This gallery contains 6 photos.
Even with all the horrible things going on, there are still good people in the world who know the meaning of friendship and can show compassion. If everyone emulated Chris Salvatore’s behavior, the world would be a much kinder place. … Continue reading
No, my therapist hasn’t rejected me, but I think this is something that all of us in therapy sometimes worry about.
I just read a post from a blogger who describes how her therapist suddenly terminated her without warning. She writes,
I spend pockets of time here and there throughout the days just wracking my brain trying to figure out what went so wrong. I replay our conversations in my head and try to decipher what this meant or why she said that. I try to figure out what the fuck I did wrong.
It’s devastating and crazymaking. Unfortunately, being suddenly rejected by a mental health professional seems to be pretty common. People who have never been in therapy sometimes have trouble understanding how devastating this can be. We become extremely attached to our therapists through a process known as transference, especially when the therapy is of the psychodynamic type (as opposed to behavioral/cognitive methods like CBT). The therapist acts as a surrogate parent and for a therapist…
View original post 428 more words
I don’t write a whole lot about sexual abuse — and the story told here may not qualify as what most people would define sexual abuse to be — but still, the woman who wrote this post had something that was precious to her stolen from her, and her boundaries were ruthlessly violated. This post is more explicit than what I usually post, but I think it’s important, because something so precious should be freely given, and boundaries need to be respected. I’m glad this writer ended the relationship because it sounds like her lover thought nothing of taking what wasn’t his, in essence, raping her. At the very least, he was incredibly obtuse. It sounds like the writer had a PTSD-like reaction to what happened. Rape usually does have that effect.
Comments here are disabled. Please comment on the original post.
Also, please follow Cyranny’s Cove. She has an awesome blog!
As part of my “Let me be your voice” project, once again, I am honored to host the story of a lovely reader who sent me a painful recalling of her past. I wish there were no such stories to share, but since there are… I hope letting it out at last will help and bring relief.
I’d also like to remind you that if you have a story you would like to get off your chest, but just don’t feel comfortable publishing on your own blog, I’ll be more than glad to help by posting it in the Cove, leaving all the credit to you! Just write to me here.
So here is her story. And I’d like to thank the author for her trust. *Hugs, my dear!*
I decided to talk today, because I kept this story for myself for too long. And I cannot believe I…
View original post 851 more words
This is a very good (and very funny) analysis of what is likely to happen under a Trump presidency, and how we got to the point where a Trump presidency is even possible. It’s long but worth watching the whole thing. Grannon has a way of calming my nerves.
Martha Crawford, LCSW, tweeted a series of thoughts about the Trump administration that tell us why we shouldn’t let it make us quake in terror. I know for me, her thoughts brought me some comfort. I know a lot of people are in mourning right now, and scared for their lives. We can mourn, we SHOULD mourn, but never be afraid!
This nation is a big dysfunctional family, and the vulnerable among us — the poor, the middle class, the disabled, those suffering with mental illness, the sick, the old, the very young, people of color, Muslims, Mexicans, women, gay people, and everyone else who doesn’t fit the “straight, white, rich Christian male” image — are the scapegoats of this administration and its sociopathic, very un-Christian leader. These scapegoats comprise almost all the “children” in this “family.” But we are far from alone. There are more of us than “them.” We can and should help each other, and never let our unloving, selfish “parents” make us feel afraid or helpless. That’s giving them what they want, and they feed off it to make themselves feel more powerful. Don’t give it to them.
Yes, the shit just got real. But the sun will shine again.
*****
So, listen. He has some power.
And it’s a temporal, worldly power established on a weak foundation — filled with cracks, outbursts, and hubris.
And all the myths and fairytales and scriptures tell us what happens to these kind of leaders.
And this is true across every culture — mythological texts teach us how to survive these dark “cursed” periods and how to undo them.
I’m not saying that his power is insignificant. It will destroy many, but it is fleeting because of its own unstable composition.
This administration will fly too close to the sun, will be brought down by a boy who names the truth, will sacrifice the wrong martyr.
It will transform all those who yearn to touch it into frozen statues of gold.
Its end was already written by the cruelty and avarice, the dominance and divisiveness that they wrote in the beginning of their story.
We can read those folk tales and retell those myths so we remember how to get through.
Befriend an old wise crone who seems to be a beggar, feed a magic animal, hold tight to the blessings of our mothers.
Be kind to the point of foolishness. Tell the truths that no one else acknowledges. Be quick, be clever, be resourceful.
The end of the cursed king’s story is written at its beginning. You need to use your heart and your wits to protect yourself and others.
When we all do that, it will help to bring along the fall that is inevitable. Utterly inevitable.
It’s not if. It’s how long.
And I only know it will come sooner if we aren’t afraid. Angry, sorrowful, grief stricken, joyful, generous, compassionate, and clever.
Fear and bewilderment are the ingredients they need to keep patching holes in their instability.
Feel every feeling. But find safe and quiet spaces for your fear and bewilderment. They feed off of that when they can smell it.
Be not afraid.
Do not become bewildered.
They will destroy others and ultimately themselves.
Don’t feed them your fear.
Don’t eat the fearful poison they want you to be contaminated by, because it will possess you and strengthen them.
That is our most central psychological task through the darkness — to come to terms with fear and to shake off bewilderment.
Withhold your fear from them. Do not listen to the spell that will bewilder and confound you if you are seduced by it.
Don’t eat anything they offer! Not a single pomegranite seed, not a box of Turkish Delight. Bring your provisions with you. Wait for grace.
Be kind to all potential comrades and allies. You never know of if a wounded bird is a powerful ally under enchantment.
We know what to do.
We have been here before. This is really not unprecedented. We have enacted this story over and over and over again.
It’s a story older than the Bible, older than the printing press. Older than our ability to remember these stories of survival and justice.
Whispered into our great great grandparents ears before they fell asleep at night.
We know what to do if we listen to the stories we have told ourselves for thousands upon thousands of years.
I haven’t been posting as much about my recovery or therapy on this blog as I used to, because it’s grown so big and I feel more comfortable posting such deeply personal stuff on my other blog, because it’s so much smaller and has far fewer readers than this one does.
But I’m making an exception today, because of how important I think this dream I had last night is.
My subconscious mind seems to be revealing the most to me lately through my dreams. Later I tell my therapist about them, and we interpret them together. Sometimes though, the meaning is obvious to me and lately it’s getting easier for me to figure these dreams out on my own.
In my last therapy session, I was asked what my real self is really like. I wasn’t able to answer very well. I felt like I had to make things up. Chair Girl (my inner child, who I have “sit” in a chair in my therapist’s office, which is how she got her name) is so elusive, and only comes out intermittently. I know she’s shy and has the potential to be very loving, but sometimes it’s hard for me to capture her essence, who SHE is.
Last night, I had another beautiful dream that answered this for me.
I owned a strange object. It was a cat made out of black stone. But it wasn’t actually black stone. The person who gave it to me explained that this object had once been a real cat, who had been killed during a plane crash (but whose body somehow remained intact) and whose owner, a man from China, had the cat’s body cryogenically frozen and sealed, much like those services that do taxidermy on dead pets and send your pet back to you stuffed and fitted with glass eyes. But this cat wasn’t stuffed and it didn’t have glass eyes. It was hard as a rock, heavy, and shone like stone. Its eyes were sealed shut, forever sleeping.
I loved the cat anyway, and felt sad over what had happened to it. I liked to just sit with it and pet it, even though it was no more than an object and could never respond or give back any love. I sometimes wondered what he had been like, and I named him Max.
One day something very strange happened. I knew Max had been dead for years. But on this one day, while I was holding it in my arms, pretending it was a real cat, I heard a small mew. I looked down and saw that Max was trying to open his eyes. I almost dropped him in shock, but instead set him down gently on a chair and watched in amazement. I wasn’t sure what to do. This was scaring me. But I was frozen in place. I couldn’t stop watching.
Max began to transform. His cold stone body became a beautiful coat of reddish brown tabby fur, and his eyes, now opened, turned from black to brilliant blue. He started to breathe. He looked up at me and meowed loudly. It occurred to me he must be part Siamese, with those blue eyes and loud, raspy voice.
I asked him if he was hungry, and he immediately jumped down and walked regally toward the kitchen, as if he understood what I was asking him. He kept looking back at me, meowing. I happened to have some cat food and he ate as if he’d been starving. My shock having worn off, I felt love overflowing for this tiny animal. I picked Max up and held him and listened to him purr contentedly. He was so tiny but so beautiful and I realized that somehow, it was my love that had woken him up and transformed him back into a living, breathing, loving cat.
One of my favorite stories as a child was The Velveteen Rabbit, and I think it’s because of the universal truth in that story: that being loved is how one becomes real.
Max is the real me. By learning self-love and self-empathy, she’s waking up and making herself known. She’s becoming real.
I started watching part of the inauguration, and couldn’t continue. Trump as POTUS? The reality of it makes me feel literally ill. I just can’t stand to watch. I think many Americans feel the same way right now.
I don’t agree with violent protesting, as happened several blocks away in Washington, DC today, but I certainly can empathize with their sentiments. I feel pretty angry and disgusted with my country right now.
On the bright side, First Lady Melania is absolutely gorgeous, and I like little Barron.
I also am really starting to appreciate Barack Obama now. It’s so sad that he’s no longer our president.
Southern rock at its best. This has always been my favorite Skynyrd tune.
Lucky Otters Haven 