tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58504427261836622502024-02-20T10:38:22.212-05:00All Crazy Ain't Bad but It Ain't All Good EitherDr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-8769818683175394362023-12-19T13:33:00.351-05:002023-12-19T15:24:33.020-05:00Stress Can Be Cured With JoyI just realized that I have not posted anything this entire year. And as I thought about why, I realized that my entire year has been consumed with STRESS. Seems like all day, every day, I am stressed out about one thing: MONEY. To me, financial stress is the worst because you have very little control and/or power to fix it. And here on Earth, we need money, not manna, to survive. <div><br /></div><div>I’m not sure what happened. If you look at my bank account, it appears that I am making money. But, somehow, I never see it. I don’t know if it is secretly being stolen or what. I do not shop for clothes, shoes, purses, or jewelry. In fact, I hate to shop. I rarely go out to eat. I don’t go to clubs, bars, or even to the movies. I only get my hair and nails done once per month. I don’t go on extravagant vacations. I don’t have six months’ worth of expenses in savings. So, where is my money?! </div><div><br /></div><div>My money has been so scarce this year that I battled foreclosure, repossession of my car, bill collectors calling incessantly, and watched my credit score go lower than it has ever been in my life because of late & missed payments. </div><div><br /></div><div>I know better than to allow stress to compound or become chronic, though, because stress can kill you! Stress causes a plethora of problems including, but not limited to, headaches, digestive upset, weight gain, irritability, and insomnia. Stress suppresses your immunity to common illnesses, increases your cortisol levels, and inflames the circulatory system. When stress is not dealt with effectively, it can lead from symptoms to actual disease and/or death. For example, chronic stress causes chronic inflammation of the circulatory system which causes hypertension, heart disease, heart attack, stroke, and possibly death. In addition to physical symptoms and disease, your mental health is negatively affected as well. Stress can affect our memory, comprehension, and focus. You find yourself unable to gather your thoughts, finish projects, or even keep your house clean. This disruption can lead to depression, anxiety, lack of motivation, self-medicating with drugs or alcohol, and possibly suicide. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yet, stress is a natural reaction… unless your fight-flight-freeze button gets stuck in the on position… </div><div><br /></div><div>This all started when my mortgage company DOUBLED my mortgage OVERNIGHT with NO WARNING! I got a regular bill in February and a bill for twice as much in March. There was no way I could pay double my mortgage. I was making ends meet with the mortgage I had and was getting excited about refinancing so it could go even lower. So, March began the Job season from Hell! </div><div><br /></div><div>And wouldn’t you know it, we were studying the book of Job in my Community Bible Study class. Ugh! I have often told God, “I am not Job! I will curse you and die! So, don’t bet on me against Satan; I am not Job!” LOL. Well, I guess God finally called my bluff because before I knew it, I was in a Job season like never before. Every month got worse and worse – less money, more debt. Yet, I am working my ass off seeing more clients than I care to because new clients continue to be referred. Which led to my next conversation with God.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"> <i>I am not sure what’s going on up there, Lord, but I am drowning down here.</i><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><i>You ask me to show </i><i>up every day and answer the calling you put on my life. </i><i>And I do it willingly and with joy in </i><i>my heart. I pour out to people every single day of my life while very little gets poured back in. </i><i><span>So, what </span>would You have me do, Lord? I cannot work any more hours than I already work. I </i><i>cannot make any more money than I already make because I don’t have time to write books </i><i>or facilitate workshops much less have the money to finance anything like that. You have not yet </i><i>blessed me with a Godly husband and I cannot afford to take time off to rejuvenate. How am I supposed to be fully present with those You send my way if I am consumed with worry about </i><i>my own financial demise? So, I am at Your mercy. You’ve got me hemmed up and held </i><i>hostage because You know I cannot make a move without You. I’ve applied to jobs; You </i><i>have said, “No.” So, I am just not sure what to do, Lord. I cannot pour from an empty vessel. </i><i>And I cannot live on Earth without enough money to pay my bills! Please help me, Lord God </i><i>– not just to pay my bills but to have a cushion so I feel safe and financially secure, please!! </i></div></blockquote><div>And then there were crickets… no answer, not one sound. It was like I was on call block and my messages were not getting through. As children, we learn that when you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all. So, that’s what I did. I didn’t cuss. I didn’t fuss. I asked for prayer for my finances. I repented for not being a good steward of my money (e.g., Walmart and Amazon). And I conceded that God’s will would be done, not mine. I can’t say that I was afraid or even angry – just numb, really. I didn’t understand why God was not talking to me and allowing me to drown financially. </div><div><br /></div><div>One day, as I was looking in the backyard, I saw all the things I’d bought to set up a prayer space to spend time with God – a task He’d given me at the first of the year. I kept saying I’d get to it but as of the summertime, I still had not done it. Bill collectors were calling daily. Threats of foreclosure were coming in the mail. My house was getting cluttered and messy because I was not motivated to do anything beyond show up for work. The only choice I felt I had was to have faith. Faith and fear require the same amount of energy and they both require that you believe in something not seen. Fear was not going to help my situation; so, faith it was. I would just have to Forward All Issues To Heaven (FAITH). </div><div><br /></div><div>And still, the money was not coming like I needed. Imagine, for example, going from $3,000 deposits, making almost $10,000 per month to $300 deposits, making only about $4,000 per month. It’s not a sustainable budget when your mortgage goes from $1500 to $3000! You feel me?! </div><div><br /></div><div>In August, I started creating my “sanctuary.” With my friend Mary’s help, we cleared a path through the thicket in my backyard, found an open area, built a platform, and set up a tent. I decorated the tent with purple carpets and lights and furnished it with a desk/coffee table, floor chair, and pillows. I surrounded the outside with rocks that have random scriptures etched on them and placed a beautiful angel outside to guard each side of the door. And by September, I had a private place to go and be with God – to pray, meditate, listen, study, and worship. </div><div><br /></div><div>During this time, a good friend, and soror, told me I should contact the Georgia Mortgage Assistance Program (GMAP). So, I did. As soon as my sanctuary was complete, I received a message from GMAP saying they were going to pay off my past due balance plus three extra months ahead to help me get back on my feet! Then, enough money showed up for me to catch up on my car note; so, the repossession process stopped as well. Praise God from whom all blessings flow!!! I thought I had survived my Job season and was headed toward restoration like Job! </div><div><br /></div><div>But that’s not what happened. You probably thought you were going to get a huge praise report about how God restored all that I had lost, and more, like He did for Job. Well, that is not what has happened so far. He saved my house, and He saved my car. Absolutely! And I am beyond grateful for His grace. Yet, I am still left wondering how I am going to pay a $3000 mortgage in January, how I am ever going to get caught up, and if I am going to be facing the same stress next year. </div><div><br /></div><div>As much as I know God does not need my help, I am human. So, I’ve played the lottery – just $2 here and there, applied for over 50 full-time jobs with a steady paycheck and benefits, applied for grants, tried to collect balances owed to me from clients, and even drafted an awesome workshop I’d like to facilitate next year – all to “give God a way to bless me financially.” LOL. It sounds crazy I know but I just don’t believe the kind of money I’m asking for is just going to show up in my bank account or be given to me by a random stranger. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am not asking to become a millionaire. But I am asking God to make me debt-free, and a million dollars would do just that. I could pay off my house, student loans, credit cards, people I owe, utilities, and my car and once again have a clean slate. Being debt-free is a freedom like no other and I have been there ONCE in my life. And I want that feeling back – where I can just take a full breath, knowing my bills are paid and will continue to be paid, and thanking God for more than provision. God knows my heart is not selfish. I also want to be able to help my clients when I can. I like to send books and things that I believe will help them, if they cannot afford, or would not think to purchase them. I have sent many different things to clients, including, but not limited to, MCAT study books, fidget gadgets, nail polish, cards, tea, dammit dolls, travel books, plane tickets, etc. And I feel powerless to help beyond sitting in my therapy chair these days. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, why did I write this blog post today? I write whatever is on my mind, first of all. I hadn’t written anything all year. I needed to vent, confess, repent, and praise God publicly for all He has done for me. And I wanted to let you all know what JOY is. Because despite everything I have suffered through this year - my credit tanking, my bank account still being incredibly low, and no idea about what money, if any, will come anytime soon, I want for nothing! I have so much for which to be grateful and my heart and spirit are filled with JOY! I love the Lord. He hears my cry. And I thank Him that I can: </div><blockquote><div>• Walk
• Talk
• See
• Hear
• Read
• Write
• Comprehend
• Breathe on my own
• Feed myself • Bathe myself
• Dress myself
• Toilet myself
• Feel people hug me
• Shepherd His sheep </div></blockquote><div></div><div>And that I have: </div><blockquote><div>• A personal relationship with Him
• His grace
• His mercy
• His Word • A cherished Bible study group • A sanctuary
• Food
• Clothes
• Shelter
• A good education
• A career I love
• Some money in the bank
• Friends
• Family
• Love
• Laughter
• Twin Frenchies
• A horse
• A car
• Hopes • Dreams
• Ambition
• Faith
• Creativity
• Health
• Strength
• Wisdom and
• A life, filled with opportunities, that He did not allow me to end! </div></blockquote><div>That is JOY!!! Happiness takes a lot for some people, and they still don’t achieve it. My mom always said, “The less it takes to make you happy, the happier you will be.” How true! Because at the end of the day, tangible things never really fill that void completely. Tangible things cannot speak God’s peace into your spirit, pray for you, or comfort you when you are disparaged. Happiness is circumstantial. It can be ruined at the drop of a hat. And it doesn’t require you to go too deep or to be vulnerable. But JOY is something we must consciously and intentionally choose to create for ourselves. Joy lives deep within and can be tapped into even in your darkest hour. Joy comes from grace – the grace that we show ourselves, the grace we show others, and the grace God shows us each day that we wake. </div><div><br /></div><div>Research has shown that increasing positive emotions like joy, contentment, and enthusiasm, helps reduce stress acutely and may also protect our health long-term. Researchers recommend we engage in activities we enjoy, build strong relationships, walk away from drama, exercise, rest, and find a therapist to help us process stress. Clinically, professionally, and personally, I concur with all the above. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, my wish for all who read this is to create true JOY in your life in 2024 by prioritizing the truly lasting, important things in life – some of which, and whom, we take for granted daily. Make connections. Make memories. Open your heart and mind to EXPERIENCE life fully with no regrets. Don’t wait for “someday” because tomorrow is not promised to any of us. Create JOY however you want to – check off your bucket list, renew an old friendship, learn a new hobby or language, etc. - today and every day in the future! </div><div><br /></div><div>Other than God’s, you don’t need anyone’s permission, approval, or provision to do you, Boo!</div>Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-86430995747535746222022-11-26T22:42:00.012-05:002022-11-26T23:59:54.963-05:00 If I Could Turn Back Time<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Do you ever think to yourself: “Geez, if I could turn back time…” or “If I could have a do-over knowing then what I know now…”? What would you change and why? How would your life look? Would you be who you are today if you went back and made changes?</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">If I could turn back time, I would definitely have a different life than I do today.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I would’ve had the same parents, but they would be more emotionally available and speak my love languages. Maybe I would listen to them more. Maybe I wouldn’t have given my dad the phone when his mistress called our house. Then, my mom wouldn’t have gotten mad at me even though I was just a kid and had no idea my family was being torn apart.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I would’ve visited my grandmother when she asked me to instead of choosing to cheer instead. Had I known I’d never get the chance to see her again, I would’ve gone to visit and not put it off. Losing her definitely hurt more than not cheering at a football game would have.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I would’ve paid more attention and asked more questions when my parents were getting divorced. Then, I would’ve known that my dad loved me and fought for me to be with him. And had I known that, I wouldn’t have been so promiscuous. I wouldn’t have had the need because I wouldn’t have had the void to fill. Growing up, I almost always based my worth on how my dad saw me, or what he thought of me, until I learned better.<span> </span>But knowing how much my dad loved me would’ve helped me love myself and demand the same from others. I wouldn’t have become a rescuer or an emotional chaser. I probably would’ve been more focused on school & trying to be as smart and successful as my dad. Perhaps I wouldn’t have felt the need to sacrifice so much to prove that I am lovable only to get hurt time & time again.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">If I could turn back time, I would have put much more time & effort into playing soccer [competitively]; at least for a scholarship. Not that I’d have forfeited my academic scholarships but maybe I’d have had both.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I would’ve gone to the University of Alaska like I wanted so I wouldn’t have had to come home and deal with life. I would have majored in nursing perhaps or maybe stayed on the pre-med course. I definitely still think I’d have ended up in health care. Had I not gone to Simmons, though, I never would’ve met my friend Leah or my mentor, Francine. I never would have met Pam or Ellie while running a “lifers” group at Framingham WCI. I doubt if I would’ve embraced my power as a woman as I did at Simmons. Or maybe I would’ve chosen Barnard or Wellesley. Things would’ve been different, most definitely, but not necessarily better.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Had I chosen a<span> </span>different college, maybe I wouldn’t have been raped the 1<sup>st</sup> time at that abandoned house after riding the T (Boston public transportation) alone. Then, maybe I’d never have had to move home and go to UGA where I was raped [again] by two bastards who claimed to be my friends. Maybe I would be able to enjoy sex without being afraid or anxious. Maybe I wouldn’t believe that men feel entitled to fuck me, suck me, and touch me just because I’m “fine as hell” or “beautiful” or “sexy;” and hate them for it. I don’t know but maybe. I know I wouldn’t be able to replay that night in my head 33 years later because it would never have happened.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">If I’d gotten an actual usable degree, maybe I wouldn’t have had a nervous breakdown because I hated myself, my life, and my first job so damn much. Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up spending 30 days in the mental hospital after trying to kill myself for the 3<sup>rd</sup> time. But then again, that’s where I found my worth & my purpose – on that [East] Indian nurse’s lap one night as she rocked me and told me “everything is going to be okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">If I could do life over, I hope that I would learn my worth a lot earlier in life. I hope I would’ve learned to value myself even when no one else did. Then, I wouldn’t have settled for all the schmucks I’ve dated in my life – the cheaters, liars, freaks, abusers, emotionally immature & unavailable. Maybe I would’ve picked a good man and had a happy 20+ year marriage. I definitely would’ve been more cognizant of character over looks. Money over minds. Reality over potential. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I doubt if I’d be self-employed if I did life over again. It’s just too hard as much as it is freeing. You really need a solid support system to maintain a comfortable, secure self-employed life; a second income [with benefits] wouldn’t hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I definitely would’ve learned a helluva lot more about money & credit!! I would’ve been a penny-pinching miser and held onto every dime I made or received. I would’ve paid cash for everything or maybe gotten ONE credit card, used it ONE time, and then paid it off just so I could have perfect credit [as an adult]. But I would have <b>plenty</b> in the bank for a rainy day. I would’ve saved up until I could buy a house built from the ground up to all my “short girl” specifications.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I would not have children. I would not get married [to the two men I chose]. I would work out more so I could still be sexy at 52 and full of energy. I would find my own spiritual path as well. The older I get, the more I question this “God” in whom we believe. The teachings don’t make sense when you really think about it. We signed up to suffer [here on Earth] and have abundant life [in Heaven]. Is that the reward for living in Hell on Earth? Abundant life when you are no longer alive? I’m still wrestling with that one daily. If I could turn back time, I would read about and study different religions and different forms of spirituality to see what made sense and what felt right in my spirit instead of just accepting what I was taught without questioning any of it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">At first, I thought I would’ve wanted my parents to stay together so as not to face the trauma of my dad walking out. But then, I realized, I just would’ve wanted things to have happened a different way. My parents would not have had a happy marriage if they were still together. So it wouldn’t have been the best thing. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">There are so many things I would do differently if I had it to do over again. I can’t say that any of it would make me happy though. The two most important things that would make me happy, I either cannot have or are out of my control. So, even if I went back in time, I couldn’t change those things.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I would marry my soulmate, my twin flame, the love of my life [if he was who he is today]. I would love him to life and live happily ever after for the rest of our days. Had he been my husband all along, my daughter would not be strung out on drugs because she actually listened to him. But, again, I would not choose to have children if I had a chance to do life over again. I would prefer being free and wealthy! Back then, however, my soulmate may have destroyed me because of who he was and what he was going through. I couldn’t change him going back to do my life over again – he would be the same. I may have believed I could love him enough to make his life great but that is never the truth for anyone. I probably would have died trying though.<span> </span>So, maybe that wouldn’t be the best thing ether. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">So many things I wish were different. Different family. Different experiences. Different financial structure and knowledge. Different level of street sense and practical knowledge. Different spiritual base. Different friends. Different men. Different life. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my life as it is for the most part. It is what it is. I can’t go back in time. I can’t unring any bells. I can’t take away any pain I’ve suffered. I can’t change any bad decisions or regrets. I cannot change what I was taught as a child. I cannot change the bad or the good because it is in the past. It’s done.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">All those things have made me who I am today. And yet, as proud as I am of my journey and the woman I have become, I am still haunted by the whispers of:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">never being chosen<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">never being good enough<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">never finding anyone to love me as deeply & selflessly as I love them<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">never being more than financially secure but comfortable<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">never being debt free [again]<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">never being carefree and happy-go-lucky with nothing about which to stress<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">And in the darkest places of my soul, despite how hard I work to create joy and have peace in my life, I still think to myself:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">If I could turn back time, if I could have a do-over, I would have made damn sure to cut my wrists vertically rather than horizontally to make damn sure my first suicide attempt had been successful. Then I wouldn’t have to think of any it because the last 36 years would not have happened. The only pain I would have suffered would have been my father leaving. No other pain, sorrow, sadness, or letdowns would have happened.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">But I know that is not really an option. I cannot go back; only forward. So, what am I going to do differently to make my life better for me? How am I going to breathe life into myself? How am I going to get financially comfortable? How am I going to love myself [more] and [continue to] create joy in my life on a daily basis? For what am I going to hold myself accountable? How am I going to be truly okay with being alone and not being chosen? It’s all up to me because I am responsible for creating my legacy and fulfilling my destiny! Just me! There is no one at whom I can point fingers or on whom I can place blame for my life circumstances. I can have better if I put in the effort. The choice is mine. There is no failure unless I QUIT!<o:p></o:p></span></p><div><style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style></div>Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-62726628259448331952022-04-11T21:13:00.000-04:002022-04-11T21:13:18.532-04:00My Therapist’s Cape Is at the Cleaners<p><i style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px;">“… From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and to whom they entrusted much, of him they will ask all the more.” Luke 12:48 (AMP)<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>“You don’t lead by hitting people over the head – that’s assault not leadership.” Dwight D. Eisenhower<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Being a therapist comes with much responsibility. It is a duty in which people entrust you with their most vulnerable thoughts and feelings. Our clients look to us to lead them through darkness and confusion into the light of knowing. At times, I believe our clients think we just sit around waiting to do therapy all day – ready to answer at their beck and call. Or maybe that is the expectation I have created for my clients – because I genuinely care about them, their feelings, and their lives. Unfortunately, I think our clients forget that we are human and have lives of our own. And our lives are not perfect because we are therapists.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We don’t really wear a superhero cape. We don’t have all the answers. We don’t know everything. We try our best to guide our clients in the best way for them. But sometimes, our lives have us living in chaos, hurt, fear, anxiety, confusion, and impostor syndrome too. Sometimes we feel unlovable, defeated, broken, tired, emotionally drained, and hopeless too. We go to therapy for our personal issues so that we have room in our psyche to help our clients process theirs. Some have a foundation of faith on which we rely to comfort us through some of the roughest times. But just like I tell my clients, “The Teacher is always silent during a test.” So, we pray and search for answers just like you. We cry. We hurt. We quit. We yell. We cuss. We fuss. We get angry. We get overwhelmed. Just like you.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Unlike you, however, we have to deal with our shit WHILE continuing to see clients. Because those of us in private practice, don’t earn a living when we don’t see clients. While money is not the motivator for me, I have come to learn that it is necessary to survive here on Earth. And I have also tried to explain this concept to God. We need money, not manna, on which to live down here. So, imagine this:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">You are the one that all your friends and family come to in order to “run something by you” or “get your opinion” or “just vent.” And they start talking before ever asking how you’re doing or if you even have time to talk. They have no idea that:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><ul class="ul1"><li class="li3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1.8px;">your paycheck has been jacked up over the last few pay periods,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></li><li class="li3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1.8px;">you have no significant savings because you’ve been trying to make ends meet,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></li><li class="li3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1.8px;">your significant other, whom you help in any way you can, just told you they don’t really love you but have fallen in love with someone else & want to have an open relationship,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></li><li class="li3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1.8px;">your youngest child just got diagnosed with asthma & will need daily breathing treatments,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></li><li class="li3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1.8px;">your oldest child was caught lighting fires in the school bathroom and has been suspended pending a psychological evaluation,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></li><li class="li2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">your father is battling cancer,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></li><li class="li3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1.8px;">your kitchen floor is buckling for some unknown reason,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></li><li class="li3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1.8px;">your dog had to have emergency surgery that cost you $2500,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></li><li class="li3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1.8px;">your wages may be garnished by the IRS,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></li><li class="li3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1.8px;">you haven’t been able to work out for your normal stress relief because of a knee injury,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></li><li class="li3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1.8px;">you can’t get a doctor’s appointment until next month and even then, you still must meet your deductible,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></li><li class="li3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1.8px;">your car needs to be washed from when your friend got sick out the window on the way to urgent care,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></li><li class="li3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1.8px;">your bills are due for both your house AND your office,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> and</span></li><li class="li2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">you have no available sick leave or vacation time to just take a break from it all.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></li></ul><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">And after you finish running through this list in your head, the person, to whom you are supposed to be listening, is STILL TALKING. So, you try to stay present with a smile on your face, hear them out, offer what you can, and head home. To what? More chaos. More problems. After you’ve put out the fires at home, you are dead tired. There’s no time to even think about how you are going to pay the bills with no more money coming in for weeks. There is no time to figure out how you feel about your significant other, much less, having an open relationship. You try to sleep but your knee keeps you from getting really comfortable. Your significant other is not next to you so there’s that thought again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">What do you do? It’s almost 2:00AM and you forgot to call your therapist to make an appointment. Your friends are all asleep at this hour. You try to pray but it’s the same prayer you’ve prayed a thousand times, “I need help, Lord. I need a financial blessing. I need healing. I need peace in my life. I need a vacation. I feel like I’m drowning. Help me, Lord.” So, you cry into your pillow until you fall asleep only to hear the damn alarm clock go off four hours later. It's 6:00AM and you’ve got to face another day.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Now put yourself in the role of your therapist. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe they didn’t return your call because their kid was having an asthma attack? Have you ever thought maybe the reason they didn’t get your paperwork out early was because they had to bury a family member? Have you ever thought that the reason they cannot “fit you in this week” is because they are already booked and need to have time to eat at some point during the day? What are your therapist’s off days? Do you know? If you know them, why would you text, call, or email them on those days, much less, expect a response? If you don’t know them, you should find out because we need our personal time too. Have you ever thought to yourself, “Gee, I hope my therapist is okay” when they are late, don’t show, or have to cancel an appointment? Or do you just get annoyed or angry?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">What I’m saying is going to be hard for some people to hear but I always speak my truth from a place of love and respect for what I do. All my clients know, and love, that about me. Here it is with no sugar coating:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><br /></b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>LIFE IS NOT ALWAYS ABOUT YOU EVEN WHEN IT IS YOUR SCHEDULED APPOINTMENT TIME!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Anything could be going on. Your therapist could’ve gotten sick or fallen and hit their head. They could be talking to a suicidal client or their father’s oncologist. Their dog may have just pooped right in the middle of the floor. Their significant other could’ve just walked out. Maybe they were taking some Tylenol to combat a headache so they could go ahead and talk to you. Maybe they were taking a breathing treatment for their own asthma. Maybe their kid didn’t get off the bus. Maybe they had a flat tire. Maybe they stopped to help a neighbor. Or, maybe, they are just human and running late or forgot or fell asleep from exhaustion. Shit happens – even to your therapist. So, here is my challenge to you:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><i>Care about your therapist as much as you want them to care about you – human being to human being - and realize that sometimes our capes are at the cleaners.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i></b></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11.5px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Thank you to all my clients who check on me, show me grace, give me the benefit of the doubt, send cards, pray for me, and encourage me to take time off. Thank you for your forgiveness when I fall short and for reminding me that it is okay for me to be human too sometimes. You may never know how much your caring gestures mean to me. Many a time a message from a client – “just checking on you,” “I appreciate you,” “praying for you, Dr. G,” etc. – has kept me from walking away from private practice to go get a job as a night stocker at Kroger.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> 😉</span></p>Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-76311459814922455942021-10-10T23:16:00.002-04:002021-10-10T23:42:27.416-04:00A Suicide Note Like No Other<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">People who lose a loved one to suicide are often left in shock and wondering, "What were they thinking?!" As a suicide survivor, I try to help people understand the darkness in which we live when are at the point of wanting to end it all. More often than not, there is no suicide note left. And if there is a note, it can often leave more questions than answers. I wanted to share this suicide note because I felt it explains the nuances, and misperceptions, of a depressed person's thoughts and feelings. It also debunks the myth that, as therapists, we do not have issues of our own. It also speaks, compassionately, to the family members and friends left behind, in an attempt to genuinely ease their pain. Typically, when we have gone that deep into the vortex, we are not thinking about anyone but ourselves. So, this is definitely a note like no other. I have done my absolute best to remove all identifying elements out of compassion for both the victim and the family. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><b style="text-align: left;">THIS IS NOT TO CONDONE OR ENCOURAGE SUICIDE BUT TO OFFER A BETTER UNDERSTANDING OF THE BEFORE, DURING, AND AFTER OF THIS TRAGIC DECISION.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Today is Saturday, October 9th at 7:21PM. I am writing the following memo/letter under </span><b style="text-align: left;">NO DURESS</b><span style="text-align: left;"> of any kind. I am </span><b style="text-align: left;">not</b><span style="text-align: left;"> under the influence of alcohol, recreational drugs, or prescription medications. I have thought about my decision constantly over the last 4-5 days. In fact, I have thought of nothing else really. I am not making an emotionally warped or overly sensitive decision. I know that suicide is a “permanent solution to a temporary problem.” But that is what I want: </span><i style="text-align: left;">a permanent solution</i><span style="text-align: left;">. I have suffered from depression since my teens and have survived multiple previous suicide attempts. So, I know, clearly, what I am doing and why I am doing it. At no point, following a failed suicide attempt, did everything become okay. I was never happy to still be alive; I simply conceded that living in Hell on Earth was my fate. I believe in God and His almighty power. I pray daily and I try to be obedient to God’s calling on my life. But in my humanness, it has simply become too much; I am exhausted. I am tired of giving all I have to other people and rarely feeling like my tank is full. I am not a disciple; I am not Job. I cannot live on the bare minimum and continue to follow God. I would lose the very house with which He blessed me. I live on Earth; I have bills to pay. I’m tired of working hours on end only to still be wondering, at the end of the month, if I will have enough money to pay my bills. I’m tired of not having a sincere life partner who can uplift, encourage, and pour into me the way I do for others. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I have asked God for His help, His mercy, His grace, and for some reprieve in both these areas and have been met with nothing. So, it’s not that I irrationally felt like there were no other options to solve my problems. I did everything I could humanly do to keep going and keep giving. I tried to get a full-time job, with benefits, to supplement my income. I have worked extra part-time jobs to sustain my income – never asking for a free handout. God said NO. I’ve dated. I have loved and not been loved back. I’ve married. I’ve divorced. Ultimately, God said NO to a life partner – leaving me to walk this journey alone. Please know that I have tried other options. I even went back to school </span><i style="text-align: left;">again</i><span style="text-align: left;"> to boost the earning potential for my business. Couldn’t get that done either. So, all options, including continued suffering, have been addressed and/or attempted. I am just beyond tired of living life like this. Therefore, this is a conscious, intentional decision on my part. This was not an accident. This was not foul play. I made the decision this morning. I ordered the cinder blocks, rope, and zip ties. I paid for the order. I picked up the order. I tied the knots. I restrained myself. And I slid under the water in the deep end of the pool. No one pushed me. No one saw me – I made sure of that. This was all my doing. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I am sorry for the pain this has caused all of you. It could not be avoided. So many times, I have sacrificed my feelings for others. This time, I want PEACE; so, today I choose myself. I’m sorry if that means that others must hurt. You will heal and, eventually, go on with your lives. It may sound callous, but it is true. I’m not doing this, well, I didn’t do this, to be spiteful or vengeful. I didn’t do this looking for attention.
It wasn’t just one thing that made me choose death. It’s been years and years of shit piling up inside. Don’t get me wrong – I have a GOOD life overall – if you base it on success, education, and material things. But the internal pain never seems to end – the pain of failure, the pain of hitting the wall and never getting any further, the pain of abandonment, the pain of dreams that never came to fruition, the pain of faith met with silence and broken promises, the pain of never feeling like you’re doing enough to deserve to “stop treading water and get in the boat.” </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I can’t help but think that if I’d succeeded in my last suicide attempt, a few decades ago, so much bullshit could’ve been avoided:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• I would not have struggled for the past few decades.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• I would not have experienced so many heartbreaks.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• I would not have had a kid in the streets doing God knows what. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• I would not have had grandchildren suffering the trauma of abandonment.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• I would not have experienced any more sadness. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> <span> </span></span>• I would not feel like I sacrifice everything for no equal return of time or effort. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• I would not be exhausted from answering God’s calling – which requires you to give all you have and <span> </span><span> </span>then some [expecting nothing in return].</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• I would not have more than one ex-husband who didn’t appreciate anything about me except what I <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>could do for him. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> <span> </span></span>• I would not have had any financial stress. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• I would have had no more hopes dashed or prayers unanswered. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• I would not feel like I will never be good enough for God to cut me some slack. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• I would not have had to hear my mother admit that she doesn’t like me. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• I would not have wasted time believing that God might reward me for being obedient. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Now, don’t get me wrong. </span><b style="text-align: left;">I am no saint!</b><span style="text-align: left;"> I’m the first to admit that I was mean, hateful, judgmental, immoral, pottymouthed, and just plain cold at times throughout my life. I smoked weed and drank alcohol. I was not a criminal and I did not violate anyone’s civil rights, but I was no saint. On the same token, I am not an awful person for choosing suicide either. While you have every right to be angry, </span><b style="text-align: left;">you do not have the right to judge me</b><span style="text-align: left;"> and how I chose to deal with my pain. You have not lived my experience, do not know my struggle or the battles I’ve fought; you certainly do not know how hard it is to choose to die. If you think that’s an easy, or cowardly, decision, you are very wrong. I’m grateful that you do not know how it feels to want to die. It’s a dark, empty, hollow space where, no matter how loud you scream, no one can hear you. And you feel like no one would care if they did hear you. I cried out, constantly, to God; begging Him to just let me “get in the boat,” to “stop treading water,” to rest for just a little while – not forever but just for a little while. And His answer was always NO. I loved God. I believed in His almighty power. I saw Him breathe life into an infant who was born dead. I know He can work miracles. My relationship with Him was extremely personal and I could hear Him as though He was sitting right next to me. I heard His calling on my life and I answered – not knowing that it would require me to sacrifice everything I had inside for the sake of others. I believed God would keep my tank full so I could pour out freely to feed His sheep. I believed God would calm my greatest fear – being broke – so I could focus on my work for Him. But he did neither. I felt like God wanted me to follow Him like a disciple – walking away from everything, and everyone, I knew and depending solely on Him. I’m not built that way. That’s just not me and I always reminded Him that I couldn’t stand up to the tests which Job endured. Whereas the widow’s flour and oil never ran out, my money often did – or I would have just enough to pay the bills, but nothing left over for self-care. I kept reminding God that I felt like I was dying from the inside out. I kept warning Him that I was reaching my breaking point – that I was running on fumes – and that I needed His help in a critical, and miraculous, way. I loved my work, and the work God did through me. I would have done therapy for free if I could have. I did do pro bono work and volunteered my time through my non-profit to give back. But one cannot live on good vibes and fulfillment alone. On Earth, it requires money, safety, security, and good credit. It wore on me - giving my all, but still having no guarantee that I would be able to pay my bills each month, being unable to afford health insurance, and having no financial cushion for emergencies. I was tired of “just getting by.” I worked for nearly 40 years and saw no way I’d ever be able to retire. Because I wasn't a fast enough runner, my military career was cut short less than five years shy of retirement. And yes, I even played the lottery too. I just wanted to feel the stability and confidence of financial security. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><b style="text-align: left;"><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"></span><b style="text-align: left;">This is no one’s fault. None of you are responsible for my choice. You are not responsible for my depression. You are not responsible for my suicide in any way, shape, or form. I promise. I am not blaming anyone for my life experiences.</b><span style="text-align: left;"> Like I said before, I had a good life, but it was never great; I just got tired of mediocre - especially as I watched misogynistic narcissists, like Donald Trump, make more and more money and achieve more and more success. That was a slap in the face to all us veterans who risked our lives for these United States and our motto – E Pluribus Unum (out of many, ONE). And that bastard is staging his comeback! So, if I didn’t end things today, I would have done it on election day when Trump gets back in office! I could not live through that nightmarish buffoonery again! </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">You didn’t see this coming because I didn’t allow you to see it coming. I didn’t say anything before I did it because I didn’t want to be stopped. Nor did I want to have to try to justify my actions. There is nothing you could, or should, have done to change this outcome. So, don’t woulda, shoulda, coulda yourselves to death. There is nothing you could have, would have, or should have done to change my mind. Even if you’d found a way to stop me, I would not have been okay. Each unsuccessful attempt left me sad and angry that I would have to continue to live. I was not grateful to be alive; I simply conceded defeat as I said earlier. I begrudgingly kept moving forward because, as Andy Dufresne said, in </span><i style="text-align: left;">The Shawshank Redemption</i><span style="text-align: left;">, I had to “get busy living or get busy dying.” I chose the former as long as I could; now, I choose the latter. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I know this would not be the choice any of you would make; it is the choice, however, I’m making. And even through “understanding,” I know this will be hard to accept. You may hear, or read, things like, “the primary goal of suicide is not to end life but to end the pain.” That is </span><b style="text-align: left;">not</b><span style="text-align: left;"> what this was. I have </span><i style="text-align: left;">never</i><span style="text-align: left;"> been able to end the pain – not completely – but I can end my life and that is what I have chosen to do. I know you will be angry. Again, you have every right to be. I, admittedly, made this decision knowing the incredible pain it would cause. But I did not make it </span><b style="text-align: left;">to cause you pain</b><span style="text-align: left;">. I made it to stop my own. Often, people feel guilty after a loved one has completed suicide; guilt is often misplaced anger or anger inappropriately directed inward. I would not ever tell you how to feel or what not to feel. However, try not to place your anger where it doesn’t belong. Place it all on me because I am the one with whom you are angry. It’s my decision at which you are angry. You would’ve wanted, or even expected me to make a different choice. I know; I’m sorry. I accept your anger and I understand. Your anger is normal, and it does not mean that you love me any less. And even if you don’t feel bad, or are relieved somehow, that’s okay too. Not everybody liked me, and I know that. I was okay with it then and still am now. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I am truly, truly sorry for the time it will take you to grieve and to heal. I have tried to answer all the questions you might have so you can at least skip the confusion, misdirected guilt, and anger. </span><b style="text-align: left;">Your life MUST go on!!!</b><span style="text-align: left;"> You are still here and still enjoying your life! And I am happy for you. I find comfort in knowing that you all have people on whom you can lean for support and love during this time. I want you to live your best life! I am no longer hurting so I got what I wanted. And as crazy as it may sound, I hope, one day, you can forgive me and be happy for me that I finally found peace. </span><i style="text-align: left;">How do you know, concretely, that I didn’t?</i><span style="text-align: left;"> I know forgiveness and joy may be a long time coming; I hope, eventually, you will be able to accept that I did what I believed was the best decision for me – whether you agree or not. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Let me reiterate, one more time:
</span><b style="text-align: left;">I AM THE ONLY ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR MY DEATH – JUST ME – IT WAS MY CHOICE – MY DECISION – MY ACTIONS – THAT ENDED MY LIFE. THERE IS NOTHING ANYONE COULD HAVE DONE TO CHANGE THE OUTCOME EXCEPT MAYBE GOD.</b><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">But don’t be mad at Him either. I had a good therapist. I was a good therapist. I took my medications as prescribed. This was not a fluke or a rash decision. I thought about it for days before executing. I made the final decision; ordered, paid for, and picked up all the necessary supplies. I restrained myself and I slid under the water.
I realize mental health and suicide are still stigmatized in our community. And it may have an even deeper meaning, to some, because of my profession. I encourage you to avoid negative, ignorant people who don’t understand or are insensitive. People will always have their opinions. But as they say, “Opinions are like assholes. Everybody’s got one and some of them stink.” You do not have to give any asinine people, or comments, the power to upset you, especially if they did not know me or our family. There is nothing wrong with our family because of what I did. Nobody failed me. I hope my colleagues, and my clients, will realize that therapists are HUMAN. We hurt. We break. We cry. We struggle to think positively. We battle the volume of the same gremlins in our head that our clients do sometimes. We reach our limits and our capacity too. We are not supernatural beings nor superheroes. We are certainly not perfect. Nor were we granted a counseling license because we had all our shit together and had figured out all the answers to the test. People are people before they are any title or role. As much as I loved what I did, I got tired of people always needing me and rarely respecting the fact that I needed rest, love, quiet time, and space to deal with my own shit. That may have been partially my fault, though, for caring so much; and therefore, making myself available more than I probably should have. I always tried to be the kind of therapist I would have wanted to have though. I was proud of that. I still advocate for every therapist to have a therapist by the way. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Speaking of therapy, I have left you all with some therapeutic resources that I hope will be helpful to you. I have left for you: </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• a guide for surviving the suicide of a loved one from the Academy of Suicidology, </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• a list of local support groups and other organizations available to help you, from SOSGA, as well as, </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>• a guide for how to tell children and teens about the suicide of a loved one from NAMI </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">because I know I have a niece, nephews, and grandchildren that must be told of my death. I am terribly, terribly sorry to my brother and sister-in-love, for leaving you with this tragedy to explain. I wish it could’ve been avoided. I really do. And while I believe heaven is real, I don’t know where I’ll be in the afterlife. But if I can find a way to let you know, I will. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I love you guys!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">There will be a Part 2, and maybe a Part 3, to this post as I share the thoughts, feelings, and experiences of the next day. We often get stuck in the grief and offering our condolences - not realizing that those left behind experience many different, confusing emotions. What a gift you can give them if you can learn to provide a safe space in which they can talk about the things they are feeling. Because they do have to figure out how to go on with their lives at some point.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><b>THIS IS NOT TO CONDONE OR ENCOURAGE SUICIDE BUT TO OFFER A BETTER UNDERSTANDING OF THE BEFORE, DURING, AND AFTER OF THIS TRAGIC DECISION.</b></span></div>Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-37198989599205969182021-07-22T00:04:00.000-04:002021-07-22T20:33:42.358-04:00Triggering the Inner Child<p>Picture this:</p><p>A 13-year-old girl, whom we will call Lynda, is in her bedroom doing homework on a rainy night in Georgia. She hears her parents arguing loudly, which is not something she has heard before. She doesn’t know what they are saying but she can tell that her mother is crying. Finally, Lynda opens her door only to see her mom on the floor holding on to her dad’s ankle begging, “Please don’t do this,” as he drags her along the hardwood floors; continuing to walk towards the front of the house. Lynda closes her bedroom door and tries to go back to doing her homework despite being confused and a little nervous about what she’d witnessed with her parents. Her parents had been together 15 years and had never argued like this. So, life was good, wasn’t it? Grownups argue. It’s okay. They eventually make up, right? The next sound she hears is the carport door slamming shut. Lynda knows it’s the carport door because the blinds slammed against the window in the door when it was slammed. There’s no more arguing but her mother is wailing. Lynda runs to the window in time to see her daddy sling a garment bag over his shoulder, walk down the driveway, turn left, and go up the street a little way. He throws his bag in the trunk of a black BMW parked on the curb, gets into the passenger seat, and rides away. Lynda was a “Daddy’s Girl” to her heart. Her daddy was her hero, her safe place, her first true love. Lynda’s daddy had just abandoned their family; more importantly, her daddy had just abandoned her. What had she done to make him go away? Why did he not love her anymore? Lynda sat by that window all night waiting for her daddy to return. He had to be coming back, right? He didn’t say goodbye.</p><p>Now, picture that same little girl, 37 years later:</p><p>At 50, Lynda is a twice-divorced, successful mental health professional in private practice. She is living out her purpose daily, feels fulfilled, and has a delightful life overall. No real complaints. Business is booming. Bills are paid. She’s got a fabulous house and plenty of friends. And about 4 months ago, the absolute love of her life, whom she had set free 8 years earlier, returned to her life. So, as the saying goes, “If you love someone, set them free. If they come back to you, they were meant to be yours.” So, life is good, right? One rainy weekend, Lynda and her significant other, whom we will call “Walker,” are excited about a new project they’ve decided to do together. They’re discussing logistics, equipment, and exchanging ideas. Then, a loud argument ensues, seemingly out of nowhere, between she and Walker. He walks out of the room “because he needs to cool off,” Lynda thinks to herself. She continues to brainstorm about the project on which they were working. The next sound she hears is a door [to the outside] slamming. She is slightly startled, because slamming doors have haunted her since she was 13; but she goes back to working on the project. About an hour later, she goes downstairs to check on Walker and he is gone. She checks the bedroom and realizes that his duffle bag is gone too. And her first thought is: “He didn’t say goodbye.” In the subconscious recesses of her psyche, she has learned that when people don’t say goodbye, they are never coming back – they’ve abandoned you. So, 47 years later, the love of her life had slung a bag over his shoulder, slammed the door, and walked out of her life without saying goodbye. Her anger quickly turns into deep hurt. What had she done to make him go away? Why did he not love her anymore? So, Lynda sits down to write an email – apologizing for anything and everything she could think of that she could have possibly done wrong to make Walker leave. She apologized for her expectations. She apologized for pressuring him [if she had]. She apologized for causing him stress, for making him angry, for loving him, for not being enough for him, for asking for too much attention, and the list went on. Lynda reconciled herself to the fact that Walker was out of her life again; and she heard her inner child wailing.</p><p>The mind may compartmentalize memories, but the body remembers trauma. Trauma is defined as the response to a deeply distressing or disturbing event that overwhelms an individual’s ability to cope, causes feelings of helplessness, diminishes their sense of self and their ability to feel a full range of emotions and experiences. While there are no objective criteria to determine which events will affect whom, circumstances typically involve the loss of control, betrayal, abuse of power, helplessness, pain, confusion and/or loss. The event need not rise to the level of war, natural disaster, nor personal assault to affect a person profoundly and alter their experiences. Traumatic situations, and their effects, vary quite dramatically from person to person. The experience of trauma is very subjective; it is defined more by its response than its trigger.</p><p>And a few nights ago, I was Lynda, and my body remembered the stabbing pain of abandonment again. You see, I felt empowered when I divorced my two husbands [for egregious behaviors I could not forgive and would never forget]. As I always say, when you know your worth, you stop giving discounts. And as Maya Angelou suggested, “when people show you who they are, believe them.” So, knowing I deserved better than the men my exes had shown themselves to be, it was not hard to let go and move on. It was not hard because I knew their choices were not about me but rather their lack of conscience; and, admittedly, I was not in love with them. When you are in love with someone, you are them and they are you in a sense – there is no end or beginning – just an incredible existence of connected souls. People often ask me, “Is there really a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone?” And the answer is: Absolutely, yes!!! </p><p>Loving someone is a choice; being in love is not. Loving someone means wanting the best for them; being in love means being intentional about putting them first. Love can end; being in love cannot. Loving a person means always needing them; being in love means there is equality and reciprocity. Loving is a fantastical rush; being in love is figuring things out together and being there for each other. Loving someone is about how the person makes you feel; being in love is about how you make them feel. Loving someone is ownership; being in love is partnership. Loving someone is an uphill battle; being in love is effortless. Loving someone can be affected by circumstances; being in love defies circumstances. Loving someone can be verbally explained; being in love is deeper than words can express.</p><p>My significant other and I have been in love with each other for almost a decade and we’re finally together again. He holds my heart in his hands. I am like a little schoolgirl around him. I don’t feel the need to protect my heart from him because there is mutual love and respect and a renewed commitment to forever. And I did not believe he would ever hurt me again. But a few rainy nights ago, my significant other, like my daddy, had argued loudly, grabbed his bag, slammed the door, and driven away without saying goodbye. And the heartache seemed just as deep as it had 37 years earlier. My inner child was triggered, and I didn’t even realize it.</p><p>We all have an inner child. They helped us get through all the bullshit when we were growing up. They are not malicious; they are not adults either. No, I am not saying that you have multiple personalities. Your inner child is just another part of you. Our inner child represents our emotional age. And biological age and emotional age do not always match. Our emotional growth gets stunted, or stagnated, when we experience trauma whether mild or severe. So, your inner child ends up running your “emotional” life into adulthood quite often. My friends have said to me, “Geez! When you get your feelings hurt, you are like a different person.” To which I respond, “Yeah, she’s six-years-old, has a real quick temper, and sharp tongue. Let me put her back in her room and come back and give you a 51-year-old response.” LOL. My inner child is a pistol – she’s a little bitty thing who stands there with her hands on her hips, ready to roll her eyes [and her neck] as she proceeds to tell you how you are not going to speak to her a certain way or treat her a certain way. The problem is, she says it in such a nasty, biting tone that people may be too offended to hear the message of “stop disrespecting me” or “stop hurting me.”</p><p>Our inner child will jump out and take over, in order to “protect” us, when they feel we are being hurt or are in emotional danger. That is exactly what happened to me. My inner child went into panic mode thinking, “Oh no, we are being abandoned! He grabbed his bag! He slammed the door! He didn’t say goodbye! He’s never coming back! You’ve got to make this right!” Then, I started typing. I hit send on the email and exhaled. I had thrown a Hail Mary in order to get my significant other to see that I could be good, quiet, obedient, not ask for anything, whatever I needed to do for him to love me and not leave me. Are you getting the picture yet?</p><p>Have you done, or said, something only to ask yourself later, “Why did I do/say that?” Ever feel like you could hear yourself saying something, or see yourself doing something, that you knew was out of character, immature, or just plain wrong; but you couldn’t stop? Ever feel like you overreacted when you didn’t mean to – coming out the gate like a racehorse and doing a whole lap around the track, only to realize that that people around you are confused because there was no real race or competition? These are all moments when your inner child has said, “Aw hell, here we go again! Somebody is about to hurt us again. So, let me take over before your adult brain can step in and try to handle all this drama.” Afterwards, you’re left feeling bad about how “you” handled the situation. Well, you didn’t. Your inner child did because they do not understand that grownups argue and make up. They do not understand that there can be resolution and apologies or even agreements to disagree at the end. And that is where many of us live every day we exist – with an emotionally scarred, slightly dysfunctional, but strong and courageous inner child who will allow us to live but will be damned if anyone is going to traumatize us in any way ever again. God love the inner child. Their intentions are admirable, but their execution typically leaves you shaking your head.</p><p>Once you recognize that your inner child is the one who has shown up in a situation, you must shut them down immediately; so, your adult self can get back in control of the situation. Ultimately, you must fire your inner child but that is a three-part process that I will have to address in a separate post.</p><div><br></div>Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-83354737857342767302020-12-07T23:09:00.000-05:002020-12-07T23:09:07.813-05:00A Letter to God<p>Dear God,</p><p>Today, while rested, I still feel tired physically. But my spirit is light and full of joy. I am so amazingly blessed to have everything I both need and want. I live in my dream house. I have a career I absolutely love – working towards having my dream job. I have friends and family who love and support me. I have an amazing dog who wants absolutely nothing from me but love. I have no more leeches, cheaters, liars, or users in my life. I have no need for completion. I am not lonely in, or afraid of, my life as a twice divorced woman. The only thing that would be more freeing is to debt free again; if I win the lottery, I’ll make sure that happens.</p><p>I guess my only question, God, is: if you truly have someone for me, how do I say “NO?” It’s not that I don’t believe in, or trust, You. I do. I do not, however, think anyone in my life would, or even could, love me to the depths, or with the fervor, which I love them. No one will ever be as thoughtful s I am – always thinking of me, wanting the best for me, wanting to ease my burden, or just wanting me to be happy for no other reason than to see me smile. And I’m tired of that – always being the one who is more invested in him and in us – always being the one sacrificing, going out of my way, or being inconvenienced. I give to SO MANY PEOPLE – so many. I just think my focus, my energy, my love, and my care is better in those that need me. That way, I stay responsible for filling my own tank. I don’t get let down or disappointed ever. And I don’t even have to care all the time – only when I’m working. I think that is all the capacity I have right now. </p><p>I don’t need sex or money. I would have to have someone willing to work hard for me – to get my attention – to make me feel loved so that I want to love back. And he doesn’t exist.</p><p>Everyone and anyone can appear selfless in the beginning; it’s rarely, if ever, consistent. And it never lasts – especially if they are not getting anything in return. I just don’t have it to give. I’m thoughtful and kind by nature. I love to laugh. But most of all, I just like to BE – hearing another’s soothing heartbeat, feeling safe enough to let go and relax in his arms, breathing in his scent, feeling the warmth of his skin, feeling his breath on my neck or his fingers in my hair. Feeling like he would never let go if he didn’t have to – being able to just share space with me because I bring him the same wonderfulness he brings me. He would have to be a studied romantic – meaning he would read & research about different, unique ways to be romantic – not just do the easiest or the obvious. He would have to put in EFFORT to make sure I knew the depth of his love for me and not just assume I did. He would have to have passion for more than my body! Don’t get me wrong, he would need to be passionate and adventurous, while also gentle, compassionate, and dominant, during sex. But sex cannot always be the go to! Because what happens if one of us can no longer perform sexually? There MUST be intimacy like no other – where nothing has to held back.</p><p>I used to say my husband did NOT have to be my best friend. After being married & divorced twice and ending up wishing I could talk to my husband, or immediately knowing I would never talk to him about something, I have come to realize that I want, maybe even need, my husband to be my very best friend. And I’m just honestly not sure that men are even capable, anymore, of being good friends first & foremost. Eventually, they all seem to start thinking with their dicks and that becomes their most important damn need – no matter what else is happening in the world.</p><p>Nobody talks anymore. Nobody shares their deepest, most authentic, true self anymore. We’re too afraid that it won’t be good enough. I’m not eye candy to one guy [to whom I would’ve given my whole heart, albeit undeservedly] and I’m hot as hell to another guy because I do “have meat on my bones,” and get this, was NOT wearing heels or being frilly. </p><p>But would either of them know that I miss my daughter and that I am terrified that the next time I see her, she’ll be in a coffin? Would either of them know that I work so hard because I feel the weight of God’s calling on me 24/7/365? Would either of them honor that and bring me dinner or appreciate having a quick cup of coffee with me instead of adding more pressure to my fear of failure by constantly saying, “You never have time for me”? Would either of them know that I feel imposter syndrome just like everybody else at times? Would they realize that I get tired of hearing, “That’s what happens when you’re good at what you do”? Which one would be willing to lay in bed and watch Marvel movies – allowing me to doze off and on and not be frustrated? Some will play golf. Some will not. But none of that matters if they neither know nor understand me.</p><p>Lord, I just don’t see that happening. I don’t believe they genuinely have the desire to know, the willingness to learn, the energy to try, or the selflessness to look outside themselves. I can feel the depths of other people’s souls – the good, the bad, the ugly, and the amazing. But men NEVER EVER seem to see, or feel, that I am an incredible gift from You, Lord, to so many – but to the one with whom You would have me. So, we can move on to something else. Please. I’ve had my fill. I know I’m loved by MANY. I know I am EASY to love. But the risks no longer outweigh the benefits I’m afraid. Can we please just focus on my dream job and making sure that I am always financially secure and able to pay my bills with a cushion left over each month? I don’t need any more trips [currently]. I don’t need anyone to share my space. I just need a steady check (and benefits), from an NFL team, that truly represents my professional value, a beach in my backyard, and a consistent five figure balance in my bank account. You’ve prepared me, as best You can, for Your will in Zari’s life and my Daddy’s life. Somehow I will survive those losses, whenever they come, because I know You will carry me through.</p><p>Thank You, Lord, for all the blessings You have bestowed on me. Thank You for my spiritual gifts. Thank You for trusting me to feed Your sheep. Thank You for allowing me to experience marriage and childbirth. If You never bless me again, Father, I have enough and I am enough simply because I exist. I love You, Lord; and I thank You for loving me too. Thank You for always reminding me that even broken crayons still color!</p><div><br /></div>Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-3296887863988631752020-05-09T00:56:00.003-04:002020-05-09T01:15:19.411-04:00The Sagacious Sting of Accountability<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I honestly believe that most people genuinely try to be
their best selves most of the time. No one is perfect, however, including me.
It doesn’t bother me to fall short of perfection [if I don’t land on mediocre,
or worse, on failure]. In nursing school, I remember one of my classmates
asking why I worked so hard to get A’s – “because C’s get the same degrees,”
she said. I have just always prided myself on doing my best in everything I do –
especially when it comes to how I affect people. My philosophy has always been:
Position does not equal power; power is determined by how you affect people.
So, when I do less than my best for a friend, family member, or client, it
hurts me to my core. I am, admittedly, extremely hard on myself and show myself
very little, if any, compassion when that happens. The only thing that hurts
worse is when someone adds salt to the wound by saying:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>You’re a mental health
professional/psychologist/counselor; you should know better or you should’ve been
able to fix [it].<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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Even worse than that low blow, however, is when the person I
failed must bring said failure to my attention; and I am slapped in the face
with my own accountability. That’s a damn hard pill to swallow! But it happened
recently; and I am still reeling from it because it was an epic fail, in my
opinion, for several reasons:<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I was insensitive and unintentionally dismissive
of a friend’s pain.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I made a bad situation worse for someone for
whom I care deeply.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I was too focused on myself to even ask what he
needed.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I was barreling full steam ahead with my own agenda
– what I thought was best – with absolutely no regard for the effect I was
having on him.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I was blind, deaf, and dumb, initially, when he
called me on it.</span></li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">Once my eyes were open, however, I saw pain, disappointment,
sadness, and something else in his eyes and on his face that said I had failed
him in an epic way. But that look in his eyes, and the “why bother” tone in his
voice, stung like a mother***er! I was overcome with embarrassment,
humiliation, guilt, and shame all at the same time – and yes, they are all
different. I felt embarrassed because I had done something stupid. I felt
humiliated because my friend had called me on it; and he was right. I felt
guilty because I had [done a bad thing] by hurting my friend. I felt shame because
I believed [I was a bad person] because not only had I failed a friend that I
love to death, I had failed myself, and in my opinion, I had failed God by
being an overall shitty person. See. Told you; I don’t show myself compassion
[at least, not the first day].<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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On the opposite end of that spectrum, are the people who are
never responsible for anything in their lives, relationships, or on their job. Everything
is someone else’s fault. Someone “forced” them to make a specific decision (especially
if it was not the best decision). They cannot get ahead in life because they
have the worst luck, or they are the victim of a conspiracy. They are not happy
because no one understands them. They’re broke because “everybody needs them,”
not because they mismanage their money and cannot say “no.” They use drugs, as
an adult, because they grew up with dysfunctional parents in childhood. They abuse
their spouse because their spouse talks too much or doesn’t do anything right.
And the list goes on. They have an excuse for everything that happens in their life,
but it is never because of their oversight, insensitivity, bad decision,
impatience, inability to cope, laziness, etc.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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So, what is it about accountability that either makes people
run from it, like the plague, on one end of the spectrum, or makes people
strive for, or demand it, as a high standard on the other end of the spectrum?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Merriam-Webster defines accountability as “an obligation or
willingness to accept responsibility or to account for one's actions.” Some
synonyms are responsibility, culpability, duty, and liability. It is not a
passive noun – not something that “just happens.” It is an answerability of performance
that results in either reward or sanction (Romzek, 2015). Accountability is an
active noun something that must be intentionally and consciously implemented.
And accountability starts with YOU. If you expect the people in your circle to
be accountable, you must model it yourself – keep your word, follow through,
honor commitments, and own your crap. Accountability applies to everyone; no
one is exempt. It cannot be delegated; it must be accepted by the owner. Accountability
is the single biggest differentiator between successful and unsuccessful teams
– corporate, governmental, social, sports, and romantic.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Accountability can be internal and/or external. Internal
accountability is being accountable to oneself. It’s an individual’s personal
commitment to be true to their values and to fulfill their promises. It comes
from the inside out and creates a credibility that others trust and respect. External
accountability comes from the outside in, being accountable, not to oneself,
but to others. It creates an environment that people feel compelled to follow,
a set of social norms and standards. Its role is to support the resolve of
internal accountability. It creates the climate that allows people to fulfill
their best intentions. External accountability cannot manufacture commitment,
but it can fan its flame.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Accountability is the skill that every relationship must
have in order to thrive. It’s not enough for just one partner to be able to take
ownership of the things that they inadvertently do that hurt the other partner.
Both people in any relationship really must be able to take accountability.
Now, accountability requires taking ownership when we have accidentally done
something wrong, hurt someone else, or let someone down. It entails being
responsive to your partner’s needs. Responsive means that when your partner
tells you for the 17th time, “You know it really doesn’t work for me when you
yell at me like that,” in order to take accountability we have to own it and
figure out how to do it differently. We must respond to their request that we
do something differently and that we shift it. However, here is the challenge
and why more people don’t take accountability. It requires a lot of confidence
and belief in yourself as a good partner in order to take ownership.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is nothing more frustrating than being in a
relationship with someone who refuses to take accountability for his or her
actions. In his or her mind, whatever happens is either someone else's fault or
bad luck. Almost like a toddler, the person refuses to take responsibility for
anything, no matter what. In their mind, they are the victim. They rationalize
things in any way possible to avoid taking ownership or any type of fault. In
other words, they have no ability whatsoever to say the words, "It's my
fault," "I caused this," "I take full responsibility"
or "I'm sorry." People who can't or won't take accountability lack
self-awareness, humility, maturity and courage. Taking accountability
isn't easy. It takes the courage to engage in introspection, humility and true
honesty. Accountability means taking a hard look in the mirror and owning up to
a problem you caused or contributed to. Furthermore, it means having the guts
to attempt to fix what you did, either by asking for help or applying the
discipline to change the behavior.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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In playing the victim, however, one is giving away their
power and their choice. Holding yourself accountable for your actions,
especially in a relationship of any kind, is a reminder that you control your
thoughts, words, choices, behavior changes, and outcomes. It creates trust in
the relationship and shows both your maturity and willingness to be honest and
vulnerable. Accountability requires that you:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Know who you want to be</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Know what you want out of life</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Don’t give your power away by blaming others</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Don’t waste time blaming yourself; rather own your
crap and change it</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Be honest with yourself</span></li>
<li>Recognize the reward you are getting from
staying powerless and helpless when you refuse to own your crap</li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Know that you always have a choice no matter
what the situation</span></li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">Most people take accountability for the good things they do
in life, right? It's easy to do that. If we do something kind and someone
thanks us, we say "You're welcome," which proves this. But the real
heroes in life are the people who realize their imperfections, verbalize their
regrets and learn from the mistakes. I am no hero by any means, but I do realize my imperfections, I do regret my actions, my inability to see what I was doing wrong, and the feelings it caused for my friend. I have learned a hard lesson from this mistake. I have apologized and I have asked his forgiveness. If this lesson has cost me an incredible friendship with a great person; I'll hold myself accountable for that as well. And it will sting like a motherf***er!</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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References<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
<ol>
<li>Christy, K. (2020). Stop playing the blame game: Take responsibility
in your relationship. Retrieved from https://www.joinonelove.org/learn/stop-playing-the-blame-game-take-responsibility-in-your-relationship/</li>
<li>Pilossoph, J. (2015, July 8). Love essentially:
Relationships hinge on accountability. Chicago Tribune. Retrieved from https://www.chicagotribune.com/suburbs/evanston/ct-evr-pilossoph-affleck-garner-divorce-tl-0716-20150708-story.html</li>
<li>Romzek, B. S. (2015). Living accountability: Hot rhetoric,
cool theory, and uneven practice. <i>Political Science & Politics, 48</i>(01),
27-34. https://doi.org/10.1017/s1049096514001553</li>
<li>Sasseville, A. (2017, May 4). The importance of
accountability in your relationships. Retrieved from https://www.flourishcounseling.com/importance-accountability-relationships/</li>
<li>Zipp, B. (2020). Two kinds of accountability: Internal and
external. Retrieved from https://billzipp.com/two-kinds-of-accountability-internal-and-external/</li>
</ol>
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<br />Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-38174360449983814852020-01-01T21:20:00.000-05:002020-05-09T00:43:51.648-04:00To Be a Kid Again <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s sad that when we become adults, we sometimes forget simple
lessons we learned (e.g., having good manners, keeping your room clean, &
always work hard to do your best), how to play (e.g., board games, team sports,
& going outside until the streetlights came on), to be carefree (e.g.,
relaxing, napping, playing with pets), and to just laugh & have fun (e.g.,
watching cartoons, reading, playing an instrument, & using your imagination). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was sitting at my breakfast bar one morning, eating my childhood favorite,
Malt-O-Meal, and caught myself humming and dancing in my chair – celebrating how
good it tasted. And I swear I heard my mom say, “I’m glad you like it; but we
don’t sing at the table.” LOL. Then, I started thinking about what else I do that
reminds me of my younger years, when I had no worries, plenty of time to play,
laughed a bunch, had oodles of fun, learned some significant lessons, and
simply enjoyed life. And here is what I came up with:<o:p></o:p></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I make my coffee in the morning, I think
about always being excited when I got to make my Daddy’s cup of coffee.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I visit my horse, Hershey, I am reminded of
the book my Daddy used to teach me how to read; a book titled </span><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Joey’s Horse</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I ride my horse, I remember when I first fell
in love with horses, at Girl Scout camp, when I was nine years old. I won a
2-week stay for selling over 1,000 boxes of Girl Scout cookies!</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I read Curious George to my grandson, I
remember the hours I spent riding the book mobile, with my paternal grandmother
in Charleston, SC every summer; reading all day.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I have a big breakfast, with biscuits,
eggs, and bacon, I remember summers with my maternal grandparents. Getting up
in the cold dawn going to the hen house to get the eggs and stopping by the
salt house on the way back to get the bacon while my grandmother made biscuits
from scratch.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I eat Froot Loops and Apple Jacks, I remember
when my Daddy and I would sit on the couch and watch cartoons on Saturday
mornings.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I watch cartoons from time to time [I still
love Scooby-Doo, Looney Tunes, and the Hanna Barbera ones on Boomerang], I remember
rushing home from elementary school to catch Speed Racer and Batman (which I
now own the full series of on DVD).</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I play with my dogs, I remember the joy of getting
my first pet on my 4</span><sup style="text-indent: -0.25in;">th</sup><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> birthday, a black Cocker Spaniel, named Sams’n.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I clean my bathroom, I remember how proud I
was for getting my Brownie pin turned right side up because I cleaned my
bathroom, on my own, without having to be asked.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I hear Ragtime music, I remember taking piano
lessons and playing Scott Joplin’s </span><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The Entertainer</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">, at my piano recital.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I am reminded of my extensive vocabulary, I
remember my Daddy’s requirement that I learn a new word every day and use it in
a sentence at least five times.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I am complimented on my nice handwriting, I
get tickled because I remember how irritated my mom would be when she couldn’t
find any blank paper in the house because I had practiced my handwriting on
every piece of paper I found.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I hear any opera music, I think about all
the hours of voice lessons I took, the beautiful music I sang (mostly in
Italian), and how much I loved to sing.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I watch soccer on TV, I remember my Daddy
being my coach as a little league player and my biggest fan as both a high
school player [on the boys’ Varsity team] AND an adult player [in the Georgia
Amateur Association].</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I hear a high school marching band
rehearsing, I think back to my days as a high school cheerleader – when I was
bubbly and fit - LOL.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I watch football, I remember going to my
uncle’s games, faithfully, to show support for his team and for him as a coach,
at Panthersville stadium; now named after him, the William “Buck” Godfrey Stadium.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I see, or eat, strawberry Mentos, I am reminded
of the times, as a lifeguard, I would sit with my bestie, Lisa, in the baby
pool, and talk about life as we devoured a roll or two.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Whenever I play Scrabble or Gin Rummy on my iPad,
I am reminded of my college bestie, Leah, and the many games of Scrabble and
Gin Rummy we played over many bottles of wine, and how nice it was to have a
friend with whom I could just be myself and on whom I could always depend. I
will always remember our friendship fondly even though, sadly, after 30 years,
we are no longer friends.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I teach college courses, I am reminded of
the value of learning, loving myself, and living a purposeful life, that I discovered
in Dr. Nelson’s high school psychology class.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Whenever I go to a formal dinner, party, or
other event, that requires poise, grace, and proper etiquette, I remember the
book my mother made me read (and practice), </span><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;">White Gloves and Party Manners</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">;
grateful that I have no anxiety about which fork to use and when.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Whenever I see a balcony on a house, I think
about jumping from our balcony to my neighbors’ so I could sneak out through
their house (a group of Morehouse College students) instead of fooling with the
alarm at our house - risking waking my mother and getting caught.</span></li>
</ul>
So many things I thought were small, insignificant, or just “part
of life,” often pop into my head, bringing forth a fond memory, a smile, and
even a chuckle at times. Life was so simple before we had to start “adulting.”
There was no stress, no time management (except getting home before the streetlights
came on), no social anxiety, no tension headaches, or financial strain. There
were no heavy responsibilities and there was not a lot of anger or sadness
overall. I had friends who were genuine. I had teachers who cared. I had
parents who did their best. I had opportunities that a lot of kids don’t get. I
was held to a very high standard; and for the most part, I met it. But I was by
no means perfect and still am not. I do think I take life too seriously too
often though. Perhaps I need to adopt my husband’s Jamaican philosophy, in Bob
Marley’s words: “Don’t worry about a thing ‘cause every little thing gonna be
alright.” I just have to remember to make time to play, be carefree, to laugh,
and just have some fun so that “adulting” doesn’t seem so bad. I encourage all
who read this to do the same.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-39917781858215651092018-04-02T22:19:00.001-04:002018-04-02T22:19:09.531-04:00BDSM 101: What It Means and Why It’s Hot as Hell to More People Than You May Think<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alternative, or “kinky,” lifestyles are still very hush-hush
in the African-American community due to conservative views of morality, religious
beliefs, and engrained opinions about “what black folks do” and “what white
folks do.” BDSM is especially tricky in the black community because of both our
history and the current state of our country in which there are constant
reminders to black people that <i>we are not
safe in America</i>. Can you imagine a sex play scenario that involved whipping
& calling someone “master” or playing cop & perpetrator? For black
people in America today, that conjures up fear & disgust, not sexual
excitement or lustful desire.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, I am writing about this topic in the hopes that eyes
will be opened, and the stigma might be removed from this totally consensual
sexual lifestyle in which adults participate in sexual play based on a power
exchange that is governed by protocol. The BDSM lifestyle requires that you
know and understand yourself on the deepest level, that you know what you want
& are willing to embrace your truth, that you are willing to go beyond your
own limits and societal constraints, and that you fully trust your playmate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since the release of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">50
Shades of Grey</i>, however, the popularity of BDSM has skyrocketed. Yet, many
people still do not know what the acronym even stands for. BDSM refers to three
different sexual “lifestyles” and four different sexual “players.” They are all
VERY different. BDSM is NOT about: kids, breaking the law, violating anyone’s
consent, violence or maliciousness. It is about pushing the boundaries of
sexuality in a controlled and safe environment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>The players:</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dominant – controls play within the hard & soft limits
of the Submissive<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Submissive – voluntarily relinquishes controls to, and
follows the instructions of, the Dominant<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sadist – willingly and intentionally inflicts pain on the
masochist<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Masochist – voluntarily receives and endures pain inflicted
by the sadist<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The acronym defined:</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“B” is for BONDAGE. Bondage refers to the voluntary
restraint of the “Submissive” or “Sub” by the “Dominant” or “Dom” using
anything from collars, cuffs, gags, shackles, and spreader bars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“D” is for DISCIPLINE & DOMINATION. Discipline is achieved
in learning how to delay climax. Domination is power, freely-given, to the one
who oversees play. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“S” is for SUBMISSION & SADISM. Submission is
voluntarily following the instructions of the Dominant. Sadism is the need, or
desire, to cause pain to another for arousal and/or sexual pleasure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“M” is for MASOCHISM. Masochism is the need, or desire, to
be subjected to pain or humiliation, inflicted by another for arousal and/or
sexual pleasure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The distinct lifestyles:</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“BD” is for BONDAGE & DISCIPLINE.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“DS” is for DOMINATION & SUBMISSION.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“SM” is for SADOMASOCHISM.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Unfortunately, these terms get intermingled, interchanged,
and interpreted all wrong. All four players are looking to have ultimate
pleasure. That ultimate pleasure is achieved in very different ways, as the
terms identify. While all BDSM relationships exercise the dichotomy of powerful
versus powerless, they are different in that BD and DS show respect while SM shows
degradation (SM). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Dom-Sub relationship is a powerful relationship in that
the Dom has the power to make demands on the Sub and the Sub has the power to
end play when their limits are reached. Dom-Sub relationships often involve
very detailed contracts outlining the expectations of both parties as well as
hard and soft limits. Hard limits are those actions, or implements, the Sub absolutely
refuses to participate in or with – so an absolute “no.” Soft limits are those
actions, or implements, the Sub is not sure about but will consider – an
absolute “maybe.” Actions that might be contracted in a Dom-Sub relationship,
outside of intercourse, include, but are certainly not limited to, withholding
orgasm, fisting, paddling, flogging, caning, blindfolding, golden showers, or
anal penetration. Implements that might be contracted in a Dom-Sub relationship
include, but are not limited to, nipple clamps, butt plugs, paddles, floggers,
riding crops, gags, blindfolds, spreader bars, canes, and more. The Submissive
must have the utmost trust in the Dominant to take them to an orgasmic nirvana
by using implements to enhance and intensify their sexual arousal and sensation
without inflicting intentional harm. The Dominant must trust the Submissive to
use a safe word if they are reaching the point of exceptional pain or any other
overwhelming emotion. So, in the Dom-Sub relationship there is mutual respect
and mutual trust. The goal is to create the ultimate pleasure for both parties
involved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Sado-Masochist relationship is a powerless relationship
in that the Sadist doesn’t exercise their power to be nice and the Masochist
doesn’t exercise their power to stop the Sadist from being cruel. This is not a
relationship for the faint at heart. The abuse in this relationship can be
physical, mental, or emotional. There may be whippings, cutting, burning,
criticism, insults, and other forms of degradation involved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As much as society has opened up about sex and sexuality,
BDSM remains on the “taboo” list for various reasons. Most BDSM players are
Caucasian but more people of color participate in this lifestyle than you may
ever know. They often meet for dinner, in groups, before heading to the dungeon
to play so they can interact with others like them without shame or judgment.
More people of color are starting to ask questions about the “draw” to the BDSM
lifestyle and admit & explore their secret desires. The topic of sex is
handled somewhat differently in each culture, but kinky sex is usually always considered
somewhat “taboo” in all cultures. And many people still just prefer vanilla
sex. “Vanilla sex” is a term used to describe what most of society considers
“normal” or “regular” sex; in other words, heterosexual with one man and one
woman, no toys or implements, no role play, no identified difference in power.
And in some cases, “vanilla sex” has come to imply “boring” sex. But, to each
their own. One person’s kink is not another person’s kink and there’s nothing
wrong if you only like “vanilla” too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you want to find out more about BDSM in the black
community, there are classes, workshops, blogs, chat groups, and forums you can
join to learn and keep up with what’s going on in your local area. You can
check out:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">FetLife (<a href="https://fetlife.com/">https://fetlife.com/</a>)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">National Coalition for Sexual Freedom (<a href="https://www.ncsfreedom.org/">https://www.ncsfreedom.org/</a>)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Black Rose (<a href="http://www.br.org/">http://www.br.org/</a>)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Black Beat (<a href="http://blackbeat.org/">http://blackbeat.org/</a>)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Feel free to leave your comments and questions below.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-70882754359173004512017-07-06T02:12:00.001-04:002017-07-06T16:16:47.393-04:00Dating Diluted to Nothingness<div class="MsoNormal">
Dating today has been diluted to the point of nothingness.
Dating used to be something special. Dating used to be fun. Dating used to mean
hours and hours on the phone, laughing until you cried, and going out for a
meal or activity that required you to sit upright and stay clothed. Dating used
to include feelings of giddiness and “butterflies in your stomach.” Dating used
to genuinely lead somewhere. Dating started as purely platonic; progressed to
holding hands; built up to the first kiss; and at some point, way down the
line, it might, or might not, involves sex.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Today, you are lucky to even hear a person’s voice before
you are asked out - not for a date - but to “hook up.” Flowers are rarely
presented anymore. Phone calls can be few and far between; and when they do
happen, don’t be surprised if you get asked a sexual question within the first
10 minutes of the conversation. “Relationships” executed via text messaging,
sadly, are today’s norm. A lot of people, admittedly, do not even seek
emotional connection. For many people, most of the time spent with “a person in
whom they are interested” is spent horizontally with the lights out. Believe it
or not, being good in bed, giving good head, or eating pussy well have now
become prerequisites for even being taken out to dinner.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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No lie. I had a guy explain his dating rules to me, in all
seriousness, as follows: “We need to have sex first; so, I’ll know if it’s even
worth me spending $50 on you to take you out to dinner. If the sex isn’t good
then I don’t need to waste my money.” When I started laughing out loud, he was
offended. So, I said, “oh, you were serious.” To which he responded, “Hell yes!
That’s what’s wrong with women today, especially black women. Y’all want a man
to wind you and dine you and spend all this money; then, you may not even give
up the pussy. If we do get lucky enough to hit it, it may not even be good.
Then we’ve spent all that money for nothing.” To this idiot, getting to know me
- a fabulous woman - wasn’t even worth a cheap $50 dinner; but, my ability to
bring him to orgasm and be an acquiescent “cum dumpster” was worth, at least, a
cheap $50 dinner and maybe a little more. Newsflash jackass: I am worth a hell
of a lot more than a cheap $50 dinner whether I screw you or not. <b>I AM WORTHY BECAUSE I EXIST.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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I even asked a friend of mine, whom I do not consider to be
a shallow idiot, if this mentality made sense and if he had heard of this new “dating
rule.” To my shock and horror, he responded, “Oh yeah, that makes total sense.
Why should I have to pay to get to know you? I might take a woman out for
coffee; but I’m certainly not buying an expensive dinner. Hell, you can come to
my house, for free, for me to get to know you.” I was utterly disgusted. And to
top it off, if a woman has the audacity to respect herself enough to say “no”
to sex right away, she should be prepared to get cursed out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The fact that this mentality has thrived enough to become
the disappointing norm says that there are people out there who have complied
with this new “dating rule” and are okay with the complete dilution of dating.
And if swiping left or swiping right and hooking up is all you want to do, that’s
cool. I am not judging anyone who enjoys that lifestyle. It’s just not for me.
I just wish people would be honest, on these dating sites and apps, about what
they really want. Let people make an honest, informed decision about whether to
invite you into their life. Why not post “looking for a fuck buddy” instead of “looking
for a relationship” if you are just looking to hook up? If there is no shame in
your game, stand on your truth and put it out there. There will still be people
interested - maybe not as many - but they will be willing nonetheless. And at
the end of the day, no one’s feelings get hurt and no one’s heart gets broken
because you both knew you wanted nothing but sex from the beginning.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>If you have a soft, or genuine, heart, are empathic, or have
a caring, nurturing personality,<u> be very careful </u>when perusing dating sites and
apps.</b> People lie. There are exceptions to every rule. I know two or three
couples who have met on a dating site or app, gotten married, and lived happily
ever after. Most of them, however, are white. Once, when I was on match.com, I
entered my search criteria preferences and I got 12 matches back out of the
whole match.com database. Eleven were white and one was black; but none of the
white men were interested in dating black women. My search criteria included: <o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Age: 45 to 55</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Body Type: athletic, average, or a few extra
pounds</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Drinking: social drinker</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Education: college or graduate degree</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Height: 5’6” to 6’3”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Marital Status: divorced, widowed, or single</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Race: Black, White, Hispanic, or Pacific Islander</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Religion: Christian, Catholic, or spiritual</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Smoking: non-smoking</span></li>
</ul>
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If none of this seems plausible, check out some of the
documentaries on Netflix. The second episode, in Season One of <u>Hot Girls
Wanted: Turned On</u>, is titled “Love Me Tinder.” The episode is about a
40-year-old former reality TV star who hooks up with droves of 20-something
women he meets on dating apps and “ghosts” them when he loses interest. He has
some interesting revelations towards the end of the episode. It is certainly representative, though, of how nonchalant people have become about keeping even the smallest promise like: "I'll call you later." There is also a documentary, on Netflix, titled <u>My Sex Robot</u> that discusses the "fembot" rage as it probes what's possible as two inventors compete to build the world's sex robot - a woman who cannot feel, protest, connect, or leave. Yet, some people in society want to call this, too, a "relationship."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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What do we do? Where do we go from here? It would be unrealistic
to think dating sites, and dating apps, will go away. There are too many various
kinds of sites out there. We seem to be too busy to go out and meet people.
Plus, the Internet opens the dating pool worldwide. It’s been a good thing for
some. It’s been not so good for others. No dating site, or app, can regulate
the truth versus “alternate facts.” No dating site, or app, can keep
sociopaths, narcissists, or other life-draining leeches from taking advantage
of, using, and/or abusing, the naïve, kindhearted, and/or desperate. I suppose
we will just have to wait for the times to come full circle again; to bring us
back to a place of mutual respect and appreciation for genuine connection.<o:p></o:p></div>
Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-86885924875763774102017-04-30T17:15:00.001-04:002017-04-30T17:15:58.481-04:00Parenting<div class="MsoNormal">
I visited my brother, Robert, and sister-in-law, Beth, this
weekend in California; and as always, was amazed by how wonderful they are as
parents. They have 3 biological children and adopted my granddaughter, their
grandniece, as a fourth without hesitation. So, they have 4 children – ages 10,
8, 6, and 3. My brother works outside the home as a project manager and my
sister-in-law is a stay-at-home mom who does it all. They are the busiest
little crew I have ever seen. My nieces and nephews are home-schooled, play
several different sports, play piano, participate in academic competitions, and
the three oldest were just baptized today. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know how they do it! They really ENJOY being parents!!
I have asked Beth to write a book, repeatedly, and she just laughs me off – as though
she is not doing anything special. Well, I beg to differ. Parenting takes more
than a lot of people may realize. I know I didn’t have the full picture when I
became a parent. And I am one of the few people who will admit that, despite
the incredible love I have for my daughter, I didn’t enjoy my parenting
experience and would not choose to do it again. I pulled my hair out with ONE
child. Robert and Beth very rarely raise their voices with FOUR! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Being a parent means you have accepted responsibility for
the life of an innocent child who will not survive without you. And that responsibility
requires a lot more than simply food, clothes, and shelter. Beyond those basic
needs, a baby needs to be touched, held, and interacted with. Babies need to be
nurtured, protected, and taught every day that they breathe air. Children need
structure and discipline – rules and consequences. Then there is 12 years of
helping with homework. Parenting requires that you give guidance and advice so
your children can survive on their own in adulthood.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Babies grow into adults. What type of adult they become
depends quite heavily on how they are parented. As I say in my book, <i>Soul Graffiti: What If Your Mother or Father
Was Wrong?</i>, children come to us with their souls as clean slates. What we
write on their souls can be good or bad – either way, it will stick because when
an opinion comes from our parents, it is perceived as truth. I’ve seen what
happens when crap gets written on those tiny innocent souls. I see those broken
adults sitting on the couch in my office still hurting, still longing for a
parent-child relationship, still questioning their worth, still doubting their
abilities, still wanting to be loved, still needing validation – stuck in their
mid-life, depressed and unfulfilled, because they never got a solid life
foundation from their parents that said, “You are good enough and you are
lovable just the way you are.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, I watch Robert and Beth do the things that ADD to a
child, not take away. I watch them do family Bible Study. I watch them live and
teach by example. I watch them enforce discipline that teaches a lesson without
breaking the spirit. I watch them read to their children. I watch them listen to
their children read to them. I watch them limit the TV and electronic time
instead of allowing gadgets to entertain, and babysit, their children. I watch
them, not just dry their children’s tears, but seek a genuine understanding of
why their children are crying. I watch them teach etiquette and respect. I
watch them shower their children with verbal affirmation and physical affection.
I watch them make healthy meals and eat together as a family. I watch them
enforce a healthy bedtime and, actually, tuck their children in at night. I watch
them play wholesome games with their children. I watch them exercise with their
children. I watch them encourage their children to think and make the right
decision in life situations. I watch them teach their children the importance
of family and the importance of loving one another as siblings. I watch Robert
and Beth remember to be affectionate and loving towards each other so their
children will know what a healthy, loving relationship looks like. I watch them
sacrifice their time, energy, and money to make sure that they provide the best
lives for their children. I watch them pray with, and over, their children. Most
importantly, though, I watch Robert and Beth, not just teach their children
about Christianity, but support their children in having a personal
relationship with, and knowing, God for themselves. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today, I watched my brother baptize his three oldest children
and I could not hold back the tears. I was so proud of him, as a father, in
that moment. The love he felt for his children was easily evident in the air
and in the baptismal pool. Beth’s face and eyes were full of love, too, as she
looked on. Hearing my nephews and niece proclaim God as their Lord and Savior
warmed my heart. Knowing that they really know God, and want God to lead their lives
[like their father and mother], brought me peace and comfort. I know, no matter
what happens in their lives, God will never fail them. He has kept His arms
around my daughter, even as she made some of the worst decisions of her life,
and brought her back to Him. And He will keep His arms around Robert, Beth,
Joshua, Johanna, Caleb, and Zayda because, in their home, they serve the Lord.<o:p></o:p></div>
Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-66568743118391469352017-02-27T00:14:00.001-05:002017-02-27T00:14:32.646-05:00Thy Will Be Done<i>The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith, is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living. It’s our handle on what we can’t see. (Hebrews 11:1 MSG)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done…</i><br />
<br />
Having faith in God’s will is easier said than done at times. We say it, and pray it, as though it is an easy thing to do, however. God’s will and purpose for our lives is not always what we see for ourselves. His vision for our life is often much bigger than what we could ever even imagine. I have seen God’s vision for my life and it scares the hell out of me!<br />
<br />
<i>Glory belongs to God, whose power, is at work in us. By this power he can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine. (Ephesians 3:20 GW)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out – plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give to you the future you hope for. (Jeremiah 29:11 MSG)</i><br />
<br />
What a lot of people don’t know about me is that I am truly an introvert. I have consistently tested out as an introvert on every personality test I have ever taken – and I have probably taken close to 20 different tests as part of my doctoral program and post-doctoral research. People think I am an extrovert because I am constantly interacting with people. The truth is that is exhausting for me. Being an introvert doesn’t mean that you cannot be extroverted. It simply means that you gain energy from time alone; and therefore, being extroverted takes a lot of energy. I much prefer to be in the background rather than the center of attention.<br />
<br />
<i>Whatever happens, give thanks, because it is God’s will in Christ Jesus that you do this. (1 Thessalonians 5:18 GW)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Don’t become like the people of this world. Instead, change the way you think. Then you will always be able to determine what God really wants – what is good, pleasing, and perfect. (Romans 12:2 GW)</i><br />
<br />
So, when God’s vision for my life includes facilitating huge workshops, book signings, interviews, and other things that put me “out there” as a leader in my career field, I get very anxious. One would think that my anxiety stems from a fear of failure. It is actually the exact opposite. My anxiety stems from a fear of success because of the huge responsibility I feel comes with that success.<br />
<br />
<i>Everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required, and from him to whom they entrusted much, they will demand the more. (Luke 12:48 ESV)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>So if you find life difficult because you’re doing what God said, take it in stride. Trust Him. He knows what He’s doing, and He’ll keep on doing it. (1Peter 4:19 MSG)</i><br />
<br />
God has given me an incredible gift of discernment. He has also walked with me, or maybe carried me, through several life experiences that sent me to the depths of Hell so that I could understand people’s most painful journeys from personal experience – not just textbooks and research. When God called me to be a therapist, I believe He entrusted me with my clients’ hearts and spirits. And to me, that is a huge responsibility which I take very seriously. But God has expanded my territory beyond the walls of my practice and my clients. I have gotten feedback from my book, <i>Soul Graffiti: What If Your Mother (or Father) Was Wrong?</i>, like:<br />
•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><i>Your book changed my life.</i><br />
<i>•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I cried all the way through your book because I felt like someone finally understood my pain.</i><br />
<i>•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Your book made me want to be a better parent.</i><br />
<i>•<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Your book gave me hope and helped me to heal.</i><br />
<br />
After God saved me from my last suicide attempt, I knew He had a tremendous purpose for my life. I knew I was supposed to walk life’s hardest journeys with people because I knew how daunting it was to battle depression alone. So, I became a therapist to answer my calling. Then, God told me to go into private practice. And I told God He had the wrong number. LOL. I disobeyed His instructions for three years before, begrudgingly, “giving in.”<br />
<br />
<i>Why do you call me Lord but don’t do what I tell you? (Luke 6:46 GW)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But He’s already made it plain how to live, what to do, what God is looking for in men and women. It’s quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor, be compassionate and loyal in your love, and don’t take yourself too seriously – take God seriously. (Micah 6:8 MSG)</i><br />
<br />
I laugh when I look back on July 2010. I called myself “challenging” God; saying:<br />
<i>Fine! Since You insist on me opening this private practice, I will do it. But, You watch; it’s going to fail! I don’t have the money to start a private practice. I haven’t been licensed long enough to get on any insurance panels. It takes time build a clientele.</i><br />
You get the picture. So, long story short, I opened my private practice 60 days later with no debt, two weeks worth of clients, and being on every major insurance panel for which I applied. To this day, I cannot tell you where the money came from to pay for all the furniture, office equipment and supplies, deposits, and rent. I know God intervened with the insurance panels because you are supposed to be fully licensed for <b>2 years</b> before you can get on the panels – I had only been fully licensed for <b><u>2 months</u></b>.<br />
<br />
<i>You can make many plans, but the Lord’s purpose will prevail. (Proverbs 19:21 NLT)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Point out the road I must travel; I’m all ears, all eyes before you. Teach me how to live to please You, because You’re my God. (Psalms 143:8, 10 MSG)</i><br />
<br />
For the past 6 years, God has continued to grow my practice by leaps and bounds. But, I was only doing it part-time so I could keep my day job for the security of a steady paycheck and health insurance. In July, against my better judgement, I accepted a promotion at my full-time job and had to cut back on my appointment slots. Yet, the referrals kept coming steadily. I was getting so many referrals that I had a waiting list. Now, while some might think that’s a good thing, it made my heart sad. I felt like I was failing God because I was not doing what He called me to do. I was not fulfilling my purpose. Every day, I would pray for God to either stop sending referrals or make a way for me to see all the clients He was sending my way. On February 3rd, He made it very clear that it was tine to move on.<br />
<br />
<i>For it is God’s will that by doing good you should silence the ignorant talk of foolish people. (1Peter 2:15 NIV)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek His will in all you do, and He will show you which path to take. (Proverbs 3:5-6 NLT)</i><br />
<br />
I thought I would be freaking out about leaving my full-time job, after 16 years to run my practice full-time. I thought I would be in a chronic state of panic trying to figure out how to survive without a steady paycheck. I thought it would take so long to build up my clientele that I might end up homeless. For the first week, I thought maybe I was in shock because I was not panicking and I was not afraid. Maybe it would hit me in the second week, I thought. But in week two, I actually felt better, stronger, and more confident that everything would be okay. So, week three would have to be the breakdown, right? At some point, I thought, I had to be overcome with fear and doubt. So, week three came; no fear followed. And going into week 4, in addition to another fully booked week of clients, I have confirmed two equine therapy workshops for veterans in Idaho & Ohio, AND I am preparing to negotiate a contract with a large company to facilitate corporate coaching with their executive and senior leadership following a very difficult merger.<br />
<br />
<i>And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose. (Romans 8:27-28 ESV)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I am leaving you with a gift – peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid. (John 14:27 NLT)</i><br />
<br />
I know this is only the beginning of this chapter in my life. I will have challenges to face and my faith will be tested. God may even go silent at times; but, I have learned that the teacher is always silent during a test. God has never turned His back on me and I know He has not brought me this far to leave me now. God has kept His promises to me even when I was outside of His will and He has not missed a beat since I stepped out Omni faith and submitted to His will for my life.<br />
<br />
<i>I take joy in doing Your will, my God, for your instructions are written on my heart. (Psalms 40:8 NLT)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Now may the God of peace – who brought up from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great Shepherd of the sheep, and ratified an eternal covenant with His blood – may He equip you with all you need for doing His will. May He produce in you, through the power of Jesus Christ, every good thing that is pleasing to Him. All glory to Him forever and ever! Amen. (Hebrews 13:20-21 NLT)</i><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-8686532845736196342017-01-01T14:00:00.002-05:002017-01-01T14:00:58.076-05:00Focus in 2017Thank you, God, for another year. As always, the past year has had its ups and downs. But, here I am; blessed to be above ground facing this new year - 2017.<br />
<br />
Not having a vision for last year was awesome! There was no pressure to achieve. I simply practiced <b>the art of being</b>. I accepted what life sent my way. I spent a lot of time alone. I saw the true colors of some so-called "friends," who have now been relegated to the "acquaintance" category; and gained some deeper friendships. I feel like I had better balance. I did go golfing more often. I did several EAP workshops with Hershey which is just as good as, if not better than, a pleasure ride. I got plenty of massages. I tried about 20 different champagnes to figure out what I really like. I fell for a guy. I did not learn my lesson about giving, however. I still gave too much of myself at times, but not as often as I usually would have. Most importantly, I took it all in stride. There were some intense hiccups along the way but nothing that broke me completely - meltdown, yes, complete breakdown, no. LOL.<br />
<br />
So, I am taking the same overall philosophy into 2017. No concrete vision; but rather a central focus. <b>This year, my focus is on SUCCESS</b>. Success in my private practice. Success in maintaining personal balance. Success in creating and maintainimg a reciprocal intimate relationship. Success with my writing (3 more books to write). Success in building a new bi-coastal business with my friend, Lynn, in California. Success in creating a realistic, healthy lifestyle - eating better and exercising some. Success in personal growth. Success in establishing the non-profit arm of my practice so I can continue my work with veterans. Success in continuing to define and believe in my own "good enough." Success in creating true, sustainable happiness. Success in deepening my relationship with Christ. Success in limiting my generosity. In other words, success in creating my legacy.<br />
<br />
What is the legacy you want to leave? Are you on the path to creating that? If not, how long are you going to wait to get started? What if someday is today? Why not make 2017 your year to either determine what you want your legacy to be, start taking the first steps towards creating the legacy you've already defined, make sure you are still on track with the legacy on which you've been focusing, or redefining your legacy altogether? In the grand scheme of things, that's what we're really doing - not just living from year to year but building a legacy.<br />
<br />
So, this year, 2017, I wish all my readers happiness and success - neither of which is finite or concrete. You define your own happiness and you define what success means to you. Success to me is not solely accomplishing the entire goal but staying focused, being consistent, and making measurable strides towards the end result. Success is making a conscious effort to do more than nothing. Success is finding reasons to do something rather than all the reasons not to do it. Success is making no excuses. I believe true happiness will come, not when I have accomplished all the things I want to accomplish; but, rather seeing that I have made consistent and intentional efforts towards making my dreams come true. True happiness is believing in myself rather than doubting myself as I start new ventures. True happiness is being in alignment with God's purpose for my life, listening to His guidance, and following His direction. My life is always more peaceful when I am spiritually aligned.<br />
<br />
I challenge you to work on your legacy, focus on yourself more, take life in stride, get aligned and balanced, and to define and create happiness and success in your life this year.Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-8168325042083054952016-12-04T22:37:00.000-05:002020-04-08T21:04:05.713-04:00Daddy's Girl<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Let me first explain why I am
purposely using the term “Daddy” versus “Father.” And this is just my own
personal opinion. A father is someone who believes that by donating his sperm
for your creation, he has done his duty in life. A dad is someone who gets up
every day and does whatever he can to put a roof over your head, clothes on
your back and food on your table. He might have to dig ditches, flip
hamburgers, deliver pizzas, work in a factory — or all of the above. He might
not own a suit and tie. He teaches the value of hard work not because he’s
looking for help mowing the lawn, but because he knows idleness leads to
trouble. He realizes his job is to make his children productive citizens, and
to do that, he can’t always be his child’s friend. A “daddy” is a man who steps
up to be there, no matter what, in a very special way. He does not solely
donate sperm or simply raise productive citizens. A “daddy” actively
participates in his daughter’s life. He attends her sporting events, recitals,
and concerts. A “daddy” is the first man to teach his daughter what it is to be
special. He is the first man to recognize and acknowledge both her inner and
outer beauty. He is the first man to believe in her and to help her believe in
herself. He sets the bar against which every man in her life, thereafter, will
be measured. Before my daddy walked me down the aisle, he said to me,
“Remember, nobody will ever love you like your Daddy.” And in many ways, he was
right.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Men, seemingly, have no idea how
important it is to be a good daddy to their daughters. It’s not solely about
providing food, clothes, and shelter. It goes a helluva lot deeper than that.
Our daddies are our first “boyfriends.” Daddies are supposed to teach us how
valuable we are and set the standard for how a man is supposed to treat us. A
daddy’s love for his daughter, or lack thereof, has the capacity to empower or
destroy a little girl and the woman she will become. If you didn’t know that
before, now you do. Daddies are important, especially in the lives of little
black girls.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
I am simply devastated by the
number of women I have seen professionally, and met socially, that tell the
story of “looking for love in all the wrong places” because their daddy was
either physically absent, intoxicated, emotionally unavailable, or a
combination of all three. Our daddies are the first men who tell us that we are
pretty. They are the first men to say,” I love you.” They are the first men who
look at us dreamily. They are the first men to hold our hands. Daddies are the
first men with whom we laugh, with whom we have fun, and with whom we feel
“special.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
My daddy and I watched cartoons and
ate Fruit Loops together every Saturday morning. My daddy taught me how to read
when I was four years old from a book titled, “Joey’s Horse.” My daddy was my
soccer coach from age 6 to 14. In high school, he forced the school to let me
play on the boys’ varsity team because the school did not have a girls’ varsity
team. He was at every game. I remember one game in which I had the wind knocked
out of me by a hard-kicked soccer ball. My coach took me out of the game and
had me laying on the sideline with my knees up trying to catch my breath. When,
I heard my daddy’s voice, I realized that he was standing near my head asking
my coach, “Why is Renee out of the game?” My coach replied, “She got the wind
knocked out of her, Mr. Godfrey, and I didn’t want her to get hurt any worse.”
My daddy chuckled slightly and got the sly grin on his face that he always gets
when he thinks he knows something you don’t. He said, “Hurt? She’s not hurt.
She’s as tough as, if not tougher than, these boys out here. Now, she wanted to
play with the boys, so let her play with the boys. She’ll be fine.” My coach
then asked my daddy, “Are you going to take responsibility if she gets
injured?” My daddy replied, “Yes, because I know she can hold her own.” My
coach looked disbelieving and said, “This is not Little League; and as her
coach, I have to do what I think is best for her and the team.” Before my daddy
turned to walk away, he said, “Coach, I have been her coach since she first
began the sport and I have been her father since the day she came into this
world. I know my little girl and she’s tougher than you think. Put her back in
[the game].” Then, my daddy reached down, took my hand, and pulled me up to a
standing position. He looked me straight in the eye, cracked that unique smile
of his, and said, “Now, get out there and show those boys how it feels to get
their asses kicked by a girl.” Although I didn't play soccer through college, I
did play as an adult in the Georgia Amateur Association. And again, my daddy
was at every game. He was my number one soccer fan.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Most of the time, my daddy made me
feel like I could do anything. He was my knight in shining armor. He could do
no wrong. And then he left. When I was 13, he walked out of the door and out of
my life. I waited by the window all night, crying & begging him to please
come back. After he married my stepmother, and had my half-brother, his focus
changed. I no longer felt “special.” I no longer felt loved. I felt abandoned
by the one man in my life who, I thought, believed in me & would have my
back. I felt like I had been fired from my position of “daddy’s girl.” My
relationship with my daddy was never the same after he left and started his
“new family.” I was never the same after my daddy left. My heart was broken
like it would never be broken again. As Daddy’s little girl, I had lost my
first love. And I started to believe that if my daddy - the one man who is supposed
to love me - didn't love me, then nobody else would either. It created an
emptiness that I eventually learned no one else could fill. Over the next 10
years, my daddy and I had a very rocky relationship. What made that 10 years
even harder was the fact that I still loved my daddy like I’ve never loved
anyone. And all I wanted was for him to love me too. So, my goal in life became
to make my daddy proud – to prove that I was [good] enough for him to love me
again. To this day, I am not sure if I accomplished that goal. However, I did
reach another goal that had been buried in my subconscious, I guess – I came to
a place of understanding and forgiveness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
In my early 20s, my daddy explained
to me that my stepmother was the absolute love of his life – his true soulmate.
He explained that as much as he hated the way he left and hated that my little
brother and I got hurt in the process, he felt like that might be his only
chance to be genuinely happy. I understood his reasoning and respected his
honesty. I realized that one day, all the kids would be gone, and my daddy
would be left with his spouse. So, of course, I wanted him to be happy just
like he wanted me to be happy. I couldn't deny him that; so, I forgave him for
walking out on us.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Now, 20 years later, an oncologist
has suggested that my daddy has an “average” of 55 months to live with
combination chemo/hormone therapy, 40 months with hormone therapy alone, and 18
months with severe pain with no treatment at all. WTF?! This is MY DADDY! And
the tears started rolling and haven't stopped since. In fact, I can only get
through about 2 sentences at a time as I write this blog post before my
emotions become overwhelming. We all know that we are going to die. We all know
that one day we are going to lose our parents. But we think of that time in a
vague, abstract sense, not in terms of a finite number. As a therapist, I
remind people all the time to live their lives to the fullest, to create good
memories with those they love, to say “I love you” and “I’m sorry” today, and
to not ever take time for granted. Now, I have been slapped in the face with my
own accountability.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Have I lived my life to the
fullest? Has my daddy? Have I created good memories with my daddy? Have I said
“I love you” enough? Have I ever said “I’m sorry?” Have I taken our time
together for granted? This incurable diagnosis has shaken me to my core and has
me taking a real inventory of my own life and my relationship with my daddy.
So, these are the thoughts that have come to mind so far:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
1. My daddy is the absolute love of
my life and I can’t imagine life without him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
2. My daddy has a dry sense of
humor that is hilarious.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
3. My daddy is not perfect, but he
is mine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
4. My daddy taught me the joy of
reading and encouraged my love of learning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
5. My daddy bought me an inflatable
swimming pool when I was a little girl that had a palm tree in it, and it was the
best inflatable pool on the block.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
6. My daddy doesn’t talk about his feelings,
so I am concerned about his journey through this cancer fight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
7. I don’t like it when my daddy
doesn’t feel good. As a nurse, however, I know that bone cancer is incredibly
painful and I know that chemotherapy wipes people out – making them nauseous,
extremely tired, and even shutting down their tastebuds so food tastes like
nothing. So, I don’t want him in pain, but I also don’t want him sick or
exhausted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
8. I hope my daddy has no regrets
and can truly enjoy the rest of his time here no matter how much time that is.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
9. I hope my daddy is proud of me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
10. I hope I have been a good
daughter in my daddy’s eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
11. I need to visit my daddy more
often.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
12. I need to call and text my
daddy more often.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
13. I need to take more pictures
with my daddy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
14. I need to record my daddy’s
voice so I will never forget it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
15. My daddy gives great hugs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
16. My daddy always gives good
advice and I always know that I can go to him for objectivity.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
17. My daddy always puts on a
strong face no matter what is going on in his life; and as much as I know he
doesn’t like tears; I don’t know that I will be able to control mine. At the
same time, I know I must.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
18. At least God has given me time
to make some new memories with my daddy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
19. My daddy taught me how to ride
a bike.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
20. My daddy invited me to a bar on
my 21st birthday and introduced me to Patron tequila which I still love to this
day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
21. My daddy only spanked me one
time in my life – when I drew all over the walls, that my daddy had just
painted, with a big, purple crayon - and I think it hurt him just as much as it
hurt me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
22. My daddy taught me to cook soul
food.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
I’m sure more memories, concerns,
thoughts, smiles, laughs, and tears will come. And I know all my memories are
not good. My daddy has hurt me in the past; but knowing that I am going to lose
him - this time forever - is the worst hurt ever in life. So, I choose to focus
on the good and happy moments and to create more of them. I encourage all of
you other “daddy’s girls” out there to cherish every moment with your daddy.
Let him know, TODAY, how much being his little girl has meant to you. Let your
daddy know that you love him, forgive him, miss him, need him, or whatever.
Share your favorite memory, of the two of you together, with him. If your daddy
is alive, it is not too late. And don’t ever apologize for being a daddy’s
girl! Feel free to share your comments about your experience as a daddy’s girl.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-64406271905316321232016-09-16T01:27:00.002-04:002018-06-08T12:29:24.086-04:00Living in Darkness Dying for Light<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>“Why did you try to kill
yourself?” …………………………………. “You told me to be happy.”<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have asked people to tell me what their depression
feels like and I’ve heard things like: dark, empty, lonely, scary, exhausting,
bad, heavy, and more. When I asked a friend how his depression felt, he said, “Being
sad for no particular reason and not knowing how to fix it.” When I asked one
of my clients how her depression felt, she said, “I wouldn’t even call it a
feeling. It’s not a feeling because you feel nothing.” Nothingness, a black
hole, a never-ending pit, a vast cavern where hellacious voices echo. For the
past 29 years, for me, depression has been a roller coaster that, at times, has
delved into the fiery, darkness of hell where I saw nothing but death as a
solution. It feels like standing on the edge of the lip of the Grand Canyon,
trying not to fall over; and the balancing act is beyond exhausting –
physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, everyone experiences depression differently. Depression
is expressed differently by each individual who experiences it. And ultimately,
most people find a way to overcome depression – whether through talk therapy,
medications, combination therapy, prayer, meditation, or other methods. The
goal is to identify one’s triggers and implement the healing process.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>“Sometimes when I say ‘I’m okay,’
I want someone to look me in the eyes, hug me tight, and say, ‘I know you’re
not’.”<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of my favorite music artists, Eminem, puts it like this:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You smile
but you’re not really happy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You ask
but you don’t want to know.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
You talk but you aren’t saying
anything.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
You laugh but you don’t find it
funny.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
You cry but it doesn’t really mean
anything.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
You get up but you’re really not
awake.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
You sleep but you aren’t resting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
You’re alive but you aren’t really
living.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Depression is living in a body that fights to survive with a
mind that tries to die. Depression is a prison where you are both the suffering
prisoner and the cruel jailer. Depression is putting on a fake smile so you don’t
have to explain why you’re not happy. Depression is that feeling when you’re
not necessarily sad, but you just feel really empty. Depression is saying to
yourself, every night, “This will be the last time.” Depression is like a war;
you either win or die trying.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>“Depression can seem worse than
terminal cancer because most cancer patients feel loved and have hope and
self-esteem.”<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hate to hear people say, “I <i>suffer from</i> depression.” To me, that is a defeatist attitude. I
have <i>lived with</i> depression for most
of my life. Depression can be caused by a chemical imbalance, extended grief,
trauma, job loss, retirement, being broke, and whatever else you can think of.
Depression is lonely. Depression is scary. Depression sucks. Depression does not discriminate by race,
creed, socioeconomic status, gender, age, or sexuality. One is not immune from
depression because of level of education, amount of money in the bank, marital
status, or length of time in therapy. Sometimes, it hits me out of nowhere, all
of a sudden, this overwhelming sadness rushes over me. I get discouraged and I
get upset and I feel hopeless, sad, and hurt. And once again, I feel numb to
the world. “But you’ve got it all,” people say, “a doctorate, a private
practice, two real careers, blah, blah, blah.” And yet, I continue to question
whether I have met my own “good enough.” Worse still, I question whether I have
met God’s expectations for me. Have I fulfilled my purpose?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>“If you could read my mind, you’d
be in tears.”<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite all that I have and all that I have accomplished,
depression can sometimes still consume me. My days get dark – just a constant
shade of gray. My medication doesn’t seem to be working. Therapy is starting to
sound like Charlie Browns’ teacher – “whah whah whah whah whah whah.” But,
every morning, I am met with the same choice – get up or not, go to work or
not, see clients or not, stay late to do notes or not, get rest for tomorrow or
give up, pray for another day or pray for death. Most people I’ve talked to,
admittedly, “don’t understand how a person can get to the point where they want
to take their own life.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>“Right now, I really don’t see
the reason for trying, or for talking, or for breathing. I’m just done.”<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think “not understanding” is actually a better place in
which to live because when you do understand “how a person can get to the point
where they want to take their own life,” you have seen the depth of despair.
You see, there are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more
hurtful than anything that bleeds. There have been times that I would rather be
a “cutter” than have suicidal ideations. How sad do you have to be for death to
really be a fucking option?! At what point will it no longer be on my list of
options? I’m exhausted from trying to be strong. I’m empty from giving
everything I have to others. I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m angry. I’m frustrated. I’m
disappointed. I’m unhappy. I’m scared, no, terrified. Because once again, I am
on the edge of the Grand Canyon, teetering on the edge; trying to keep my damn
balance so I don’t slip over the edge into the abyss. What most people don’t
understand is that when you have made the decision that death is the only
option, it doesn’t mean that you are no longer afraid. It simply means that you
are so tired of being hopeless, hurt, lonely, sad, disappointed, misunderstood,
and “not good enough” that you welcome the eternal silence. You breathe a sigh
of relief that you have found a way to end your suffering, to stop having to
depend on others to love you, to stop feeling like a failure, to stop hurting,
and to stop wishing that life would be better only to be disappointed
repeatedly. It’s a lonely, scary place to which you never want to take your “friends”
or “family.” It is that place in which the person who tries to keep everyone
happy ends up being the loneliest person.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>“No, I’m not okay. But I haven’t
been okay since I was a teenager. I am still here though. I’m still breathing.
For me, sometimes, that will have to be enough.”<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I no longer want to die – not like I did 26 years ago. I’m
not even asking for help. I’m just sharing with you, my readers, that even the
best of us go to that dark place. And even though I know that I want to love
this difficult life of mine, the thought still crosses my mnd after 29 years, that
I could just end it all and never have to feel lonely, inadequate, hurt, ashamed,
disappointed, or shitty ever again. I want, desperately, to believe that:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Depression is useful. It signals
that you need to make changes in your life. It challenges your tendency to
withdraw, it reminds you to take action.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No matter how deep my sadness or how hopeless my despair, I
pray that God will help me to sustain my strength as I face each new day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-72172558765125571722016-05-02T12:01:00.001-04:002016-05-02T14:57:26.034-04:00Too Busy to LiveWe exist in a society in which being driven, working hard, and being successful are not just applauded but expected; any less than that is seen as a problem. We function in a society in which money drives and decides many, many things. We spend most of our days hustling non-stop from dawn to dusk only to go to bed, wake up, and do it all over again. For what exactly? To pay bills? To make sure we have a bunch of money in the bank? Society's mantra, lately, seems to be: "Live to work; don't work to live because you'll have plenty of time for that later." But the truth is: every day we wake up, we are one day closer to the end of our lives.<br>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
The latest statistics from the CDC (2014) report that the average life expectancy is as follows:<br>
<div>
Hispanic male = 76.2 years (914 months or 3962 weeks or 27,813 days or 667,512 hours)</div>
<div>
Hispanic female = 82.2 years (986 months or 4274 weeks or 30,003 days or 720,072 hours)<br>
<div>
White male = 73.2 years (878 months or 3806 weeks or 26,718 days or 639,475 hours)</div>
<div>
White female = 79.3 years (952 months or 4,124 weeks or 28,944 days or 694,668 hours)</div>
</div>
<div>
Black male = 69 years (828 months or 3588 weeks or 25,185 days or 604,440 hours)</div>
<div>
Black female = 76.3 years (916 months or 3968 weeks or 27,850 days or 668,388 hours)</div>
</div>
<div>
So, for the purposes of this blog, let's use the overall average life expectancy from birth of 76 years (912 months or 3952 weeks or 27,740 days or 665,760). Looks like a lot, doesn't it?<br>
<br>
Let's break it down even further (based on the US Dept of Labor & Statistics 2015 Time Survey):</div>
<div>
<b>Sleeping</b> = 25.3 years (304 months/1316 weeks/9235 days/221,628 hours). So, we have 50.7 years left (608 months/2636 weeks/18506 days/444,132 hours).</div>
<div>
<b>School K-12</b> (@ 7.5 hrs/day & 181 days of school/yr) = 2 years (24 months/105 weeks/736 days/17,654 hours). So, now we have 48.7 years left (584 months/2532 weeks/17,776 days/426,624 hours).<br>
<b>Eating</b> = 6 years (72 months/330 weeks/2312 days/55,480 hours). Now we have 42.7 years left (512 months/2220 weeks/15,586 days/374,064 hours).<br>
<b>Work (40 hr/wk)</b> = 11 years (132 months/582 weeks/4073 days/97,760 hours). Now, we have 31.7 years left (380.4 months/1648 weeks/11,571 days/277,704 hours).<br>
<b>Bathroom</b> = 1+ years (13 months/55 weeks/386 days/9,272 hours). Leaving us with about 30.5 years left (366 months/1586 weeks/11,133 days/267,192 hours).<br>
<br></div>
<div>
You get the picture. Once we include housework, childcare/elder care, running errands, etc.,<b> and </b>account for time lost due to obesity, smoking, cancer etc., we are roughly left with about 2 years (24 months/96 weeks/669 days/16,060 hours) worth of time for leisure, love, hobbies, and other pleasurable activities. It doesn't seem like so much time now, huh?</div><div><br></div><div>So, when was the last time you slowed down to "smell the roses" so to speak? When was the last time you took a walk - not for fitness - just to feel the breeze through your hair, to feel the sun on your skin, and to simply admire the beauty of nature? When was the last time you did something philanthropic just to share the joy in your heart with someone else? When was the last time you sat quietly with your significant other, without saying a word, just experiencing the warmth of their touch and the connection of your hearts? Do you feel like you need a vacation from your life? Then, you are TOO BUSY! If you find yourself talking about, "One day, I am going to...," versus "I am so glad I...," then you are missing out on life. What if "one day" doesn't ever come? Why can't "one day" be today?</div><div><br></div><div>With all of the technology we have available today, one would think that people would stay in touch and communication would be improving in our intimate relationships. But, people are more out of touch than ever. It takes less than 2 minutes to send a text message that says, "I'm thinking about you" or "I miss our friendship, let's do lunch." The thing is: we make time for what's important to us in life. If we are sick or in pain, we make time to get to the doctor. If we need to deposit a check, we make time to go to the bank. Therefore, if we wanted to have a relationship, we would have to make time to meet someone, get to know them, and spend time building that relationship. If we wanted to buy a house, we would have to make time to go look for a house. When I wanted to learn how to play golf, I had to make time to go take my lessons and to go to the golf course to practice. It's that simple!</div><div><br></div><div>When you look back over your life, do you want your memories to be filled with the meetings which you attended, the amount of money you made, how much stress you were under, how many family events you missed, how many things you did not get to do on your bucket list? Or do you want our memories to be filled with the places to which you've traveled, the long talks with your friends, and the romantic moments you spent with your significant other? When your eulogy is being read, I promise you that no one is going to talk about how much time you spent at work. They may mention that you were driven and successful but that can be said in one sentence. What people will talk about is the things you did in your life, the memories you made with them, and how much they will miss spending time with you and being in your presence.</div><div><br></div><div>As much as you may think that it is not important to slow down, I beg to differ. Personally, I want to be able to think about all of the things I did to have fun and enrich my life - not about having perfect attendance for the past 30 years at the same job. I want to experience exotic beaches, like Fiji, unquestionable love that takes my breath away, roller coasters, every different color of roses, and a lot more. My challenge to you is twofold:</div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Take at least 5 minutes a day to reach out and connect with someone that matters to you and</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Make "one day" TODAY (or at least sometime within the next 30 days).</span></div>
Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-50916590100367618412016-01-01T03:00:00.000-05:002016-01-08T23:59:56.773-05:002016 Vision<div class="MsoNormal">
My vision for 2016 is simply not to have a vision. I
typically do a vision board every year – posting those things I plan to
accomplish or on which I plan to work. At the end of the year, I usually
realize that I may have done one of those things; but most of them have not
been accomplished. For example, for the first time since my divorce, I actually
thought I wanted to get married again; so, I posted it on my vision board. I
was in a long-term, committed relationship and we had actually talked about things
going that way. However, as most of my relationships do, it ended with him
saying he couldn’t give me what I needed. So, mission not accomplished. I was
also supposed to start working on my other two books after I finished my
dissertation – but that didn’t happen either. I did finish my doctorate,
however, so mission accomplished there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, going into 2016, I have decided to have no vision, no
mission, no goals, other than to accept life as it comes. That’s not to say that
I will not be doing anything. I will be pursuing my sport psychology business and
my teaching career. I just have no expectations of where they will go. If I
blow up and actually get picked up by an NFL team, great; if not, that’ll be
okay too. I am not looking for a relationship because I’m tired of hoping and
trying. I even met a guy right before the holidays who seriously checked off
every box I had on my wishlist – only to be told I moved too fast towards
girlfriend versus friend but was never told how. Mind you, I didn’t make any
sexual advances, say I wanted to marry him, try to go to his house, try to meet
his kids, or anything I can think of that constitutes trying to be someone’s girlfriend.
We talked for hours and hours, we both admitted we felt a connection, I hugged
him when I met him because I was excited to finally meet him, we watched
football, we talked a lot more, I sent dinner home with him for him and his
son, and I gave him a PECK on the lips when we said goodbye. I am totally
clueless as to how that constitutes trying to be someone’s girlfriend – but, oh
well. I’m sick and tired of trying to figure out what men want and trying to
adjust accordingly. Hell, I am ME and I LIKE me; if they don’t, then fuck them because
ME is the only person I know how, or choose, to be! So, needless to say, a
relationship will NOT be on the vision board for 2016.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think maybe I will put three words on my vision board for
2016: <b>BALANCE</b>, <b>HAPPINESS</b>, and <b>SELF</b>. I need to have balance in order to make
sure that I am taking care of myself and creating my own happiness. I need to
find happiness in being alone because I’m tired of just being content with my
life and “alone” is most likely how I will spend the rest of my days. I need to
focus on self because, like I said in my end of the year post last month, I do
not believe that anyone can meet my needs except ME. So, I need to figure out “good
enough” for me. I need to find happiness for me. I need to create the life that
I want for myself – regardless of who’s in it and who’s not. Part of creating
balance is going to be not giving so much of myself. I’m tired of depleting
myself - being thoughtful, being giving, being selfless – and not receiving the
same in return. I must learn to save my compassionate and giving spirit for
myself. Part of creating happiness will be to create more time to do the things
I love to do – riding Hershey and playing golf, for example. The “self” part of
my 2016 vision is simply to do what’s important to me – to try to read my Bible
every day, to get a massage as often as possible, to go to the spa on a regular
basis, and to be okay with being single and enjoying my own company.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, for 2016, I am going to take things one day at a time. I
am going to learn to accept things as they come. I am going to withhold some of
my generosity. I am not going to open my heart up to another relationship. I am
simply going to focus on ME – whatever that looks like from day to day.<o:p></o:p></div>
Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-10347254483487530932015-12-27T21:24:00.001-05:002015-12-27T21:44:50.609-05:00To Believe or Not to Believe<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>This is not a religious argument.</b> Let me say that first.
This post is more about life in general. For example, I saw a quote that read, “There’s
a man out there searching for everything you’re giving to a man who isn’t man
enough to appreciate it.” Believe or not believe? Not believe. There is a cliché
that goes, “It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at
all.” Believe or not believe? Not believe. My aunt always taught me, “We always
have choices in life.” Believe or not believe? Believe. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Society and religion would have us believe in “shoulds” - where we <i>should</i> be in our lives at our respective ages or what we <i>should</i> be doing or feeling. Whereas, the universe shows us, thereby making us believe in, what the reality is. For example,
society would have us believe that we should not have sex on the first date.
Believe or not believe? Not believe; although I personally agree, I believe
people need to do whatever works for them. Religion would have us believe that
all our prayers will be answered and life will, ultimately, be all good.
Believe or not believe? Not believe. The God I serve often says “No” to my
prayers; and sometimes is completely silent and doesn’t answer either way. In
addition, my life experience has been one of constant struggle; so, I do not
believe that, ultimately, it will be all good.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, I have begun to take a deep, introspective look at
myself and my life and have asked myself, “What do I believe and not believe
based on my own experience?” Beyond my fundamental belief that “tomorrow is not
promised,” <b>I believe</b>:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">There is a Higher Power ultimately in control of
my life plan; however, He gives me freedom of choice.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I am probably too much to handle for most men;
so I will probably be single for the rest of my life.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">True happiness is more than just being content
with life as it is; being content, however, may be as good as it gets for some
people.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Intimate relationships take a hell of a lot more
than just love.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">It takes tremendous courage to open yourself up
to love again after you’ve been hurt, especially if you’ve been hurt
repeatedly.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">People who are angry all the time CHOOSE to be
that way and they drain the life out of themselves and everyone around them.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">We should implement mandatory sterilization or
require licensure for parenting.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I am absolutely fulfilling my calling in life.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Most people hide their true authentic self out
of fear of being judged, disliked, or rejected.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Little things go a long way in both friendships
and intimate relationships.</span></li>
</ul>
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<b>I do <u>not</u> believe</b>:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">People truly appreciate a giving spirit.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">A man will ever value my true authentic self
with all its intensity, depth, and truth.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The majority of people genuinely love themselves
and enjoy their own company.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I can depend on anyone to provide my needs
(emotional, physical, spiritual, or mental) except me.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I ask for too much in an intimate relationship.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I failed as a parent.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The next chapter of my life is filled with
fireworks and monumental occasions, necessarily.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">People define “good enough” for themselves based
on what they believe about themselves.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Any relationship can survive without intimacy
[not sex] and a willingness to be vulnerable.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Anyone is ever too busy to answer a text
message.</span></li>
</ul>
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So, my question to you, my readers, is: what do you believe and
not believe – based on your own experience – not based on what society or
religion tells you? Let me know your thoughts.<o:p></o:p></div>
Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-29457267995965765442015-11-18T13:25:00.001-05:002015-11-18T14:34:46.762-05:00Letter to My Exes<div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>Dear Exes,</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i><br></i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>First, I want to thank you for what good you brought to my life for the time we were together. If there was nothing good about our relationship I wouldn't have been in it. So, I give you credit for what you did that was good. I appreciate the laughter, the loving words, the small gestures, the flowers, the chivalry, and the challenges you presented to make me grow. I appreciate the lessons I've learned because of my experience with you. </i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i><br></i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>What I don't appreciate is you never really understanding what you had in me, not valuing me for the loving person I am, and not reciprocating my efforts in our relationship. I don't appreciate being used and taken for granted. I don't appreciate the fact that you took the love I gave willingly but were unwilling to love me back the way I deserved to be loved. I don't appreciate the fact that you didn't even see the need, or have the desire, to try. I don't appreciate feeling like the only thing I was good for was what I could do for YOU - financially, sexually, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i><br></i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>I am hurt and I am angry. </i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i><br></i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>I am hurt because you didn't value me enough to consider my feelings or speak my love languages. They are very simple - quality time and words of affirmation. I don't ask for much from anyone, ever; so, when I do ask for something, I expect it to be done willingly because you KNOW I would do the same for you. That wasn't important to you, though. I wasn't important to you. Damn you for not seeing how rare a gem I am. Damn you for stomping on my heart with no sense of remorse. Damn you for treating me like I was just another chickenhead. I'm not. I'm special and unique. I am by no means perfect but I KNOW I have a huge heart and would give you the shirt off my back. I am hurt because I made a conscious effort to make sure that you knew how I felt about you; whereas, your actions and your words were either non-existent or incongruent. </i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i><br></i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>I am angry because so much time has been wasted on dead end relationships with emotionally immature men. I am angry with you, my exes; I am angry with God; mostly, though, I am angry with myself. I am angry at you guys because you wasted an incredible opportunity to be deeply emotionally connected to an incredible woman who was genuinely loving and loyal. I would have gone to the ends of the Earth for each of you but I now know that you wouldn't have done the same for me. I am angry because with each break up, I was set back emotionally and had to climb my way back up but you walked away unscathed and undaunted. In fact, you probably walked away feeling good because of everything I gave during the relationship. Yet, my spirit was broken. I am angry at God because He gave me this huge, giving heart that continues to get broken. I give my heart to a daughter who doesn't respect or appreciate me, a granddaughter who needs my stability, clients who need support in their own brokenness, students who are eager to learn, my country, my friends, and you. I'm tired of giving and not receiving in return from the men in my life. I am angry at God because He has not seen fit to send me someone as loving as I am. More importantly, I am angry with myself because I am the one who chooses the men I allow in my life. People will only do to you what you allow them to do to you. And for too damn long, I have allowed you all to mistreat me, lie to me, cheat on me, devalue me, have non-intimate sex with me, and take from me; not requiring enough in return. I saw a quote that said, "When you know your worth, you will stop giving discounts." All my dating life, I have given discounts and that is personally disappointing. I realize that I have looked to the men in my life to validate what my father never did; simultaneously confirming my belief about myself - that "I am good enough" just being who I am. But now that I know better, I will do better.</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i><br></i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>You see, the truth is, I KNOW, without a doubt, that:</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>- I am worthy because I exist</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>- I DESERVE to be loved deeply and unconditionally</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>- I am a good woman even with my faults and shortcomings</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>- It's okay for me to ask for what I need and/or want</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>- I don't have to prove my worth</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>- I am selfless and giving because that's who I am at my core</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>- I love hard and deep and that makes me especially vulnerable</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>- I am responsible for the choices/decisions I make in my life & the consequences that result</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>- I define "good enough" in my life</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i><br></i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>I don't know if I will ever find a man who sees me the way I see myself, who knows what he's got before I'm gone, and who actually wants to make me happy because he values me and the love I offer. At this point, I'm not even looking. I invested a year of my life into a relationship in which I couldn't even get a compliment because that was asking too much. What the hell?! BUT, I chose to stay because you said you would try to do better and I believed you would. No more of that. IF I ever date again, I promise myself that I will take things slow and pay attention to what a man actually brings to the table, not what he could bring. I will not settle for less than I deserve.</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i><br></i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I sincerely apologize for making you guys responsible for validating my worth. That was never your responsibility and it put way too much pressure on you and on our relationship. I apologize for pushing too hard, being too intense, and for trying to control your emotional expressions and/or manipulate your emotional depth. I apologize if I overstepped your boundaries. I apologize if I did not meet your needs. Just like I'm sure it was not your intention to hurt me, it was not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable in any way either. I willingly own my part in the demise of our relationship.</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i><br></i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>With this letter, I forgive you all for anything you did or said, intentionally or unintentionally, that hurt me in any way. I forgive my father for not engraining in me my worth and for not showing me that I was valued so I would expect the same from men in relationships. I ask God to forgive me for being so angry with Him, to heal my pain, and to either send "The One" He has for me or give me peace and joy with being single. Ultimately, and most importantly, I forgive myself for not making better choices and for giving my heart to men who couldn't take care of it. I believed I was making the best choice at that time based on the information I had; now I must make better choices and better protect my heart.</i><i> </i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i><br></i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>Thank you, again, to all my exes for being true to who you are. </i><i>Thank you for the stimulating conversations, the getaways, my new found love for golf, and for ending our relationship before I got stuck in a one-sided relationship that was not going to be good for me. You are all good men in your own way. I wouldn't have dated you if you weren't. :) Take care of yourselves. I wish you all the best.</i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i><br></i></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><i>Michael-Renee</i></div>Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-84895875390213828332015-11-12T06:01:00.001-05:002015-11-12T06:31:08.129-05:00On Being A Therapist - Part 3<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"How do you do this everyday?," my client asked. "Why would you even want to do this?," he continued, "I don't think I could do this. I mean, how do you sit and listen to other people's problems all day? What about your problems? Or do you all not have problems since you are the 'professionals'?" "We're human," I replied. "Yeah, but you're also the 'doctor' - the one with the knowledge to fix 'people problems'." I almost laughed. Momentarily, it reminded me of my mother saying, "You're a mental health professional. You should be able to fix this," referring to my daughter's wild teenage misbehavior. Ha! If my client (and my mother) only knew! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I wonder if he would feel differently if he knew that my high school dropout, teenage daughter, was flushing her life down the toilet by making poor choices on a daily basis. I wonder if he would feel differently if he knew that my boyfriend's grief, over the death of his mother, was so overwhelming that, not only could I not handle it or help him, but, I actually made things worse [unintentionally, of course] by getting lost in my own personal fears and needs and not being able to hear, or do, what he needed of me. I wonder if he would feel differently if he knew I had been crying myself to sleep every night this week because that same [long-term] boyfriend ended our relationship just a few days ago - and I was barely holding back the tears even as we were in my office having this conversation. I wonder if he would feel differently if he knew that, because I'm nursing a broken heart, my internal joy was significantly dampened; therefore, my love tank was only being filled, right now, by God's grace and my beautiful, loving, little granddaughter. I wonder if he would feel differently if he knew that, when I am "running on fumes," I have to dig deep into the bowels of my soul just to show up and, more importantly, be 100% present for each client that day because neither their problems nor their pain can be put on hold while I deal with my own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"That's why every therapist should have a therapist," I told him, "because we are human, we do have problems, we do hurt, and we need help, sometimes, too." "The only difference is, we are trained to compartmentalize our own 'stuff' until we can process it appropriately," I added. So, while our lives continue, however they continue, we have chosen a career in which we still have to be present for others. Now, there are times when we reach our breaking point too, and either have to limit the clients we see or stop seeing clients temporarily. For example, couples work was very hard for me when I was going through a very painful divorce because of [his] infidelity; so, I stopped accepting new couples, for a few months, until I was able to process my own feelings of hurt, anger, grief, and shame. And I will probably limit the amount of grief work that I do, over the next couple of months, while I process my feelings of failure, guilt, shame, and hurt related to my response, or lack thereof, to my boyfriend's grief and the ultimate loss of the relationship (for which I feel responsible). I also have to be aware that, while I'm not going to stop seeing couples, I may be more sensitive to couples who are broken or breaking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ethically, I must stay conscious to, and accountable for, my personal feelings so they do not cloud my objectivity. So, I will make sure to do a lot more case consultations with my two partners so they can give me their perspective on how I'm doing as well. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I will be seeing my therapist tomorrow and will increase my visits with her from bi-weekly to weekly until I can pick up the pieces of my own broken heart. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">And last, but certainly not least, I will be praying incessantly:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(1) that God will give me the strength to get out of my bed, in spite of my sadness, and show up at my office, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(2) that God will give me the necessary tools to stay open and present for my clients, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(3) that God will help me to hear and think clearly as I help my clients through their process,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(4) that God's will be done in their lives as well as my own, and </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(5) that God will heal all the brokenness - mine, my clients', my boyfriend's, and my boyfriend's sons - and replace it with a renewed sense of peace, joy, hope, and love.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That's "how I do this every day." As to the "why": I do this because I know the deepest, darkest sense of brokenness - when not just your heart is broken but your body, mind, and spirit - your entire existence is like a shattered window pane that simply hasn't yet fallen out of the frame. I know hurt so deep that it feels like the only viable option for relief is death. I know despair that is so profound that you feel like you are drowning. I know how it feels when the aching in your soul finally goes numb and you can barely even cry anymore. Most importantly, though, I know that there is joy, peace, and sunlight when you get to the other side of, and finally exit, that Hell. And my clients will NEVER have to walk through Hell alone as long as I'm breathing. To me, that's being a therapist.</span></div>
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Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-34499328762323830792015-10-18T01:31:00.001-04:002015-10-19T02:59:28.630-04:00On Being A Therapist - Part 23 to 4PM - OMG! Lies, lies, and more lies! He said, she said. But he did..., but she did... There are always three sides to every story - his, hers, and the truth. Neither one of these people is willing to take responsibility for their part in their current financial crisis. It doesn't seem as though they have ever really had a PARTNERSHIP. So, what exactly do you want me to do? Help fix the financial crisis or help fix the marriage? I don't like dealing with money, so I refer them to The Budget Coach, Donna Dallas, and I focus on the feelings - anger, disappointment, and distrust. I give them a homework assignment but I seriously doubt if they will do it. They're so hellbent on being "right" that the focus is not on their brokenness. And I won't play referee - awarding the belt to the winner - because they both lose, which, ultimately, will cost their son too. <b>SMDH</b>. 9 hours down, 8 hours to go.<div><br></div><div>4 to 5PM - Wow, the devastation of addiction. It destroys the lives of the addict AND the addict's family. An addict will risk EVERYTHING for their drug of choice - alcohol, cocaine, marijuana, sex, gambling, pornopgraphy, whatever. It's hard for me to imagine something making me forget that I'm a mother or a wife. It's hard for me to imagine something making me put my paycheck on the line by engaging in illegal activities while at work. I have a hard time wrapping my brain around "I know it hurts you. I see you crying. I realize that I could lose everything, including my family, but I just can't stop." However, even in the midst of my befuddlement, my heart goes out to both my client and his wife. It's got to be exhausting having to cater to an addiction every single time it calls you no matter what you are doing or how you are feeling. And it's got to be exhausting having to monitor both your kids AND your husband to make sure that they are ALL on their best behavior. We have discussed several different coping strategies but nothing seems to work. He may have to hit rock bottom and lose EVERYTHING before he can really make a change. <b>Sad</b>. 10 hours down, 7 hours to go.</div><div><br></div><div>From 5 to 6PM, there is a ray of sunshine! This client very rarely misses an appointment. She always completes all her homework. She pays out of pocket because she doesn't like the limitations placed on her by her insurance company, as far as who she sees and how many visits she is allowed to have. Her therapy is THAT IMPORTANT to her. She has already booked her weekly appointments through the end of the year. She gets better and better - brighter and happier, stronger and more self-assured. I LOVE watching her learn to love herself in spite of her flaws and believe in herself in spite of her fears. SHE is PROOF that therapy WORKS. You get out of therapy what you put into therapy. And this young lady faces her demons with honesty and courage. I clap, smile, hoot, and holler to celebrate her growth and accomplishments. The smile on her face, in response to my boisterous praise, is <b>PRICELESS</b>. 11 hours down, 6 hours to go.</div><div><br></div><div>6PM is dinner time. I grab a snack (and some more caffeine) and sit down with my intern to process a few things. "You can do that?," she asks me. "Do what?," I reply. "Show emotion like you just did," she says. "Uh, absolutely, you can!" She looks at me skeptically and says, "But in school, they tell us not to do that - to show no emotion; just be stoic." I let out a low chuckle because I remember being taught the same thing in "counseling school." "I genuinely care about my clients," I say, "and I would not dare withhold my authentic self from them when I ask them to be their authentic selves with me. So, when I'm proud of them or happy for them, I openly celebrate them." "Would you ever cry with them?," my intern asks. "If I felt their pain as deeply as they feel it, I would certainly allow myself to cry with them. I'm human and I understand their hurt. And what a gift that can be to a client to know that someone understands their deepest darkness and is willing to go there and be vulnerable with them." In the therapy chair, you learn fairly quickly that the book stuff only gives you a base of understanding, academically. YOU still have to experience your humanness, albeit controlled, in order to stay truly present with the client in the moment. 12 hours down, 5 more to go.</div><div><br></div><div>7 to 8PM comes with another couple trying to communicate. Their love for one another is obvious but so is the anger and doubt. She's angry because "my father didn't teach me what it felt like to be loved." "I never really knew how real love was supposed to feel," she says. "Then, how do you know that your husband is doing it wrong?," I ask. "Well, because it feels weird - it's boring, there's no drama." "Oh, so it's secure and stable and that scares the hell out of you," I say. Through her tears, she says, "Yes." "So, why, then, are you so extremely angry with him," I ask. "Because he is supposed to fill the void my father created and make me feel beautiful and special!," she states. "Then, I guarantee you he will continue to let you down. Because it is NOT his responsibility to fill the void your father created or to make you feel beautiful and special. YOU have to fill the void and heal the wounds with which your father left you. Your husband can't fix that for you and he should confirm, not create, your beauty and feelings of being special. Stop blaming your husband for the emptiness and self-loathing you have carried for all these years and LET HIM LOVE YOU. He's certainly TRYING." Her husband didn't say a word; didn't try to defend himself; simply put his arm around her and held her as she cried. Then, I noticed he was crying too. <b>POWERFUL</b>. 13 hours down, 4 more to go.</div><div><br></div><div>8 to 9PM The cutest little pre-marital couple comes in for their first visit. They seem to know each other very well. They are able to answer questions about each other accurately. Then, I dig a little deeper. The questions get a little harder. However, they take their time to think about their answers and they keep hitting the mark with what they know about each other. They agree on the importance of communication. They agree on having both joint and separate bank accounts. They agree on 2 kids after at least a year of marriage. They even agree that "swinging is definitely out but a little bondage is a good thing." However, they both learn something new about each other when we look at their foreplay maps to see how they're touching each other compared to how they prefer to be touched. It doesn't surprise me because new couples and younger couples don't want to hurt each other's feelings when it comes to discussing sexual satisfaction. What they don't realize, however, is that "a closed mouth doesn't get fed" and when needs are not being met, resentment becomes a real risk. So, first obstacle avoided - their foreplay will now be even better. <b>FUN</b>. 14 hours down, 3 more to go.</div><div><br></div><div>It takes from 9 to 11PM to review charts, enter progress notes, and tweak treatment plans as necessary. Once everything is put into the computer, I lock the electronic records and submit the claims, most of which are electronic. The paper claims print out next. I check those, fold them, stuff them in envelopes, and put a stamp and return address label on them. Put them in a stack to go to the mailbox. I have to get the deposits ready for the bank and deposit the checks over the phone. Damn, speaking of the phone, did I ever check my voicemail messages today? I don't think so. So, I check the voicemail. Five new messges. Oh well, my bad; I'll have to return calls tomorrow or Monday. I'm physically and mentally exhausted. I missed my granddaughter's bedtime so I won't get her little kisses tonight. At least my boyfriend will be calling soon on his way to work. He's not going to be happy, though, that I'm just leaving the office at 11PM. Couldn't be helped. I would have been there even longer without my intern's help. I have been known to just sleep on the sofa in my office when I've stayed too late. I lock the file cabinet, turn out the lights, turn off the peaceful lobby music, put Josey up on my shoulder, turn out the office lights, set the alarm, and my intern and I leave the office, finally, after 13 hours. 16 hours down, 1 more to go.</div><div><br></div><div>11PM - I drive home where everyone is asleep. I fix myself a drink, kick my shoes off, change into my pajamas, and turn on the TV. My boyfriend calls on his way to work, we talk for a half hour, say our "I love yous," and hang up until in the morning when he'll call on his way home from work. I lay down to go to sleep at 12AM - Sunday. When I started this day, it was Saturday. <b>Unbelievable</b>. 17 hours down, no more to go. </div>Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-91080465864682785992015-09-20T02:00:00.001-04:002015-09-20T02:22:00.573-04:00On Being A Therapist - Part 1It's 7AM, Saturday morning; and I wake up with my little granddaughter stretched across the bed with her feet pressed into my stomach. She looks so peaceful when she's sleeping. Her innocence starts my day with a beautifully quiet <b>HOPE</b>. I hope that my clients can find a peacefulness as deep. As I lay there quietly, I pray for my family, my boyfriend and his family, my clients, and myself. I pray that God will guide me through each client hour - soften my heart to my clients pain, clear my mind to understand their thoughts, open my ears to hear the feelings beneath the feelings, and awaken my spirit of discernment so that I may be in tune with those things left unspoken. 1 hour down, 16 more to go.<div><br></div><div>From 8 to 9AM, I take care of my "activities of daily living," do my hair, take my medication, and pick out what I'm going to wear. I mean, I know it will be jeans and a T-shirt. But, will it be dark jeans, light jeans or black jeans? Will it be a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt, a horse t-shirt, or a plain V-neck t-shirt? Will I wear one of my 12 pairs of cowgirl boots, a pair of flip flops, or my clear Converse sneakers with some crazy socks? No suit, no skirt, guaranteed. I must be <b>AUTHENTIC</b> just as I <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">ask my clients to be</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">. Now that I'm dressed, I'm ready to go; so I grab my dog, Josey, and head out the door. 2 hours down, 15 more to go.</span></div><div><br></div><div>9 to 10AM, I gas up the car, get some breakfast, get some coffee, and head to the office. I get inside and turn on the lights and the peaceful lobby music. Then, my heart actually flutters as I head back to my personal office. I absolutely <b>LOVE</b> what I do so I get excited every time I open the door to my therapy space. Turn on the white noise and the computer. Make sure I have paper and pens. Get Josey some water. Unlock the file cabinet, grab the first file of the day, and do a quick review. 3 hours down, 14 more to go.</div><div><br></div><div>From 10 to 11AM, there is anger, frustration, and tears. "I don't know what to do," the client says. She's looking to me to tell her what to do. "You have the answers," I think, "I just need to help you find them." I wish she knew her own <b>POWER</b>. 4 hours down, 13 more to go.</div><div><br></div><div>From 11AM to 12PM, there is restricted joy. "I'm feeling better," the client says. Yet, there's only a hint of a smile. It saddens me that she's still afraid that she won't be good enough. "Why can't you see your own value?", I think to myself. I wish she would <b>BELIEVE</b> in herself. 5 hours down, 12 more to go.</div><div><br></div><div>From 12PM to 1PM, there are some deep wounds bleeding and I watch the life being drained out of a couple who are still in love. Part of me wants to beg them to fight for their marriage because <b>LOVE</b> is so precious. But it's not my place to say. I can't want more for my clients than they want for themselves. I can see the desperation in their eyes, begging each other, "Please don't hurt me again." While their tears stream down and drip on their folded arms - a stance of simultaneous strength and weakness, hope and fear. I bet if they hugged each other right now, they would crumple in each other's arms. As much as I want to help them restore their marriage, I have to know that they are committed to the process and the hard work it will entail. I'll be praying that they can have mercy on one another. 6 hours down, 11 more to go.</div><div><br></div><div>From 1 to 2PM, there are little laughs trying to cover tears. "Her tears don't mean anything," he says. "Yes, they do," she whispers. "Yes, they do," I say with conviction. My heart goes out to her - she seems so defeated - her tears are not seen as important and the pain in her voice is not heard. What has happened after 20 years to get you two to this place? And then, as I watch their dynamic, I begin to see it clearly. He's hard, she's soft. He's rigid, she's flexible. He doesn't bend, she bends until she's broken. He's concrete and logical; she's abstract and emotional. I have to help them find <b>BALANCE</b>. I feel responsible. They are trusting me to guide them in the right direction toward fixing what's broken. I take that very seriously. 7 hours down, 10 more to go.</div><div><br></div><div>It's 2PM and it's time for lunch. I'm not really hungry though. Well, I'm a little hungry but I'm too tired to eat. I have notes I should probably write but I'll do it later. My heart is heavy. There have been a lot of tears this morning, a lot of hurt, anger, and frustration. Yeah, one client is making progress but it's only a little. A little is better than none, remember, Dr. Godfrey. I've got to come up with some more homework that's going to push her further out of her comfort zone. What about the new clients? One couple was a referral from a colleague - why? Am I really that good? What if I fail them? What if I can't help either of those couples fix their brokenness? You've been successful since you started practicing. <b>RELAX</b>. You're only the guide. It's up to them to do the work. I want them to do the work. I want them to be genuinely happy. Damn! It's almost 3 o'clock already?! I better go to the bathroom before my next client. 8 hours down, 9 more to go.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-46468542434242421182015-06-10T20:49:00.001-04:002015-06-12T10:08:55.959-04:00Defining FamilyThere are more than 10 definitions of "family" in the dictionary. When you hear or see the word "family," who comes to mind? Husband, wife, partner? Kids? Mom, dad, & siblings? Grandparents? Friends? Pets? Who makes up your "family"? Does the thought of "family" make you feel warm & fuzzy, make you cringe, or make you feel indifferent? Is family defined by blood, love, attitude, values, or what?<div><br></div><div>My family is defined by blood and commitment. My blood family are those relatives whom I have known since the beginning of time - my daughter, granddaughter, parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, & cousins. My committed family consists of the people in my life whom I feel are genuinely committed to my happiness & success in life. They are the people whom I feel will be there for me no matter what. Sometimes the circles overlap & sometimes they don't.</div><div><br></div><div>After you've defined "family," think about how you honor those people & relationships in your life. For example, I heard a young lady, Amanda, on the phone with her younger sister, and my heart just melted. She showed such genuine concern & love for her sister that I knew, without having to ask, that her sister was incredibly important to her. My boyfriend, Joe, talks to his mother once or twice every day. He talks to his brother quite frequently as well. I, on the other hand, may talk to my mother once a quarter & find out about my brother's life on Facebook. I talk to my business partner, and high school best friend, almost every day. Is she my family? Yes. I take a whole week away from my private practice to volunteer at my cousin Rashan's Sporty Girls summer camp - and I wouldn't do that for anyone but her. Is she my family? Yes. </div><div><br></div><div>So, everybody's "family" is different. Your family is made up of people who matter to you for whatever reason. You may interact with some family members more than others or differently than others but you probably love them all the same. Or do you? I challenge you to take a real look at who is in your family circle. There may be some people, though not blood relatives, who have your back no matter what. And you may have some relatives, although family by blood, who add nothing positive to your life. Your family can consist of whomever you want. What I want you to do is nurture those relationships because they are important for your mental and emotional well-being. Reach out to one or more of your family members today and tell them how much you love and care about them. Do it today!</div><div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div>Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-64248875105076188702015-04-19T17:20:00.004-04:002015-04-19T17:30:48.191-04:00How Far Would You Go?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the course of my career as a therapist, I have met with A
LOT of couples.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It still boggles my
mind, however, when a couple sits on my couch and they use the words “I” and “my”
more than “we” and “our.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, they
wonder why they feel angry, lonely, and disconnected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marriage is about compromise and sacrifice
just as much as it is about love and faithfulness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Refusing to hear your partner’s opinion or to
answer your partner’s question because you feel it is irrelevant is completely asinine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Complaining about how much he plays golf
instead of spending time with you but refusing to learn anything about golf
makes no sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, my question for this
post is: How far are you willing to go to build and/or maintain the intimate connection
between you and your partner?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, to put
it another way, how much are you willing to compromise or sacrifice for the
good of your relationship?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used golf as an example because I can personally relate to
that situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My boyfriend LOVES golf
and would probably play golf every day if he could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we first started dating, I had
absolutely no interest in golf – never had and claimed I never would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hence my advice to avoid the words “never”
and “always” because you just never know. But, I digress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I started to see how excited Joe got about
golf, I found myself wishing that WE had something we could get excited about
and do together. He asked me if I would play golf with him and I refused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I agreed to ride in the golf cart and watch
him play; to which he responded, “That’s no fun.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked him to get involved with horses [because
that’s what I like] and he agreed to learn more about them; he refused,
however, to ride. LOL. I was surprised but flattered that he would take an
interest in, and become a part of, something I liked that wasn’t really his cup
of tea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was willing to compromise and
sacrifice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I had to ask myself why
I wasn’t willing to do the same for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Would it kill me to learn about golf? No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would it make Joe happy and give us something
else with which we could connect?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, for a birthday surprise, I bought a set of golf clubs
and all the accessories and I signed up for lessons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My plan was to show up on his birthday ready
to play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, he found out
what I was doing before his birthday arrived BUT the smile on his face when he
figured out what I was doing was PRICELESS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had no idea that my willingness to learn about, and be involved in,
his passion would mean that much to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was genuinely excited about the prospect of getting out on the golf
course and “showing me off.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, I
probably watch golf as much as he does; trying to learn everything
I can because golf is not easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t
know that I will love the game like Joe does but I certainly don’t mind playing
and actually enjoy my time on the course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I look forward to my golf lessons and am really looking forward to the
first time I get to play with Joe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What would you be willing to do to strengthen your
connection with your partner?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you
be willing to listen without interrupting him or her?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you be willing to cook their favorite
dish just because even though you had a long day yourself? Would you be willing
to step outside of your comfort zone and try something new sexually?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you take the time to really learn one
of their hobbies so you could participate or teach them about your hobbies so
they could participate with you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you
be willing to stay up late and help your partner study or write a paper?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you be willing to talk openly about a
difficult topic and really try to understand your partner’s point of view?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you be willing to take care of the kids
for an hour so your partner could have some alone time?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you be willing to change some old
habits (as difficult as that can be) in order to make your partner happy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you be willing to drop your façade and
be genuinely vulnerable with your partner, allowing him or her to really see
you as you are?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you are not willing to compromise, sacrifice, or simply
do something different you will remain stuck right where you are and your
intimate connection will not grow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So,
if you’re happy with what you’ve got, keep doing what you’re doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dare you, though, to do something different
and see if your connection can go deeper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You might be pleasantly surprised.</div>
Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5850442726183662250.post-66757000217659370342015-03-22T13:46:00.001-04:002015-03-22T13:46:46.619-04:00Now What?Now that I have finished my dissertation, I am sitting around bored. I always knew I was putting in a lot of time researching and writing; now I'm putting in no time and it feels weird. My therapist says I should take some down time to do nothing and just take care of myself. My friends have suggested that I relax but that's a word around which I can't seem to wrap my brain.<div><br></div><div>Relax. What does that mean exactly. I'm sure it means something different to each individual person. What does it mean to you? What do you do to relax? I mean, is watching TV considered relaxing? Is it getting a massage or taking a stroll? Does relaxing mean that you are doing nothing at all? I'm seriously asking you, my readers, to help me figure this out. </div><div><br></div><div>I have watched TV and played every game on my iPad. I honestly find myself looking at my laptop wanting to do some work. Lol. At the same time, I know I need to learn how to relax and take care of myself. I have two more books on the horizon but I am deliberately trying not to work on them until I master this relaxation thing.</div><div><br></div><div>I kep saying I'm going to start working out because I know physical fitness is important. I bought some golf clubs and signed up for golf lessons because my boyfriend, Joe, loves to play. So, since I want to spend more time with him, I decided to learn to play golf. Of course, I can now spend more time riding my horse, Hershey; that is always enjoyable. I'll also have more time for my granddaughter, Zayda and that always fills my heart with joy. She keeps me busy though so that's not really relaxing. Lol.</div><div><br></div><div>I feel like I have to stop my brain and my body to be relaxed. Maybe that's the wrong way to look at it. I know I can't meditate because I can't get my brain to quiet. As much as I try to relax when I'm getting a massage, I find that difficult too. Beyond riding my horse and playing golf, I can't think of anything else to do to relax. So, help me out, readers. Tell me what you do to relax!</div>Dr. G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11867433596315407548noreply@blogger.com0