Last day thoughts

Today was my second "last day" at my first job out of graduate school. (First last day is a whole nother story). I have worked there on and off for the past 6 years or so. 

Working with perpetrators of domestic violence is certainly not my dream job. Nor was it a bad job. My greatest complaints had always been administration, not clientele. though there were many complaints with them as well. 

My late group, gave me feedback tonight that really got me thinking. Appreciating my growth over the past 6 years. Ways in which I am incredibly grateful for. One guy said he appreciated my directness. No non-sense approach. Willing to challenge and get to the heart if the matter without beating around the bush. I loved that feedback. I apparently don't take any crap. It was freeing to hear. 

I have struggled for most if my life with being passive aggressive. Just not being direct. Holding things in and grudges. Not saying what I am thinking/feeling. When I tried, historically I was shut down or told I was over reacting. And you know what, holding all of that in is tiring. Draining. Like you are carrying around a giant pack of thoughts and words that you are unable to release. 

This job has challenged me to do that. To find my voice and be confidant in it. I was forced to hold my ground. To still be caring and see their humanity, but also the bigger picture. Conflict is hard for me. I am prone towards avoidance. I could not do that here. 

It has taken practice. And it is still a growth area for me. Especially as I find the balance between respecting my true self and others ideas and feelings.

It has also taught me about setting boundaries. Saying no. Which is also not natural for me. I hate disappointing people. I like to be the nice guy. But I have to care for myself before I can help others properly. 

And I think without this chapter in my life I would not be heading in the direction i am. I would not be living where I am or have many of the local friends I have. And who knows what else would be different. 

And so I am thankful for the opportunity to work with a difficult population. (One I wish didn't exist, but alas they do. DV sucks). For what they have given me. And hopefully tools I have been able to give them to help create a more peaceful existence. 

Of course there were downsides. But I do not choose to focus my energies there tonight. 

I choose gratitude. And grateful I am. It's a strange journey sometimes. 

The Newest Adventure

I am a sucker for a good inspirational quote.

Sometimes on the right day, if caught in the right moment, such a phrase can make me weepy, or at least shed a tear. I can't help that I am a bit of a sap.

There are a few FB pages I follow that I can guarantee something that sparks my inner sap pretty regularly these days. Brene Brown. Trust Your Journey. to name a few

Brene Brown had one recently that sucker punched me. Not so much for its message, but its message being exactly where and when I needed to hear it. It goes a little something like this:

It's ironic that I'm the most afraid when I'm being brave. Vulnerability = courage.

 Man, I know that I am afraid when I feel it right in my stomach. My insides churn. Almost like indigestion. Without the food. And you know much much I love my food.

Recently I have been considering with a close friend, a career directional change. I have always known that I wanted to eventually move in this direction. But did not know when. Did not know how. For I am aware that I am young still. I am a dreamer. But I am also realistic about my lack of business sense and ineptitude with paperwork. I have the organizational skills of a blind monkey. The good news is I have great therapeutic intervention skills!

The direction is to work for myself. To go into private practice. And there are ways in which I want to continue to move with this, especially as I learn more about Equine Assisted Psychotherapy.

But to do it myself just seemed too much. Too overwhelming.

I started some questioning a couple of years ago and even started filing some paperwork to register my own business and business name. I just have let it sit for a while. And now it seems it is time to move forward with it. Learning with and having the full support of a friend and of my dear husband, who is much more excited about this opportunity then I ever thought he would be.

We just signed a lease in downtown Grayslake.

I will be a counselor in private practice.

I have more paperwork, insurance, marketing, accounting and other businessy type things to attend to. And will get there one step at a time. Including a training on how to start and maintain your own private practice. I will be attending it with my dear friend who is making the similar plunge.

In it I will continue to work 2 days a week. Just transition the current 2 day a week schedule to what the future one will be. And be an attentive mother and wife to my family. While having a satisfying career.

So. If you know anyone in Lake County who is looking for a therapist. I will have some openings. I am especially great with adults, seniors and adolescents. Caregivers. relationship issues, grief, loss, depression, anxiety, life transitions. An actual bio is in the making at my business website: www.bethechangecounseling.com

Oh and the name of my business...in light of my love for great inspirational quotes. And my general admiration for Gandhi...

Be the Change Counseling Services PC

Because real change happens from within,

Like me on Facebook. :)
https://www.facebook.com/bethechangepc?ref=hl

www.bethechangecounseling.com

Coffee shop man (we all have a story to tell)

These Monday mornings as of late, I have had a few extra minutes to grab a cup of coffee on my way to work, AKA "the abuser office" 

With these few extra minutes I have come to be greeted by a sweet older gentleman who frequents this coffee shop every morning. We chat a few minutes. Make a little small talk. Share a brief story of our week or a quick antidote. I know of his wife who is at home on oxygen and his former career and of his appointments. He has seen pictures of my son. 

Today I felt compelled to sit a minute longer. Perhaps creating a rush for myself later when it came to getting to the office. (We don't allow our clients to be one minute late. Therefore I must be held to the same standard). And in pulling up a chair he opened up and told me a story. One I had never expected in depth or content. He had me in tears

He told the story like it was last year or a few years ago. It must have still felt that raw to him. It would for me.   For he is in his 70s and spoke of his daughter when she was 22. 

He told me of how she was abducted and murdered. After going to her car to retrieve a gift for a friend. Her body found a week later. How his heart gave out on him shortly after. He was in the hospital when the trial was happening after they found the guy who did it. It literally broke his heart. 

He described what got him through it. His wife. His faith. His love for others despite tragedy. 

Can you even imagine. Without your stomach turning to mush?

As I wiped my eyes he apologized and said that he didn't mean to make me cry. I told him not to apologize but that his story was sad. I was sad for him. For his loss.  That no man should have to suffer that. That I admired his strength;his faith. His courage to open up. 

He said that he felt better telling it. That though it hurts, somehow it helps him to share his story. 

Sadly I did have to leave. After making sure we had an upswing in conversation I excused myself with a hug and a promise to pray for his wife's health and his pain. He insisted on paying for my next coffee.

All of this in the course of 10-15 minutes. 

It does not take long to connect to another human. To listen. To share a story. To give a little grace. 

My heart opened up to a little more gratitude for what and who I have. I ached to have his bravery, and maybe next time I have a need, I will share my struggles. My story. The human connection to just be there in the moment was refreshing. 

I wish I would slow down. Look around to find the hearts in my community who need an ear and who will enrich my soul. I counsel for a living. (And no story from work has touched me the way this one has in a long time)But what if we counseled each other a little.  Opened up to our insecurities and hardships. Pulled up a chair. Listened. If only for a minute. 

A little ambitious

After 4 years of looking at this mess every time I open my basement door

I decided that I could not take it anymore. 

Granted my basement is unfinished and looks equally hideous. But it's at least better hidden from the general public. 

So Ben and I run to Lowes. I love their clearance oops paints. For $5 I picked up a perfectly acceptable neutral color. And as soon as Ben went down for his first nap I set to taping and edging. 

He woke up and we hung out and went to the park. And I finished up during his second nap. 

Bill came home and asked what we did today. I opened up the basement door and showed him this

While not perfect. I feel better. And accomplished. I might even hang a picture. 

Attachment

Many children have "attachment objects" you know, items that bring comfort, help them get to sleep or otherwise freak out if they don't have it. 

Up until now, my little guy has had no such thing. We never used pacifiers. He has no Linus-esque blanket he carried everywhere. ( not like baby me who had my gee-gee. Aka ratty torn blanket I could not part with. ) and even with all of the stuffed animals that surround him in his crib now. Nothing clicked for him

Paranoid momma has begun to wonder if this is problematic and will forever mar his personal relationships. Normal momma looks at him and can see he is perfectly ok. 

This was the case until the other day, when I was digging through some boxes in the basement, looking for some particular pieces of nostalgia. I found one box of some of my moms old items. Some that stayed with her in her final year in long term care. There were too stuffed animals, dogs, at least one of which I am certain I bought her. 

One still has her name tagged to it. So it would not get misplaced, as items tend to do in nursing facilities. 

I took them out and threw them in the wash. Seeing as they have been basement ridden for at least 4 years. 

These guys were then handed to my son. And immediately he was smitten. 

He takes at least one to grocery stores. The babysitter. Carries all over the house. And goes to bed with all of the other animals. 

To me this is so special. I have always struggled with not feeling a connection or any signs or anything from/with my mom since she passed. Like so many people seem to see or have. 

In a way I feel that this is something. As clear as day. A wink. A nod. A reminder she is always with me. 

A connection

Attachment 

It's still there. 

The one bad apple

I just completed a marvelous 3 day training.
Another training that involved mental health professionals and equine (horse) professionals.
And encourages them to work together. (this one, in my opinion, was more thorough, organized and professional than the last one. I also get CEUs)

I will get into the training itself and where I see myself going with this at some point in the future. However, this is not the point of this post.

This one is merely to vent.

I greatly value my role as a professional counselor. And I greatly value the input and contributions of other professionals who are sincerely trying to improve the lives of others in the community.

Something happens though when you put so many people into an intense and exhausting environment. people with big egos.  people who are trying to prove to other professionals how much they know. When in fact we are all there to learn.

Do you know where I am going with this?

I met some awesome people from all over the country. I met some people who I would love to grab a cup of coffee with and talk to and collaborate with more who are local. A therapist from Wauconda with a hilarious self-deprecating sense of humor. A horse person in Belvidere, originally from Texas with a calm confidence. Another woman is just up 83 from me in Burlington.

But there were also some people who by the end, I would have loved to just punch in the face.

I recognize how inappropriate this thought is coming from a CBT therapist who works with violent offenders. I do believe violence is wrong and blah blah blah. The picture in my head just made me feel better. Catharsis. Coping, if you will.

You know when you start to notice those people a little bit in the beginning. And think that maybe they are just quirky. Or confidant. And you give them the benefit of the doubt. And they magically begin to know more than the trainers. And they brag about how awesome they are at everything. And talk down to people who see a situation differently. Sulk if not the center of attention. And slowly my benefit turns into contempt. And then, by some horrible stroke of luck...you (I) get placed into "processing groups" with those people. And role play. I start twitching. And it is UN-BEAR-A-BLE.

My saving grace???

I am not alone.

I begin to notice the facial expression I am feeling. Or perhaps unintentionally expressing myself (since we know I have practically no filter when it comes to feeling and my face). On others. not just me. And we smile and give each other a knowing look. And they offer me a chocolate covered cherry.

Even one of the horses seeks me out for a quick nuzzle.

And it is so relieving.

More relieving than my desire to dislocate someones teeth.

I am amazed sometimes at my own ability to allow one or two or three people to almost ruin a perfectly wonderful experience. To overshadow the 40 other professionals who are going to nail this thing. Who I have learned so much from and am inspired by their vulnerability and honesty. And who I hope very much to see in part 2 in November.

May I work to always see the 40. Instead of the 1 bad apple.

12 years later

I've never been to New York

It's probably somewhere on my top 10 list of places I want to visit before I die. A bucket list of sorts. 

I want to see Broadway. The Statue of Liberty. I want to have that Carly Simon song playing in the background as I ride a ferry and go to Times Square and the Empire State Building and Ellis Island. Maybe wake up early one day to get a wave in on the Today Show. 

And of course I want to see the memorial of 911

When I go, it will be as a tourist. As someone who will visit, get my fill and return home to my safe warm quiet and comforting community. 

I wonder though what it is like for those who live there or work there or frequent there. Like I might to Chicago. I love just walking the streets of downtown Chicago. I feel like I know them like a familiar friend. But Chicago with all of its problems, does not have the scar that New York City does. 

What would it be like to regularly pass a giant hole in the ground. A place where shining towers of human architecture and booming business and trade and tourism once thrived. 

A constant reminder of what was. Of lives lost. Of fear and desperation. The images that will never leave the minds of all Americans, but how much more intensely for those who saw it first hand. And walk by a reminder if an intense trauma. 

I can't even drive by my moms old nursing home without feeling a pit in my stomach. I drove by the Dhamer house in Milwaukee once and that gave me the creeps. 

What then does it feel like to pass the burial ground of such an evil act. A place embedded with grief. Even 12 years later. 

That's what I am thinking about tonight on the eve of 9/11. 

And what good can possibly come out of this tragedy. Cause you know how much I long to and need to see light out if darkness. Good out of bad. 

And maybe it's a few things. It brings us together. It's one of those events in history where we all have a collective and individual story. "Where were you when...".  Like The Kennedy assassination. 

But also just that people still walk by that spot. Life continues. People work. Tourists come. Through fear and sadness and pain. Life still sustains. 

And to those who paid the ultimate sacrifice. Those lost and their families and friends who walk with a hole in their hearts. My heart is with you. You are not forgotten. 

Never.