amgregory2013

The F-word Rabbit Hole, Guest Blogger, Ashley Jiles

Love is Not Smothering…with a Pillow

I believe LoVe really is much like this……

People like to write a lot about love and romance. Not I. One of my goals as a writer over the next year is to write outside my comfort zone, no matter how awkward or sappy or…no, just awkward.

No one has ever accused me of being overly romantic or sentimental. And frankly, you just don’t know, when push comes to shove, if you will make it through the endless night of the man cold without rolling over and gently, but firmly pressing your memory foam pillow to his face, until the tuberculosis-like hacking and wheezing of snot becomes a blanket of comforting warm silence. You just never know.

I’ve spent most of my life getting this love thing wrong. I’m an impatient person, so I rarely waited to be asked out on a date. As soon as I spotted the most unlikely suspect for a love match, I was…

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Not Any Good At The Good-Byes: Remembering My Beloved while Meeting Brené Brown and My Brother

Let’s face it- I suck at the Good Bye.

Now, in my defense, my house hold has not had a “normal” week since January 5th when I returned from sweet-sweet paradise. Between the freeze, the flood, (see my piece about my attempt at Marilyn Monroe), a pouty-sick child and really- yes- the cat with a bit butt….I was kinda having a difficult time remembering that I had just finished packing my bag to leave after work. My husband leans in to kiss me good bye and says with those puddly brown eyes, “I will miss you.” I realized in that moment, I had successfully avoided with chaos and nerva-citement. I….was going to meet Brené Brown and my baby brother for the first time.

I wrapped all my loose moments in how fabulous I needed to look and what I was going to say. I toggled in my mind between thoughts of realizing how much I consider Brené my Guru in this season of life and worried about making small talk with my brother whom I know so little about. For me, I would really like to know both of these people and have a genuine relationship with them. But the fact remains that neither may ever happen. What is even more strange, I know more about, Brené, this person who in many ways is as elusive to me as the inner workings of the television I watch her on.

So day ONE of the Daring Way™ training begins and we all meet HER. She is as impressive and emotionally beautiful as I envision her in my mind. I am in awe (and a little embarrassed) when she asks us to be her safe place to fall. I want to swoon like a little girl and beg for her autograph Damn It!! But, in the end, I tell myself we are ALL human and seek out ways to balance out my vision of her with our common humanity.

Then like the crashing-smashing SHAME WAVE of Catherine, I get an email from my sweet puddle of a husband:

Thinking of you. Love.

With this video attachment (watch it now):

Holy CRAP! I start sniffling as I try to listen to the music next to one of my group members during a break. In that moment, I was called back to what really matters in my life. Brene who? Brother- what?

Brené told the story of the lantern, a signature piece of visual material for The Daring Way™ process. While we work endlessly at keeping the flame in our own lives lit, it is those that have truly earned the right to know our story that will cup their own hands around our light to ensure it continues to shine.

Of course, what I wanted to do was fly upstairs, pack my bag and run- literally- all the way home from San Antonio to his arms. I wanted to tell him I hoped he would forgive me for making other people and cats with bit butts more important than him. Sometimes, when my light feels dim, and even in a time of the high flame of nerva-citement, there he is- cupping his hands around my light. Consistently. Endlessly.

I might want either of the people I came here to meet to be in the circles of my life, but there will always be just a select few that sustain the flame.

So, to all my lamplighters- you know who you are- you are way awesomer than any celebrity or any person who does not know my story. And the one person who gets to see me, every day, as the tender-hearted little girl that I am….is ~MY D.

The Telling: The First Moment the Universe Heard the Story of my Sexual Abuse

Transformative Trauma

It is honestly difficult to remember the first time I spoke the words, “He hurt me” with out the memory being encapsulated in a snow globe. I watch it play itself out; nothing exists except for my house on Mosswood Drive, me, my mother and a Strawberry Shortcake suitcase. It is not uncommon for a trauma victim to have memories that can only be remembered as if you are a third party, a ghost, entering into the memory watching your physical self play it out while you loom overhead. Your emotional Self hangs out above, floating and separate from you. For what ever reason, this particular memory is even more distant, yet at the same time, in a snow globe’s tomb, immortalized in my mind.
I was eleven or twelve years old. We had moved from a condo in my home town to a rental house, now renting with my…

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The Fuck OFF Fairy Rocks!!

Everyone Deserves their Marilyn Monroe Moment: The Freeze, The Flood, but Not without The Blessings

I know I am not alone in the debacle that has happened to many peoples homes with the recent freeze that spread across most of the United States. And fortunately (or unfortunately) the events that led to our house damage are apparently not unique. Despite the struggle that continues at this moment, I am attempting to find some honest humor and grace. Difficult times call for drastic measures. For me, it was an honest moment to pull my friends closer and search for joy while the winds of hell swirled in our house- for FIVE FUCKING DAYS!! But, look, I am already digressing. So let me tell you…..what ha-happened was…… A comedy of errors where the only destination was death.

The oddest blessing begins our story. It was an ice skating rink in the parking lot of my office. I thought for a moment while pulling up that I would take up my usual space only realizing that I would likely bust my ass if I choose that option. Not long after, my most amazing land-lord Sherri shows up and begins the process of elimination to take care of what ever caused the problem. I inform her that I ran water, had turned off the hot water and had water the day before when it was 11 degrees…IN GEORGIA!! Turns out, the pipe broke in the front bathroom and a parade of plumbers were likely on their way. We gather the troops and make an executive decision to cancel the rest of the day not knowing what noise may occur. Therapy requires a great deal of concentration. Sound proof doors and sound machines were not going to cut it.

SERIOUSLY- 30 minutes later, the one plumber is done and went home. (I had a big W on my forehead for WHATEVA! at that moment). I used the time to start getting ready for the big race we host raising money for our local sexual assault center. This is my part in giving back to my community and my personal part as a sexual trauma survivor. Ya would think I was building on my good karma…..but. -NO.

Cuz, when I get home……..IT IS RAINING IN MY KITCHEN!!! I am expecting to hear sounds of thunder and lightening while I try to comprehend how in the HELL was this happening.

Oh, but now for the comedy. Really, this is NOT funny. But who in the hell will ever be able to tell you the same story, I just don’t know?

Okay, soooooooo (in my best Cali-Girl accent), my parents are going home on the day before the flooding fiasco and Dad informs me that he has dry tooth brushed (don’t ask me how you do that) and has dressed because there is no water working anywhere upstairs. My BFF says I made the pipes freeze just to make sure my parents would go home. Later that day I check in with a savvy handy friend on FB and he says I should let the water drip to release pressure if in fact there are busted pipes from the freeze. The idea of letting water drip with no useful purpose beyond dripping made me cringe. Naturally, I place a cup to catch the water in so I can later water my well named plants, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb.

Here is the kicker of it all and really, kids, don’t try this at home unless you want the wrath of Noah upon your house.

Place a cup on top of the sink stopper, because well, what else is a tree huggin’ girl to do? You must pair it with a stopper that is currently not attached to the lever below that holds it in place. Get a drip from your frozen faucet pipe that looks like a drip, but will become a gush later on when the pipe thaws out. Voila! There you have it; water fills cups with magic gusto, pushes down sink drain (with no emergency overflow) and let the flooding begin! Now, how many of you just wiped your hand down your face? I promise my efforts were sincere. Destination Death was apparently the only possible outcome.

The folks at Servpro return to demolish our mess and dry us out. Love ya Servpro, really…Shout out to YA. I am, however, certain the wind machines and loud-ass dehumidifers are a special level of hell the pre-Cannon Catholics did not know about. I think it is meant for those people that are really good, but used up WAY too much of their karma in their lifetime. Oh, I forgot to tell you that we are two-timers. Yup- he even said it himself when he showed up at our house- A.G.A.I.N. He said,”I thought you already did our time with us.” Ugh- eyes rolling in the back of my head.

Our previous disaster with water led us to have pseudo-NASA under our house to keep the water out. Having a spouse with a PhD means sometimes waiting weeks on end before a complete decision is made on big purchases. After researching all the latest information, including looking up what the Department of Energy had to say on this subject, he choose encapsulation with a fancy water drainage system. It’s so pretty and cobalt blue under there that my seriously NOT OCD husband wants to get under there and clean the red mud that is Georgia out of it. Shout out to the B-Dry system- we actually think this choice has limited the extent of the damage we have right now.

Nothing change the madness of right now. But like all messes…..there lies real, genuine, blessed beauty.

My friends text me to ask about bringing us dinner. I, of course, agree because there is way too much chaos to remember to eat, except perhaps it really should be easier since the refrigerator is literally an arm shot from the kitchen table at the moment.

Everyone comes and they bring their joy and chaos without flitting an eyelid at trying to walk around the tented kitchen or looking for the garbage can that has been moved over and over because we all gravitate to its usual spot. We all laugh while telling the juicy story that has now become this madness and laugh more when I tell them how my diva Self immediately was trying to figure out how to navigate an up hair-do day while passing by the wind machine. It does give me the idea that this is the perfect opportunity to have my Marilyn Monroe Moment. It goes something like this…..

If you can believe it, there was a second nugget of utter glory in this madness. Apparently my sister planned a most delicious surprise for me (and I LOVE surprises). She cooked up something special with the help of my friends. My BFF Georgia (the most bad ass Rock Star of a jewelry designer you will EVER know-Gray Jewelers) and my new really awesome friend collectively decided on a piece to give me as a gift. Just imagining my beautiful sister conversing with them about what I may enjoy just made my heart smile.

So, just imagine that fan you run to make a little white noise while you sleep decided to go on a meth binge. That is what is now running in the back ground. See it….Even the toilet paper was waiving the white flag.

All the while, the blessing of my sister and a meeting of the kitty committee hover on the bed together. We talk about everything and nothing. Goats some of the time, but really it was pure lovely. Now it may be true that these moments do not have come sliding in quite so muddy and dirty, but for some reason, I seem to encapsulate them in my mind when the blessing runs in while wild madness is swirling all around.

So thank you to my sisters in spirit and in life. I will remember this ungodly beautiful moment every time I wear my treasure.It just gets easier and easier to remember gratitude with YOU present in my life. Sharing in the struggle whether directly or taking the time to read my writing makes my life worth living.

Bringing in the New Year with Meaningful Change: Finding a Therapist Requires a Good Fit

Overall, most Americans consider psychotherapy beneficial. In a Consumer Report where seven thousand individuals were asked about their personal therapeutic pursuits, more than half responded favorably to the therapeutic process. Even with that favorable response, how do we know what constitutes “good” therapy? Some research has indicated that the client has felt great benefits from therapy, but continues to struggle with chronic symptoms like depression and anxiety.

The essence of psychotherapy is the pursuit of treatment for mental health issues with the help of a trained professional. Most important is the relationship with an unbiased party to gain insight into unhealthy patterns of behavior. There are many times throughout life when the benefits of a safe relationship can help one sort out those troubling patterns. The difficulty for the consumer seeking these services is in knowing what to look for when seeking a “good fit” with a therapist. The following are a few guidelines to help assist in finding that good fit.

First, do not be afraid to ask for a phone interview. Therapists that are open to scrutiny are willing to answer any questions you may have even before the first appointment is made. Once the first session is scheduled, have a little knowledge in hand about what may be the problem. Several reputable websites offer information regarding psychiatric disorders and recommended treatment modalities. Here is an opportunity to show the potential therapist that you are psychologically savvy and come with some understanding of what may be ailing you. Most importantly, do not be afraid to provide feedback to the therapist. A good therapist will not only welcome input into your perception of the progress but will ask for it. Often, this will occur in the first session where the therapist may make a suggestion of a course of treatment with a specific “checking in” point during the process. Do not be afraid of rejecting the therapist, this is an opportunity to potentially strengthen the relationship between therapist and client. If there are overall concerns of the treatment effectiveness, ask for a consultation with another therapist. Once again, a good therapist will welcome this and hopefully suggest a few referral sources to get a second opinion.

Psychotherapy is not like finding a surgeon to complete heart surgery; this is an intimate and professional relationship between two people where the client will possibly reveal very personal details of their life. The client should feel like the therapist can clearly explain the nature of the issue, feel understood as an individual and feel that their therapist is both compassionate and nonjudgmental. May this information help you in finding your “good fit” when psychotherapy is needed.

REFERENCE:

Article by Dr. Richard A. Friedman, professor of psychiatry at Weill Cornell Medical College, Science Page of the New York Times, Nov. 2007.

We Say Farewell with Gratitude to one of Our Beloved

Outside of the privilege of being a therapist, I decided that part of my giving back to the community was to mentor other therapists to do private practice well. Today we say farewell to one of our beloved and send her off to do good work in her own practice. Wish her well. Send her love and light

December 2013

Dearest Angie,

It seems like a million miles ago we met on that fateful day in the Child and Family Guidance office.
You were blazing in from somewhere in the field talking about the next live music show you were
going to and which one you had just left from. You showed me pictures of your kids on a social media site and spoke fondly of the life you lived. I can’t say why I knew, but I knew we would cross paths many more times. That was almost nine years ago.

When I started private practice about seven years ago, it was a whirlwind of falling down mistakes. I realized early this was like getting another graduate degree and I made a vow that if I could really figure this out and learn how to do it well, I would pay it forward and not make someone else have to suffer through the process alone. Do you remember me calling you several times to bug you about taking that second exam so we could get started? I remember realizing quickly that doing this together would be one looooonnnnnggggg experiment and we would both learn how to be mentor, colleague and friend.

And goodness has it been a ride…..

I have learned so much about myself in this process. I realize I still have a lot to learn about being a mentor, but I hope I have guided and been honest about my shortcomings. I most appreciate your willingness to do this together so I can go on and do it again, continuing to improve my skills to prepare the next person to be in private practice on their own.

Most importantly, I have watched you become one of the best practitioners I will ever know. I recall your fear and trepidation in those first months, struggling to ask for your needs to be met in the big picture of the day to day of private practice, to today- listening to you carefully calculate how to best serve your community while remembering to take good care of yourself.

My heart bursts with sadness and joy! I have grown accustom to seeing you beautiful face every week and having time to just check in and be present with you. I will miss this terribly. But, knowing that you will drive less, spend more time with your family and create a lasting connection in your own practice brings me immeasurable joy.
Aurora Counseling for Healing and Change is the fruit of many, many long drives and nights away from home.

You may not know it, but you inspire me. Not many would put their trust in someone else to help
co-create their career. My heart is full of gratitude and during times of struggle, I will return to remembering your gifts.

I look forward to watching your practice evolve and learning and sharing with each other as the years move forward.

Thank you for traveling the journey with me.

The Real Stones in the Road

In the fall of 1995, I was a sophomore in college and I felt like I had a lump in my throat. ALL THE TIME. I swore there was something wrong, returning to the old fuddy-duddy doctors at the college health center over and over again. Tension was building with my college benefactors (my great aunt and uncle), my best friend had left after attempting suicide and I was heading down an ugly path of one night stands. I was turning into a woman I clearly did not recognize.

I guess one of the crotchety doctors got tired of my throat complaints after making me eat another tongue depressor for what seemed liked minutes on end. AAAhhhhh…..eeeeehhhhh…..Really Dude (in my best California accent) don’t you see that cancer growing in the back of my throat? I am dying here!! He stops, sighs BIG, looks straight at me and says, “I think we need to send you upstairs.” WHAT! Upstairs!! That is where the crazy people go. I am not crazy, I just got this thing- growing in my throat! The third floor of the Student Health Center was the Counseling Center and I did NOT want to go. I rolled my eyes at him, snatched the referral slip and slid off the scaly lizard green exam table pushing past him.

Days, maybe weeks passed and I stayed mad at that crotchety ass hole trying to tell me I needed a therapist, not a tonsillectomy or an MRI– Something!! Finally, after another tawdry night of God knows what with whom will remain nameless and possibly faceless, I made the call.

This particular counseling system required a consultation to find the best fit. I met with a woman who had the wildest long black hair. I occasionally tilted my head like my neurotic cat does wondering if she actually designed it to look that way. But really, I was about to lay some shit down that she could not handle- or at least that is what I told myself. I spewed onto her my complicated and difficult family history, the sexual abuse and how, although I had many difficulties in my relationship with my own mother, I did NOT want to see a boy therapist.

She actually had the audacity to ask me, “WHY?” I remember thinking, ‘Whatdaya Mean, Why?’ The idea of being behind closed doors with a MAN I knew nothing about and then having to share my darkest secrets with made me more nauseated than I was already feeling. In the end it didn’t matter who it was, I was certain no one could really handle me or what I had been through. I was going to bitch slap this therapist around with every tactic I had and wear her out until she cried mercy.

I don’t think I have ever been so armored up in my whole life. I remember the consultation room felt so tiny and all there was was me, a wild, black hairy nest of hair and her white, white paper with the scribbles of my life. Sitting with a difficult decision is like having a sweaty, hairy stomach slide, –slide, –slide down your face…over AND over again. I left wet and sticky and all I could do was take a nap. Me and the wet hairy stomach rubbing its smelly self on me.

Watch this for an Excellent Visual:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=enJJeOqHbqE&feature=youtu.be

Her name was….Well, I really don’t remember….But let’s call her Kathy or Karen or one of those normal names. I remember her as being all kind of orange and red with short frosted hair. She smiled a lot and watched her digital clock. I used to caress the edge of the arm of the textured couch. Other times I dragged my nails through it just to hear something else make noise besides myself.

Our first session was like standing in knee deep mud. I gave her my best devilish stare and like a howler monkey- made screeching noise to the tune of chaos that was my life. I had planned to torture her with every word until she put her hands over her ears and begged for me to make it stop.

But instead, she breathed in and out, in and out…… and just looked at me with deep set puppy eyes. What THE FUCK was the matter with her? She was not freaking out like I had been ALL MY LIFE!! She listened. She heard me. She seemed to act like she understood. She did not judge or shame me.

Over the next year, so many things unfolded. But one thing that has stayed with me was that she suggested that I seek out and find my two half brothers whom I had only met one once when I was eleven. Before leaving from my work with her, I had not followed through with this; I am sure for many different reasons. If I knew where she was today (hopefully enjoying peaceful retirement not being emotionally pummeled by college students) I would want to tell her that when I was ready, I finally did and although it is not the kind of relationship I wish for, it does exist. I suppose in a way, I hope that she is proud of me. These thoughts are really about wanting her to know that I am grateful that for the very first time in my life someone knew how to hold space for with the hot mess I had become.

You wanna know what is really HI-LAR-IOUS? That lump in my throat? That choking cancer I swore was killing me? They turned out to be tonsil stones- a real problem that is often just as stinky and ugly as the one I fought upstairs in the Counseling Center. But, both the doctor and I were right. I did have a cancer. Shame was metastasizing in my mind and he could not help. I needed a higher power- or at least the one on the third floor.

LIVE.OUT.LOUD

Shoes of the Week- December 2013

Nine West- Lace Up Mary Popins Style Groove