Journaling Can Be Therapeutic

Woman Writer
Preparing to Journal

I’m a writer, but mostly in the sense that everyone is. I read years ago about cultures that do not recognize anyone as a writer, an artist, a musician…because everyone has those abilities. In these cultures, it is not a competition; everyone produces at their own level, and a huge part of the value is the self-expression, the belief that we all need to express ourselves.
Writing is easier for me than it is for some, because I was always encouraged to write. I don’t have any memory of my writing being compared favorably or unfavorably to anyone else’s, though I cannot imagine that it didn’t happen. We live in too competitive a society for that to be avoided. As far as the writing I am focused on here, there is no need or even possibility for competition.
I am talking about journaling, a form of writing in which it might even be best if you can ignore all the rules you have been taught about being a writer, whether for term papers, letters to the editor, professional journals, the novel you would like to create…all those things I have named will do best with careful attention to detail and some good proofreading. Journaling is best done without any of those precautions, because you want to get your thoughts on paper and it is not for anyone else’s eyes. How your writing may appear to someone else is irrelevant here. Don’t even stop to correct your spelling. You are hearing that last sentence from someone who prides herself on being part of the Spelling Police.
Journaling doesn’t need to be like a dairy that is kept on a daily basis; it may be used in order to get yourself through a crisis and then forgotten about. If it has served its purpose, then that was clearly a good thing. For some, it is a form of self-counseling; for others it is an adjunct to whatever other therapies you choose. Note that I say “you choose”—it can be a professional therapist, or not. But for many, journaling is very therapeutic.
We all have stories to tell, whether we tell them to others, or silently to ourselves, or put them on paper. And telling these stories helps us make sense out of our lives, our situations, often clarifying those thoughts that feel so jumbled in our heads. If you don’t want anyone else to ever see what you write, feel free to write it and then put it through a crosscut shredder. The process itself is likely to help you sort things out; you don’t need physical evidence for this journaling to serve a purpose.
I had an incident of my own several years ago, when my first marriage was floundering. I journaled sporadically, and often in the backs of notebooks for the classes I was taking at the time. At one point I stumbled on a probably two-year-old journal entry “If things don’t get better, I need to leave.” Since this entry was dated and I realized things had in fact not gotten better, seeing that I had written that two years previously really helped me to take a serious look at my reality. I would be lying to say I immediately contacted an attorney, but there was a shift in my thinking to where I could no longer pretend that things would work themselves out if only I waited long enough.
What will you discover with your own journaling? I will of course never know, because it is your own private writing. But you will, and it will likely open your mind to a fuller view of your own interior and exterior life, both the bad parts and the good. So have lots of paper on hand, or lots of memory on your phone or laptop. This could be an adventure.

What Would You Like to Be Your Biggest Problem?

Credit: Edward Lear

You know how our mothers can sometimes drive us crazy? Mine has been deceased for several years now, so she no longer has the opportunity. And far be it from me to admit I could drive my own son crazy, though I am sure there are enough ways that I do. He’s a smart man, though, in that he accepts me for who and what I am and doesn’t waste time trying to change me.
My mother had one habit I used to hate, though, that has actually worked to my advantage as an adult. It is one that puts things into perspective. As a teen, I hated it, because it got in the way of the drama that some teens feel they cannot live without. I would be kvetching about not having the outfit ready that I wanted to wear that day, or about dinner being too late, or one of a million other everyday problems that we cannot get through this life without. And my mother would say “I wish that was my biggest problem.”
Granted, our problems don’t have to be huge to matter; if something is an issue, it deserves attention. But every issue does not need to be all-consuming.
I pulled this phrase of my mother’s out a few years ago, when a good friend of mine was suffering from breast cancer that was likely to be terminal (as it sadly turned out to be). When we needed a little levity, she and I took my mother’s expression and turned it into a joke for when things looked darkest: What would you like to be your biggest problem? Not just a problem, but the biggest one you will have to deal with for a while.
Here are a few we came up with, and I am sure you could add plenty of your own:
– When I am choosing a new car, would I rather have the BMW or the Lexus?
– Chocolate ice cream or vanilla?
– If I stand under that tree, will a coconut fall on my head?
– I have too many true friends. How will I keep up with them all?
– Two great job offers came in on the same day. Which one to choose?
– Next vacation, would I rather go to Italy or France?
Okay, you get the idea. These problems are so trivial they are almost phony. But aren’t they fun to come up with? And couldn’t we all use a little more fun these days?

Relatives Can Be So Interesting

My Grandmother Robinson and myself, way back when

I always knew I had a delightful paternal grandmother. (Not to give short rift to my mother’s mother, who has her own very different and unique story.) As a typically self-absorbed child, then teenager, I would tell her from time to time what was going on in my life. Yet it never occurred to me to ask what was happening or had happened in hers. It was only in my early adulthood that I recall her telling me a couple of stories, which I wish I had asked for earlier. Imagine how much more I could have learned about her history!
Even though she didn’t live far from us, we didn’t see her often enough. But I do remember from those days that she routinely prepared dinners for Thanksgiving, Christmas and our birthdays. The first time I showed up wearing lipstick, she noticed and commented in a flattering way. Since my father was her only child who lived to adulthood, my siblings and I were her only grandchildren.
As a young adult, I heard a few stories about my father’s growing-up years along with learning a little about his younger sister who only lived to the age of ten. She took my then-husband and myself fishing, and I will never forget the sight of this tiny woman, who was usually totally prim and proper, rolling up her pant legs to reel in a fish. In retrospect, I realize I started opening up to her more after her husband died. I guess I thought she was fully occupied with her marriage.
Several years after her death, I came across an autographed program from Arturo Toscanini’s farewell concert at Carnegie Hall, during the Great Depression—a sign of her love for classical music, and her determination to find her way to New York for this event.
For most of my life, I thought of her as a housewife who liked to sing. I knew she would sing, that she had been in the Glee Club during her years at The Ohio State University, but thought of it mostly as a hobby. I had no idea of her passion or her talent, because I never asked.
A recent event opened a whole new set of anecdotes. After preparing a short writeup to accompany a donation of her fur collar to the Worthington Historical Society, I sent a copy to my oldest brother and learned part of what I had missed. My grandmother had seen to it that this brother benefited from piano lessons and—one more thing I hadn’t bothered to learn about anyone outside of myself—she would often take him to those lessons and would warm up for her performances while she was waiting. He recently informed me that he had inherited a music cabinet from her with about 100 pounds of sheet music. Can you imagine? And here I thought of her as this meek, obedient little housewife.
I should add, I had thought of my grandfather as being a bit authoritarian, and it was only after he died that I learned he had been very appreciative of her musical talent. She talked about how on one of her “music days” he used that time to bake her a pie.
About the pie: She told me that none of those pies we had at family dinners were baked by her. She claimed to have baked three pies in her life, the first of which was good, the second mediocre and the third needing to be thrown out. At that point, he said “Don’t worry, I’ll bake the pies.” He never on that he was the one who baked them. Was that to make a macho impression, or was he protecting her image as a perfect housewife and cook? I guess we will never know.

Pandemic Puppies and Side Effects

credit: Lauren Rathbone, Pixabay

Early in the pandemic, a lot of people started getting puppies and dogs, to the point where several humane societies emptied out.  I am sure there are many who are still happily ensconced with their new owners, and some who have unfortunately been surrendered when the owners returned to their regular schedules and found themselves overwhelmed.  That is still better, though, than to keep an animal and neglect it.

Countless articles have been written about this phenomenon.  So many of these sudden pet owners had wanted a dog for years but felt unable to make the time to properly introduce it to their family and provide proper training.  Many, I am sure, made that time when they had a slowdown of their regular work schedules, and have continued to provide the best of homes.

While so many people were being furloughed, veterinarians were working nonstop, not only taking care of new pets but also treating minor conditions that long-time pet owners suddenly noticed once they were spending a lot more time at home with their pets.

I do suspect that a lot of the appeal of adding pets to a household during the pandemic—that will continue.  The pandemic has been such a stressor for so many, and the presence of an animal whose only goal is to love you…well, that will be a stress reducer in the future too.  Once this pandemic is gone (or absorbed into our daily life, if that is the case), we will not suddenly stop having stressors in our lives.

I admit, I lied about animals only wanting to love you.  They want treats too.  And walks.  And attention-seeking behavior at times when you are already preoccupied—well, that is part of the package.  But they do have a habit of worming their way into our lives.  Many is the person who merely tolerated the animal that another family member wanted, only to be sobbing uncontrollably when old age an infirmity catch up with that same animal.  Many is the person who swears to never get another pet and then finds one within weeks.  

Which is not to say life without animals is some vast wasteland.  If you are not inclined to have them around, please stick to your guns about that.  There is a lot of work involved, and good veterinary care is definitely no bargain these days.  Sometimes we find ourselves seeking veterinary care that we never dreamed we would agree to.  Did you know that there are veterinarians who perform acupuncture on pets?  I can tell you from experience that it gave at least one of my former dogs some good relief from back pain.  But acupuncture?  For animals?  Who knew?

This all leads to one conclusion:  The pandemic has made us re-think a lot of things, and it is doubtful that things will return to the way they were before.  The break some of us had in our schedules is likely to leave us more mindful of the directions we choose.  Whether or not to add these critters to your own life is one more thing to be mindful about.  Hopefully, whether you choose to live in a home with pets or without, you have settled on a plan that brings you joy.

Silly Diagnostic Labels

As a Licensed Professional Clinical Counselor, I am expected to assign labels to clients based on their “symptoms.” I put that word in quotes, because the bulk of my counseling hours are spent helping people navigate their way through situations. The “symptoms” are their perfectly normal responses to abnormal circumstances. Did you suffer abuse as a child and now have issues with trust, and/or PostTraumatic Stress? Sounds like a normal reaction to me, though the diagnostic label would likely be PostTraumatic Stress Disorder. Seriously, is it a disorder or a normal reaction you would like to mitigate or overcome?
Of course you want to feel better. I am here to help you process your issues so you can do exactly that. I’m just not sure how helpful a label is in that process. After all, each of you is unique, and though some labels may apply to you, they certainly do not define you.
To be fair, these diagnostic categories do give us a better feel for what we are dealing with, which of course leads to better ideas as to what approach will be most helpful. Just as a reputable medical person would never suggest treating asthma the same way they would a broken bone, I would never advocate that all clients be treated in an identical manner.
As I write this, I am reminded that there is valid overlap. I was about to bring addictions into the previous paragraph, when I was pretty much gobsmacked by the thought that there is almost invariably a link between addictions and previous trauma.
In one of my more rebellious moods, I came up with my own diagnostic system—one which is definitely not validated by any professional research. But in some ways it does cut to the chase. It refers to everyone being on a continuum, between NWC and JFN. NWC is my shorthand for Nothing’s Wrong wit Choo—you are unhappy and want to feel better, but you are mentally stable so there is that. JFN, my shorthand for Just Flippin’ Nuts, is not one I have given anyone; it is just there for comparison. My clients are not crazy, and I don’t say that to be facetious. If someone comes to me with a pervasive problem, such as psychosis of any type, I am likely to refer them to someone with a specialty in that area. This is not to be critical of that client; they simply deserve a therapist who specializes in their specific issue. I do not have enough experience in those areas and attempting to treat those potential clients would be doing them a disservice.
So here is my final word: We are all on the continuum between NWC and JFN, and in any normal lifespan we will move around a bit on the continuum, depending on our current situations and stressors.
Will it pass academic muster? Probably not, but I still like it and I hope you do too.

Ask Everyone

Ask everyone

You all know I have a Masters Degree, since that is required for me to get my license. What you may not all know is that I was in my 50s before that degree was conferred. I would be a liar if I said I knew from the age of 5 that I wanted to be a counselor. I started my freshman year of college with only very vague goals, and that is surely part of why it took me so long to complete even my Bachelor’s degree. Any excuse to drop out and I took it, until I didn’t.
I was 32 years old when I got my Bachelor of Arts Degree, and a divorce. Once I found a counselor I really liked (to process the divorce), I started thinking how much I would like to go into that same field. Then I quickly started un-thinking that, because I could not see my way clear to how I would ever pay tuition while I raised my child. I didn’t even tell anyone my goal; I just fumbled along the best I could with the generalized degree I had, working at jobs I didn’t much like but that I was pretty good at. There was also the one job I did like, self-employed, performing personalized singing telegrams. It required my creative side, which was what I loved about it.
Even after my son was fully grown, I would take stabs at figuring out how to finance graduate school, but I kept looking in the wrong places. It is especially curious that I never darkened the door of a college Financial Aid office. Now wouldn’t that seem like a logical place to go?
My mistake was simple: I thought I should be able to figure it out for myself, so I did very little asking for advice, even from experts. Blaming myself for not knowing what I had not been told, I just kept fumbling along without that degree. After enough years passed, I decided it just wasn’t in the stars. One favorite excuse? I won’t have enough working years left to justify the investment.
Then an opportunity pretty much smacked me in the face. I took it, started classes, and learned by Week 2 how most of my fellow students were funded: They had jobs in social service fields, with companies that paid for graduate school as an inducement. These were all companies I had been perfectly well qualified to work for; it just had never occurred to me to even try.
The point of this vignette is simple: Don’t follow my example. Had I swallowed my pride just the teensy amount it would take to ask questions, I would have either gotten into graduate school sooner or made an informed and rational decision to be content with the formal education I already had.
I doubt I would have started graduate school the minute the ink on my divorce papers was dry. Working full time while attending classes part time would mean I would miss out on too much of my child’s growing up. The years running the singing telegram company gave me plenty of latitude to be a more involved parent, for which I will always be grateful. But it would have been nice to have a plan for following a new career path when the time was right.
The short version of all this? Ask around. A lot. And read. And brainstorm, accepting even the worst ideas as ideas that may lead to better ones. There is no shame in not knowing, only in not bothering to learn. Whatever your age, you still have all the years ahead of you to change your path or just tweak the one you are on, to evaluate and re-evaluate your direction in life. The embarrassment of asking for advice and information pales next to the frustration of continuously thinking “If only.”