Okay, new topic.

I had an energy healing session yesterday.

I thought it might be like a “reading,” with auras, and questions like, “Where does the Q name come in?”  Don’t get me wrong; I love me an insightful reading.  I told her I have a lot of autoimmune issues.  She said she could sense that about me.

It turned out to be so much new, interesting information, that I’m practically speechless.  As she asked a little bit about why I was there, what I wanted to accomplish, I, for the first time, regarded my life through a certain filter.

That filter was fear.

th1BI6FWERI was surprised I said that.  I grew up in a small town in the middle of the US, went west after college, then east for more college, and lots of other places.  Sometimes alone.  I never thought of myself as fearful in light of the challenges that presented — new cities, new customs, new people, new jobs, new schools…

But, I started kindergarten in that small town where my family and I had just moved.  All the kids seemed to be friends — and largely related.

I remember thinking when I received a sort of an icy reception, that I had to ditch myself, no offense, and do what I had to do to fit in.

This worked pretty well as time went on.  On the outside.  I had friends.  I got good grades.  I was a cheerleader eventually, played in the band, sang in the auditioned choir, had many suitors, and even gave a speech at my graduation.

I married someone I thought I could sit back and watch manage control things for us.  He was VERY good at that, in a VERY bad way.  As you know, if you’ve been here before.

When that all fell apart, all the other issues I put aside, from 6-years-old on, have come back for a second chance.  Not all at once.  More at the pace of a smoothly running deli line.

After hiding my true feelings all those years, and wearing different masks for different people and situations, the energy healer and I agreed that I now had a mess of physical manifestations on my hands — psoriasis, IBS-C, migraines, reproductive problems, weight management issues, low self-esteem, recurring depression (beginning at 9), a crazy sister (sorry sis), an estranged brother (sorry bro), super religious parents who didn’t really know me (not their fault), anger management issues, and on and on.  She told me our cells “remember” how to be liver cells, or brain cells, but they also remember our emotional paths and behave accordingly.  I think.  The phrase “quantum mechanics” was used.  At least quantum something.  It was a lot to take in.  I looked some of the stuff I couldn’t remember up on line.  It’s there.  Where have I been?

The actual healing session was shorter than planned because we talked so long.

All my body did was lie there, but my internal experience was that I was having some creative, exciting ideas, and some new insights.

She asked me a few questions.  She jostled a few body parts around.  She told me a few things my body was saying to her.  She gave me her card.  I paid her, we hugged, she told me I did great work today, and to email or text her with any questions.  I went back to my unfulfilling work.  Another issue.

I was jazzed for a couple of hours after that.  I felt better.

I am hopeful that this tool, like talk therapy, and tai chi, could really help me decide that I’m okay.   I could be myself.  My authentic self, is the buzz phrase.  I’m so trendy.  But, who the F am I?

Turns out, a pretty scared 6-year-old, who is trying to manage my grown up world from under the bed.

I’m trying to help her take steps to grow up.  I’m  here.  I can strive to be helpful.

Because ditching yourself is more than offensive, it’s dishonoring.  It depletes the faith you should have in yourself.

I can do better than that now.

 

 

 

 

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Middle Wife Syndrome

It’s such a kitchy, catchy phrase, I wish I had a whole blog post to back it up, but sometimes, you just get hit with the title.

I imagine the syndrome would include:

paranoia that the first wife will find you and throw a pie in your face,
low self esteem, trying to make up for the first wife, which is futile, and
jealousy of the less-than-worthy, heed-no-warning-signs, juvenile, third wife

Or, you could just say she’s FREE-AS-HELL!

Why all the hyphenated word strings?

I-DON’T-KNOW…NOR-DO-I-CARE-TO-SPECULATE

Yeah, that about sums us up.

thQXW7KECM

Anyone disagree?

 

 

A Divorce Change for You

You didn’t have to change:

Your Social Security card
Your bank account
Your credit card account
Your driver’s license
Your passport
Your address
Your credit rating
Your tax bracket
Your home to renters insurance
Your car insurance coverage
Your health insurance coverage
Your depression prescription
Your therapy schedule
Your ability to entertain
Your ability to travel
Your wardrobe size, twice
Your shame meter

thW1QFKQYM

You only had to change:
—  Your mind  —
To recite marriage vows
To wife #3

I HEART my therapist

two women talkingShe’s a woman.

We are from the same (gentler, slower) part of the country, which is not where we live now.

I’ve seen her off and on since our family had a sailboat accident when my daughter was very young and she got caught under the boat when it capsized (in an air pocket turns out).  I was wracked with guilt that I couldn’t get to her and it would have been my fault if she had died.

My therapist thinks “–” is clinical, as she puts it.

She thinks I’m “gifted.”

I know that first assessment sounds right.

I learn something new every time I see her.

Today I was telling her that I feel like I’m getting through this very, very, TOO slowly.  People are done asking me how I’m doing, and definitely done hearing about it when I spontaneously share.

She said it’s taking me so long, which isn’t that long, really, because I’m “deep.”

My son had just told me in a text recently that I was deep.

Meaning, I have got to turn over, and thoroughly examine EVERYTHING about it — the obvious, the things that hurt the most, the things only seen in hindsight — etc.

This is my way.  Funny, I thought I was just a “bad transition-er” like a kindergarten child who doesn’t want to switch to something new, and then doesn’t want to switch from the new thing, to the next new thing.

No, she said.  I’m not that.

Well, I’m buying what she’s selling.  That reframing changes everything, from thinking negatively about the way I am to thinking positively about the way I am.

She also said that she would tell me the truth now — that it will likely take someone like me years to turn over all the rocks.   Two years ago she told me it would likely take two years — so I could survive the beginning, most likely.  I am definitely over some things, but not nearly over ALL the things, and I have to go through them all.

It’s a deep thing…

 

 

If I wasn’t me, I’d ditch me. I suck.

But it’s my one job, to get myself through life, no matter how much of a mess I make, like…

Drink too much

Surf the net

Find a picture of the new Mrs. at a ball game

Text and email it to people, including my kids and their dad — the Mr., pointing out how ugly she is (Don’t take any shiny red apples from her!) (Where did she park her broom?)

Then tell Mr. I hate him and when can I plan on him dying?

THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR.  AND CRAP, IT’S MY BEHAVIOR.

thI would have looked down my nose, and shunned someone else by now, who behaved this way.  But I don’t have that luxury.

I’m stuck with this petulant, sarcastic, mean, me.

It does give me LOADS more empathy for similarly situated people.  Taking the high road is…well, it’s damn near impossible…for me.

The reason for my behavior is hard to describe.  I don’t want him back.  I don’t want to live in the past.

But…

I cannot get over being betrayed.  I don’t deserve it.  And for her.  (She really is ugly and I’m not.  I used to think I was kind, and she is very aggressive and self centered).  My son said that it didn’t make sense like that.  Well, how does it make sense, then?

So, I troll around hoping to find clues that Karma has shined her light on them for collectively hurting me.  I look for changes on her Facebook page.  I drive by their house every once in a while.

Nope.  No signs.  They are either living happily ever after, OR, their hardships are hidden away from Facebook and the outside of their house.  Like my hardships were.  Like people’s hardships are.  I want them to have hardships for being such shitty people, and fast.

But, that is none of my business.  Karma has her own timing, and maybe, somehow, in some way, they don’t deserve “bad” Karma.  And, I’m over here racking it up.

I can grasp that.

Until the cycle starts again.

God I’m sick of my immaturity; my inability to learn certain lessons, no matter how many times I’m put through them.  It’s not a good look on this middle aged woman.

I’m back. I think. I’m back, right?

cat under dresserYes, a little, at least.

I still have the numb tongue, but it’s getting less and less, and wears off during the day.

I can get out the door in the morning.

I can navigate my new, weird boss.  That only took 4 months ; – )

Sunshine and flowers make me happy.  SOMETHING lifts my BCI.  Is that what I called it?  Check up with the Prozac pusher (and I mean that in the most respectful way) next Wednesday.

Whew…I don’t want to jump the gun, here, but…

I think I’m back.

My new commercial

“Hi, my name is Linley and I have BCI.  You know, brain chemical imbalance?

BCI used to keep me on the sidelines — in the shadows.  It was affecting my ability to take care of my kids and enjoy my hobbies.

Then my doctor recommended Prozac — Fluoxetine HCL.

Now I can join you in the sunshine and collect cat memorabilia.

Ask your doctor about Prozac Fluoxetine HCL.  Your kids and your kitty will be so glad you did.”

Right?  Too soon?

It’s AT LEAST as worthy of being treated as conditions like ED and whatever else.  There’s a bi-jillion of them.  I can left-brain it just as much as those.

“Depression” carries with it an “emotional” component — a “buck-up-ness” not required of people with diabetes, high blood pressure, psoriasis, joint pain, or even disfunctional private parts.  Can you die of lack of sexual penetration?  Painful vagina or soft penis?  Personally speaking, not yet.

Can you die of a BCI?  Yes.  People do every day.