Tag / courage

by krubesch

The Dating Game

“Be Here Now”

Ray Lamontagne

Don’t let your mind get weary and confused
Your will be still, don’t try
Don’t let your heart get heavy child
Inside you there’s a strength that lies
Don’t let your soul get lonely child
It’s only time, it will go by
Don’t look for love in faces, places
It’s in you, that’s where you’ll find kindness
Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now
Don’t lose your faith in me
And I will try not to lose faith in you
Don’t put your trust in walls
‘Cause walls will only crush you when they fall

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now

The process of finding a new therapist feels a lot like dating.  I’ve googled countless names, tried to find pictures on Facebook, stalked to see what other people are saying about them (reviews), and worried about who’s going to make the first move.   Will she start our sessions by talking to me first? I don’t work well with therapists that just sit down and expect me to make the first move.  I’m not even sure what the hell I need to talk about, isn’t that why I am paying her?  The difference here is that she’s not going to buy me dinner before I have to reveal who I truly am.  I don’t get to learn about her before I have to talk about some of the hardest moments in my life.  There’s no flirting or witty banter to make me feel more at ease. I’m also alone in a room with this person I just met and all her attention is focused on me.  That’s what makes me feel the most vulnerable. There are no distractions and I have nowhere to hide.
Then there’s what you wear to the first session. I make sure I’m not in sweatpants (I’m not that depressed!), but I can’t look too nice because then she’ll think that I’m putting on a front.  Dark clothes make therapists think that I am in the depths of despair, but I don’t feel like wearing bright colors.  I also have to time my arrival because I’m the first appointment of her day.  If I get there too early I look desperate and being late is not an option.  What if I get lost?  What if she’s incredibly thin and I have to talk about my body issues? I hate talking to skinny people about how I’m a short stocky linebacker. Or chub rub.  If you don’t deal with chub rub then we just shouldn’t talk at all.
At least I don’t have to worry about any awkward kisses or hugs. That’s how meeting a therapist is better than dating.  I do however have to worry about what base we will get to- will we talk about my past experiences and sum up all my issues in 50 minutes? Or will we have to talk about my thoughts and feelings? There’s definitely a third or fourth session waiting period for that.  I have to decide if I like her first and if it’s worth the effort.
Like bad dates, I’ve had my fair share of shitty appointments.  There was the therapist that twisted my words.  She asked me, “is anyone else in your family gay or an alcoholic?” I had simply stated that I was questioning my sexuality and had not determined if I was gay or not!  I also was a college student who drank socially, maybe slightly excessive, but I was not an alcoholic!  She also kept her hair pulled back over her glasses, hiding her ears and it bothered me throughout the entire session. I remember looking at the clock on the wall and being dismayed that we were only 10 minutes into the session.  The longest 50 minutes ever.
There are also deal breakers: the therapist who wanted me to pray with her and talk about my relationship with God.  I should have known that my mother would have helped me find a Christian therapist.  I have cross cringe.  Yes, that’s correct. Some of my issues stem from being raised in a conservative Presbyterian church, so needless to say I don’t want to pray or talk about God in therapy. Period.
There was this awesome therapist that I was actually excited to work with and then I realized that she was not in network with my specific insurance plan.  Talk about being left with the check.  My favorite psychiatrist was a holocaust survivor.  A short adorable jewish man who would try to set me up with his children. He even asked me,  “boys or girls?” before I knew that I would be asking myself the same question years later. I loved his German accent and his photography hobby. He passed away several years ago.
In college I saw someone on campus that I really liked.  Right about the time I started actually talking (I shot the shit in therapy for give or take 15 years) I was told that I had exceeded my allotted sessions and that I would have to find someone off campus. That’s totally easy to do when you don’t have a car and hate talking to people you don’t know.
Breakups with therapists are similar to a breakup with a partner.  I recently broke up with my therapist.  It was the long distance that was killing the relationship. Driving to Alpharetta from Decatur to be there for an appointment at 4pm took up most of the day.  Traffic starts to get bad at 3pm so the latest I could leave Decatur is 2:45pm and that’s pushing it.  Then the hour and a half to two hours sitting in traffic on my way home is almost unbearable.  The absurd amount of traffic combined with sitting alone with my thoughts from our session was a sure way to make sure I arrived home in a touchy or horrendous mood.  Finding the right words to breakup with the person who knows you in a way no one else really does is difficult.  I found myself using the phrase “it’s not you. it’s me. I just can’t stand the commute.” How cliché is that? I worried that I might be hurting her feelings and then I realized that there will be many other patients after me.  I’m simply a year-long blip on her radar.  Once I told her, she wanted to talk about how the past year has gone from my point of view and then I listened to her tell me how I’ve enriched her life.  That’s the most uncomfortable for me.  I get extremely uncomfortable when I’m paid complements or shown special kindness.  It would be easier to accept criticism.
A couple of days after our last session I start to freak out. I wonder if I’ve made a mistake or what if she’s the only person I feel comfortable trusting?  Even though she felt that I did not truly trust her.   Deep down I also know that I’ve been holding back with her. Tip toeing with the caution I use in any situation where I feel vulnerable.  I know that introducing myself to her and re hashing the intimate details of my life may make me feel worse before I start to feel better.  I hate the sympathy looks when I talk about my abusive father or knowing more than I ever cared to about sex at the age of four.  Just don’t feel sorry for me. It is what it is.  Then I start to wonder if I’m just hopeless.  A lost cause.  I’ve been depressed most of my life, what’s another 30 or 50 years? (I think early 80’s is a good age for me to meet the man upstairs).  I remember that the health problems are the real clencher.  They are the reason I’m going to keep putting myself out there and risk being vulnerable.
by krubesch

Detachment

photo (6)

“If you trade your authenticity for safety, you may experience the following: anxiety, depression, eating disorders, addiction, rage, blame, resentment, and inexplicable grief.”
― Brené Brown

Many of you might think that the gender roles are easy to determine in my marriage, but just when you think you might have us figured out we swap places.  Leah does remove bugs from our house, but I mow the lawn.  We both cook- I cook a little bit more.  We both take pride in a clean house and in decorating.  I comfort Leah when she cries, which is often and I also mend our clothes with my minimal sewing knowledge. I fix the dishwasher and Leah plants our garden.  I show people I care by my actions and Leah uses her words. Leah is sensitive and I’m more shut off, which is why I thought “zoning out” and not really having a wide range of emotions made me a more dude like woman.   I thought that I just fit that male stereo type, but apparently it’s called dissociation.

“Dissociation is a phenomenon most people have the capacity to experience.  It is a coping mechanism used to manage stressors as minor as over-stimulation or as severe as sexual abuse.  As a way of coping, dissociation occurs when the brain compartmentalizes traumatic experiences to keep people from feeling too much pain, be it physical, emotional, or both.  When dissociation occurs, you experience a detachment from reality, like ‘spacing out.’  Part of you just isn’t ‘there in the moment.’” http://trauma.blog.yorku.ca/2013/04/the-fragmented-child-disorganized-attachment-and-dissociation/

I’ve been numbing my feelings and zoning out as long as I can remember.  It’s pretty crazy to me that I didn’t know that I dissociate until age 32.  I have counted ceiling tiles, organ pipes, stained glass windows and hats at church as long as I can remember.  Even on the rare occasion I am at church now, I find myself doing the same thing.  Leah will often ask me what I’m thinking and I honestly don’t have an answer for her on many occasions.  We will also have entire conversations that I don’t remember even though I’ve acted like I was listening and given answers where appropriate at the time.

My feelings happen in extremes. I know I’m mad when steam is about to come out my ears, I realize I’m stressed and overwhelmed once I feel tears threatening to fall down my face, and I know I’m depressed when I contemplate the pros and cons of ending my life.  I know I’m sad when I feel that hollow pain in my stomach and all I want to do is cry or sleep.

This is why I feel like I have become slightly narcissistic.  My blog is pretty much all about my thoughts and experiences due to the simple fact that I am experiencing and noticing parts of myself for the first time.  I’m slowly able to notice when my emotions are not overwhelming which is nice, but also uncomfortable.  By noticing a wider range of emotions I am able to feel content, happy, and relaxed.  Along with these feelings come boredom, indifference, and slight sadness. It’s the boredom and slight sadness that are the hardest for me to experience.  I know how to handle myself when I’m in the depths of despair.  I’m really good at that, but just sitting with a twinge of sadness is really hard.  I found myself getting mad at myself because I “shouldn’t” be sad at that particular moment.  I’ve found that “should” is a dangerous word.  “Should” has dictated my entire life and it’s really annoying how much I am catching myself using it.

I can’t help but to think about my childhood more as I am becoming aware of the ways I learned how to protect myself as a child.  On some level I think that I’ve always had an attraction towards women.  I’ve always looked up to role models in my life who were women.  I thought I wanted to be Gwen Stefani, but in reality I wanted to date her.  It would have been problematic for me to have figured I was gay at an earlier age, so I am thankful that I protected myself from that information. It’s amazing how the brain works.  How it knows when the rest of the body is able and ready to deal with memories and thoughts that it had hidden away.  My therapist told me early on that I still have these issues to work out because I was not ready until now.  These issues did not present themselves because my brain knew that I was not ready.  That’s intense.

I’m an analytical person so I tend to beat a dead horse into the ground.  I research things that are going on with me such as side effects to certain medications, information about any ailments, diagnoses,or issues that I’m having.  I guess that’s the way I process and start to understand things.  I’ve had to work very hard in school and developed a great if not excessive work ethic, so it’s foreign to me just to accept things as they are.  Part of me wants to determine the aspects of my personality that I have because I was abused and what is just me.  Unfortunately I don’t think I’ll be able to find the answer, but I need to learn to accept myself simply for who I am.

Feelings Image taken from pegitboard.com

by krubesch

This pessimist might be turning into an optimist…..

“Sometimes the smallest step in the right direction ends up being the biggest step of your life.”  Unknown

When I quit my job I was not entirely sure I was making the right decision.  I was worried about finances and logistics of leaving my entire support system in Alpharetta: therapist, doctors, mentor etc.  I’m a realist and logical and that means I tend to ignore hopes and dreams by believing that I don’t have any.  I do things because they need to be done, not necessarily because I want to do them. I think that quitting my job was one of the best decisions I have ever made.  I feel like I have found my niche- a place where I belong.  It also helps that Patrick and Susan don’t mind my nose piercing, tattoos, and I don’t need to worry if I look “straight” enough.

I don’t recognize this person I am turning into.  I always just thought that I am the type of person who see’s my cup as half empty and I expect the worst of almost every situation so I won’t be disappointed. That’s just who I was.  That is changing.  I’ve been getting up on my own before 9am on the weekends (which is unheard of for me), excited to get to work, cleaning the house after work, cooking again, and just generally in a great mood. I’ve been sleeping through the night without nightmares and active sleeping (rooming patients in my sleep or pulling down the curtain by our bed).  I don’t think I realized how miserable I was until now. I did not realize how much pressure I had put on myself and how that was showing up through symptoms in my body.  On some level I knew that my depression and anxiety were exasperated by the pressure cooker I found myself in, but it was my blood pressure and gastritis that made me start paying attention.  And the sheer amount of medication that I take everyday.  Two different meds for my stomach (one I was taking four times a day), one for depression, one for my bp, and that lovely little pill to help me sleep.   Maybe I had to be miserable in order to be able to see the light.

Turns out I am not gluten intolerant, just stress intolerant.  Acidic foods are also going down just fine these days! Yay for tomatoes and chocolate.

Today has been my favorite day at work.   Patrick and I have been cracking jokes at each other since he woke up this morning, the dogs have been sunbathing on the back deck, we hung out with Abby and Clare at their house and the park this morning and the weather is amazing.   Patrick was even dancing with me at the park.   Days like to today remind me that life has its bright spots and it’s important to recognize the good days even more than the bad.

I know that LBD is slowly taking Patrick away from his family in a lengthy and painful way, but this experience is also teaching me so much and I am forever grateful for this time with Patrick and the Dougherty family.  My father’s illness was in many ways different from Patrick’s (different diagnoses), but there are many instances where it’s like I’m reading a familiar book.   I know what it’s like to watch your father’s health slowly decline over years and to not know what lies ahead or what to expect next.   Spending time with Patrick almost feels like an absolution, my relationship with my father was complicated and difficult.  I feel like I am getting a second chance to have a male family figure in my life.

I’m beginning to realize that I can start to be involved in the trajectory of my life, that new experiences in my life can help to heal old wounds.

living-poster

Found on earmarksocial.com