Work In Progress

February is here and the ground hog, at least the one I listen to, Wiarton Willie has said that spring will come early this year. I struggle to keep my optimism afloat as I look out the window today at the 2.5 feet of snow that fell overnight, cancelling school, busses and even closing my place of work! Still, I like this better than the dull grey skies suffocating the world and clogging up my brain.   The snow is fluffy and white, and while I cannot get Youngest out of bed most school day, I am in awe of how quickly the opportunity to enjoy a day off school that is NOT a weekend will launch him from his bed!  I predict backyard dog wrestling will be followed my me dog wrestling a snowball packed canine into a tub to de-snowballize her. Everyone is home, except oldest, and half of us have showered and are dressed. Once the snow slows down it is all hands on shovels and the snowblower. Seven o'clock found me on the back deck in my pj's and boots, frantically shovell...

I feel like we flipped from winter to summer and skipped spring all together. Everything is suddenly green, I have mowed the lawn twice and all I want to do is get my hands into the earth and start planting things.  Each day, I "tour" my small backyard garden to evaluate the new appearances and there seems so much to do to get ready.   I can't help but to make comparisons to my life.  I have gone from "on long term disability" to someone waiting for the rehabilitation specialist to call (which I thought, would be quite quickly after receiving his e-mail that he would call....) to get started back to work.  Again, I feel like there is a lot of work to do!   Three times a week I Body Flow and Zumba my way away from the evil scale numbers; not yet where I would like to be; the summer before last's capri pants remain unbuttonable.  Combined with cutting out wheat and sugar for over a month, I was able to edge away from the number on the scale I had...

I have been checking in with Malaika (my Inner Wisdom/Super Heroine --see previous post), each day since we met.  She is me, and yet she is not me, and by being only the wise, strong, unconditional loving, fluid parts of me, she can slow down time and provide me with space, time and nourishment to do the hard work. Right now, that includes looking at my Inner Mean Girls and redeploying them in a “helping” instead of “hindering” way.  It’s tough because I have five Inner Mean Girls that are all rolled into one.  Yolanda represents them all and she is the face of all the insidious whispers. Finding a new job for her is pretty easy.  All I need to do is turn her around.  Her arms crossed, the contempt on her face, her rulers ready to measure everything; this would surely silence the whispers. She would let them rant, her skeptic eyebrow raise enough to make them quiet down when they realized they were getting nowhere.  In fact, I think when the ...

I used to dread going to see my therapist sometimes because I knew I could brew up a whirlwind rant about my workplace, culminating in a giant single sentence tornado that would destroy everything in the room--me included.  First of all they promoted this incompetent woman over me. Then they dumped more on me to do including helping HER staff. Then we had retirements that were not replaced..and big capital projects...and operational adjustments while being the only department to implement cost saving operational improvements. Then I get promised a title change but it never happens and then... (Even now I feel the urge to type out every minute detail just to know I am not crazy and these things are really horrible and evil and awful and they should all just----)   DEEEP BREATH!   At Inner Mean Girl Reform School our first lesson was to identify the inner mean girls who  tell you BIG FAT LIES about yourself and set you off o...

I have been struggling to sit quietly and recognize what resonates within my heart...what makes it sing and dance and feel joy and light....I have recognized I practically glow in an environment of learning.   I've told this story before--but this is a quick summary for my IMG classmates. Returning to University at 34, a single mom, starting a Masters in Library and Information Science, (half way across the country from where I was living, but close to my family), I could not believe that my sole job for each three hour lecture was to sit, with coffee in hand, consuming, interpreting, assessing and questioning the words that filled the air with potential and purpose. Sometimes I would catch myself smiling for no reason, certainly not when deadlines piled up and papers were due, but in the stillness of the lecture hall, I felt it hard to contain the giddiness that bubbled in my heart. That was 13 years and one breakdown ago.  This feeling was rekindled when I tool my ...

This morning, I am remembering a day in March, when my oldest scheduled a tour of  a potential university to attend and The Spouse was unable to take him.  It was a formal orientation with presentations and a meet and greet with faculty so it would be important to his decision.   I was newly finished my 8 week adult day treatment program and instead of feeling refreshed and enlightened, I was battered and bruised, brutally raw and vulnerable.  Don't get me wrong, there was never a more supportive environment -- full of information, handouts and opportunities to share, be heard, and feel loved. But here I was, taking my first few wobbly steps on the high wire and I felt messy and uncoordinated; like I was struggling to hear my more enlightened voice over the ear piercing alarm going off in my head.   Days leading up to going, I carefully juggled every mind trap we had explored:  what if we get lost and never make it there? (catastrophizing) All ...