warrant the time and energy of writing about it? And if that's my measure of worthiness - where'd that come from? Idiocy or intellect? Is my current state of contentment cause for concern as a result?
'Cause I am. Content, that is.
With qualifers, of course. I mean, I'm completely out of shape - I haven't run a mile in, well, weeks. The last time I hit the gym was like a month ago, which was probably the second time that month. I've self-soothed a time or two (or twelve) with cake. And a beer ... and I kind of don't care ...
And I still look at homes for sale on Zillow once a week. Occasionally, I send a link to the Mr. for kicks ... and dreams. I stroll through the garden department at Home Depot every few weekends, picturing a landscape overhaul of our current property.
I've got a Pinterest board for a private practice office. I've measured furniture. I've run numbers. I even bought a pillow for color palette reference. I've got more clients. Just note enough yet.
I have a list of books to read a mile long. Fiction, vocation-focused stuff. I'm eager for competence, depth, expertise. I take notes, watch TedTalks ... pick the brain of the established. It confounds me that they're all so right and all so wrong at the same time.
So, yea, I guess I want more. Other. I'm never satisfied, but I'm content. I'm not as torn and confused as I once was ... I don't need to process or prove much in public anymore. I guess. Very little gets me riled up these days. I don't need as many answers. I've got less expectations for myself and others. It's nice.
This is good. So, I'm sharing. :)
After my surprising and excessive (and, therefore, odd) giddiness whilst buying weed killer for my lawn last week, it is not as though I needed more evidence of my complete indoctrination into the cult of ADULTHOOD ...
However, I jumped straight into sainthood with yesterday's purchase of a HYBRID automobile!
Now, before thou freaks out and wonders if I've somehow forgotten myself completely, (after all, I am the girl who'd gladly drive a jacked up, gas-guzzling 4x4 if it were financially feasible ... and I lived on a farm and owned horses and a boat!), know that the aforementioned hybrid is a hybrid SUV. It's still bigger and higher and it's still a V6. Just, as a hybrid, it guzzles gas at the rate of a typical sedan instead of that of a truck.
She's pretty, ain't she?
And no, I'm not pregnant (though mad props to Cayla for being the first to ask and Katie for being the first to hint at it being a family-sized car)! Rather, we've got kayaks and bikes to haul on adventures!
And, yes, I do realize the ironic/contradictory nature of my love for chemical weed killer and my love for my new hybrid car. Perhaps adulthood is a whole lot about confusion and compromise and ever-changing constructs?
Onward ...
My sis-in-law is lucky to have an awesome photographer as a friend — this photo was one of several snapped while on a spring break playdate at Pappy's Patch!
Caleb, March 17 (Source: Ackerman Photography)
Despite my low dose anti-depressant, despite the celebration of Christ's birth, despite the arrival of a new year, and despite the great many good things/people/places I'm grateful for daily ... I am depressed.
I don't want to do anything. At least nothing hard. Or uncomfortable. I feel guilty about that. And the guilt, the proof of failure, of melancholy, exhausts. And it cycles. 'Round, 'round it goes.
I sleep in late. Watch crap on television for hours. I go days without wearing makeup or doing my hair.
I think about the importance of community, think about texting a friend, and then I play another round of Ruzzle instead. Except family, I haven't seen a close friend in weeks.
I'll have a day where I'm not hungry and all food sounds unappealing, so I skip meals. A few days later, I could eat the house and I do - oranges, pistacios, lara bars, old chocolate, pickles, stale pirate's booty - whatever I can find.
I think about praying. I try. The farthest I get is "Help?!"
I hate the idea of work. Of making a commitment. Of having to try, again, over and over. Having to be somewhere, at some time, for some reason. I start to begrudge my chosen career, sensing that the work is ultimately futile. And the idea of having to pick clothing to wear? Of showing up and being seen and judged? It angers, annoys, exhausts.
I know I need to network, read, write. I have a list of things that need doing. But it all seems so ridiculous. Such a crock. False. A lie. Me? Help anyone, when I'm this confused and unsure and broken myself? I'm a fraud. They'll know it. They probably already do. And, with that, the fear of not measuring up kicks in. My mind races, plotting ... planning the next striving. Ever awake on a pillow, anxiety-ridden until the Lorazapam kicks in and I force myself to count sheep, each bouncing to the rhythm of the Mr.'s snores.
And the people that stick with me in the dark? My parents. My husband. I'm bat-shit scared of losing them. I'm rendered immobile and unmotivated when he leaves for work. Sad when my parents go to visit the grandkids. But I can't even cry. I numb out. I sit in the dark — literal and metaphorical. Asleep. Afraid to feel.
I just wish the pressure would go away. That the "have to's" didn't exist. Or, rather, that maybe I enjoyed the journey more. Or that I was just better at it. Or it felt easy for a time. And if it did, that I wasn't so busy bracing for the hard part.
I'm exhausted and I haven't done anything. Tomorrow, my vacation ends, and I hate it. The idea of being presentable ... capable ... happy, or even just "okay"? Ugh.
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I've struggled with depression for a long time. It always shows up around the holidays. Sometimes it's situationally triggered by new fears and unanticipated expectations and personal uncertainty. This January is a perfect storm of those triggers for me. That said, this moment of depression is a 6 on a scale of 1 to 10 - so, it's mild. I'm fine. No freaking out, okay? K.
I've gotten really bad at blogging, haven't I? It's the lack of spare time. Or maybe it's the lack of productive use of limited spare time. Either way, I haven't been much of a writer these days.
The need to "get it all down on paper" has been less of an impulse. I'm not sure if it's because I'm busier, more mature or just not as easily moved. Maybe it's all of those reasons. Or none at all.
There's a mechanism in my brain I have been learning how to turn on and off. It's the one that opens a vortex to idealism and empathy and pervasive concern. It leads to a beautiful space, but it's the one that, if left open, would pull me into everyone else's stories so deeply that I would lose myself. I think it's a battle every Christian therapist has to wage — walking the line between care and crazy. To not be disturbed by the levels of depravity and despair filling client lives would make me less than human. But to let that disturbance overwhelm would be my ruin. So, I learn to leave it all in the office.
How? I learn the value of now — to sit in today … this hour … this moment. Yes, still making wise choices for tomorrow, but finding sanity and peace in an exploration of today. I remember that just like no theory offers a complete formula or explanation for pathology, personality or purpose, no pathology, personality or purpose should ever be considered definitive or fathomable. I remember I am not the Savior, that I cannot enact another's change or healing. I let go of thinking that I have any idea of what's best or good or right for anyone but myself … and I let go of the weight of responsibility such ignorant thinking once placed upon me.
As a result, my passion to write has withered slightly. There's a subtle ring of detachment around the rim of my interests and opinions. I guess as more people's stories flood my life, less people get to be party to the chapters of mine? I'm not sure. Like I said, it could be a phase brought on by a busy season of life … or not. I guess we'll see? Two weeks and counting 'til the end of the semester …
Love.
I submitted the following to A Beautiful Mess ... and they made it live on their blog space today. I'm blessed to have such a cool opportunity to share what's on my heart with a community that's all about authenticity and finding the beauty of God in who we are and what we do ... even in our chaos.
Traveling Toward Hope
“Life is a runaway train you can’t wait to jump on …” — Sugarland
Graduating college, starting a new job, waiting for the doors to open so you can walk down that aisle, deciding to become parents…we’ve all been there—baggage in hand, standing on a metaphorical platform, excited and optimistic to board the vehicle bound for what’s next in life. Whether it’s because we’re sick of what was or we’ve got plans for what could be, there comes a point on our journey when we choose change.
But how often does “what’s next” turn out exactly as we envisioned it might? Rarely.
Take this past year, for instance. It’s been good, but honestly, sometimes it has sucked. For me, very little has turned out like I thought it might. At moments it’s all confused the hell out of me. Maybe even some of the heaven. There have been periods of epiphany and constant seasons of growth. I’ve started a freelance business. Become a therapist. Watched my relationships transform in the aftermath of many a move, marriage, death, birth and calendar entry. I’ve climbed into the skies to land in new places. Planted a garden. I’ve certainly grabbed hold of a lot of new and blessed, but I’ve let go of a lot, too … often in the same moment and circumstance.
Each of us travels through life with expectations—conscious and not—and not a one of us finds our every hope and dream met. Face it: unmet expectations fill our days.
What a depressing thought, right?
I read once that depression is always about loss. If that’s true, then we can expect that melancholy and despair often follow disappointment. However, I think that’s okay. Truth be told, we adults can’t take hold of something new without first letting something go. We don’t grow without discomfort. Beauty emerges out of a grieving process. Hope is often fashioned in the ruins. Seen through tears. It’s a pinhole of light noticed only because we stand in the dark, consumed with a confusing and palatable grief.
I’ve grieved a lot this year — mourned friendships, career ambitions, social constructs, family loyalties and the pieces of myself that were tied to each and all. While grieving, in search of new hope and eager for “what’s next,” I have discovered more than I’d bargained for in myself and others. I have dissected my way of thinking and stumbled upon answers to questions I never knew to ask. In the process, I have discovered and destroyed my limits. I have learned to love sitting still. But, I have also regularly set out to spin, smiling, silly, taking life in and winding up dizzy. And as I have twirled, I have caught glimpses of God working things out His way. Sometimes that has slowed me down, though, more often than not, it has spurned me onward. I have found hope — beauty — in the uncertain, amongst my fears and because of disappointment.
For most of us, the much anticipated holiday season usually becomes a couple of months of high stress and self-reflection. As a result, we embrace the coming of a new year, making resolutions and letting ourselves dream again. We set out in hopes of controlling at least parts of the journey we’re about to embark upon. I think that’s admirable, important, wise, even. But the self-discipline and perspective needed to succeed at our resolve is a gift from God. Whether we like it or not, He’s all over the details of our lives. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
So, my point? Expect to succeed at the good things you’re tackling, but also, expect the unexpected. Be okay with unmet expectations. Trust the Truth to be revealed in the turmoil. Learn how to love it when your train seems to derail … begin by taking a second to enjoy the scenery you may have otherwise completely bypassed.