Schadenaude

Martha is a retired police officer.  In the beginning of our relationship, when I was still suffering from PTSD and fear of the world, it was very comforting to me to have her protection.  I was proud of the awards she won for her work with crime victims and the work she did to protect kids from molesters.  She was the epitome of the ‘good cop’.  Except for one thing - when off duty she was always being stopped for speeding.  But then she would show her badge and get off scot free.  Even after she retired, that retired badge would save her from the tickets and fines.  It drove me nuts and I was always harping on her that she should be setting a good example, yada, yada, yada.  It fell on deaf ears.

Then my daughter married an Air Force veteran and it's the same thing!   He told me that he has never gotten a speeding ticket.  Then I asked how many times he had been pulled over and he said many, many times but his military ID always got him out of it.  Arghh!

I can’t count the times I reminded them that they both had careers where they swore to serve and protect.  Protect!  Yet, they felt entitled to ignore speed limits and put everyone else at risk - just because they would never suffer the consequences like everyone else.  

Well, my day has come.  The adjacent city is now using cameras to record speeders and they both got tickets -  in the mail.  Ha!  I guess those cameras don’t care if you have a badge in your wallet.  Should I be taking pleasure in their having to pay substantial fines?  Probably not.  But am I?  Absolutely. 

Full of Grace

 So many things to be grateful for this month:

-The first trip to the new dentist was unfortunately unsuccessful, so I resorted to some anxiety drugs which got me through the return visit.  I really hate to rely on drugs and feel I should be past needing them, but the tooth is fixed and I have decided to be gentle with myself on the decision.

-My garden harvest.  There’s always at least one failure - this year - lettuce.  But green beans, tomatoes, raspberries, cukes and zucchini are all doing well.

-I took two of my grandchildren to a butterfly conservatory.  There was no better feeling than seeing the wonder in a 2-year old’s face when a butterfly landed on her arm for a few minutes. Sheer joy. 

-A successful family vacation to the beach. My sons-in-law understood the assignment and gave my daughters plenty of ‘sister’ time and we ate amazing seafood and homemade ice cream daily.  It’s always good to get salty air back in my lungs and watching my 2 grandsons (not quite 4 years old) playing with boogie boards in the surf made this aging surfer girl get a little teary.

-Really enjoying my new little bistro table, nestled into our fountain garden.  This is now where I have my morning coffee and have tea parties with my granddaughter. A wonderful spot to be grateful for all the blessings in my life.

On Therapy

 July 1st was the anniversary of the death of the therapist, Lauren, who quite literally saved my life.  

Every July her daughter and family visits from France, where they now live, for a family remembrance.  This year she came alone because her husband is Muslim and they were afraid to enter this country. ( I truly have no words for the anger I feel toward this administration and the climate of fear it has created)

Still, her visit always reminds me to be grateful for a therapist who got me from point A (a barely functioning shell, lost in trauma and grief) to point B (a person  who can love, and laugh and find joy in life again).  It was exhausting work, took years, and the progress was anything but linear.  She died before I got to the finish line, but she left me with enough tools to get there. And to stay grounded with only occasional setbacks.  

I was thinking of her when I spoke to my nephew who is now in couple counseling, trying to save his marriage.  He was telling me that the therapist (whom his wife chose) sits and listens to the complaints, often rolls her eyes, and has not given them any realistic suggestions - no insights, no suggestions, no strategies to practice.  It has basically become a bitch session for his wife.  No growth. No challenge.  Really, no help in getting to the root of their problems.  I gently suggested that perhaps he should find his own therapist, to support his own growth.  

The more I chat with folks who have gone through trauma, the more I realize how lucky I was to have Lauren.  So many times I hear stories of women who have basically become dependent on their therapist for support with no growth or healing happening - emotional crutches where dependency replaces growth, and little actually changes.  Therapy, I think, should be a place to transform and build strength, even if the changes are small and incremental. 

Lauren helped me do the hard work of becoming myself again. And though she’s gone, I carry her wisdom every day. Her legacy, for me and many others like me, reminds me that healing is possible—and that a truly good therapist can change, and even save, a life.

I feel so blessed. 

Shifting Ground

 A few things have happened recently that have altered my equilibrium, both externally and internally, and I am angry and anxious and feeling like my very carefully regulated peace of mind has shifted into unknown territory.

1.  ICE has entered my calm, diverse neighborhood in the most horrifying way - at a middle school bus stop.  Two unmarked, white vans were sitting at a bus stop with kids, ages 12-14.  A mother stopped them and began filming.  Fortunately, whoever they were targeting never showed up, but I can’t imagine the trauma those kids would have witnessed had they had to see one of their peers dragged away and shoved into a van.  Our community was in an uproar. WTF is happening to our country? 

2. My long-time dentist recently retired.  I carry deep trauma surrounding choking on teeth that were kicked out.  I never told my dentist the details, beyond having dental trauma, but somehow he always just seemed to get it.  He always asked how I was doing, always gave me breaks during any procedure, always sensed when I was overwhelmed and let me walk around.  Maybe because he donated a lot of his time to working with veterans.  I don’t know.  But he always managed to get me through dental work.  And now I have a cracked tooth and will be seeing a new dentist.  I know-or at least hope- that my anxiety is worse than anything I am actually going to experience.  Still, I am bracing for a breakdown.

3. My nephew is separating from his wife.  There has never been a divorce in my family and no one seems to know how to react to this news or how family relationships will change.  Their issues mostly stem from disagreements on parenting and child discipline, and so I think, could be worked out with the help of a family therapist.  I am hopeful but still very unsettled in this shift in family dynamics that once seemed so solid.  

All together, these events have left me feeling unmoored. The stability I’ve fought for—in my mental peace, in relationships, and the sense of safety for my community—suddenly feels very fragile. I know life is unpredictable, and change is inevitable, but right now, I feel like the ground is shifting beneath me, unsure if there is any safe place to land.

I’m trying to find ways to hold myself steady, relying on all the old therapeutic tricks and building resilience amongst all the chaos.  But honestly? More often than not, I just keep thinking about that musical:  “Stop the World, I Want to Get Off”.

Not Okay

 

Stop Doing List

 Recently, I went down a bit of a rabbit hole.

It started with a visit to Middle Girl’s blog. Her artwork was beautiful, but it was the quote she featured—“Love is an action, never simply a feeling”—that really stuck with me. It reminded me of something I’d read years ago. I even commented, saying “Love is a verb,” though I couldn’t quite remember where I’d heard that phrase.

Turns out, I misattributed it—or at least half-remembered it. After some head-scratching and digging, I finally traced it back to Patty Digh and her book “Life is a Verb”—a book I actually own. Go figure.

As I reread some of her work, another quote of hers jumped out at me:

“Sometimes our stop-doing list needs to be bigger than our to-do list.”

And just like that, down another rabbit hole I went.

This time of year, my to-do list is packed with gardening tasks and outdoor chores. But the idea of a “stop-doing” list hit differently. It made me pause and consider what habits, thought patterns, and distractions I might need to let go of in order to create more space for presence, purpose, and connection.

Here’s what’s presently making it onto my stop-doing list:

Stop doom scrolling first thing in the morning. A quick check for new grandkid pics on my daughters’ socials is fine—then it’s time to get up and get moving.

Stop mindlessly eating. Food deserves intention, not distraction.

Stop avoiding triggers. After years and years of therapy, I estimate I have mastered about 95% of my former triggers. But I still find myself avoiding certain situations/people/conversations. Leaning into discomfort is often where the healing begins.

Stop dodging difficult conversations. Sometimes facing them can mend old wounds and strengthen bridges.

Stop taking relationships for granted. They require time, care, and attention. It’s too easy to coast on routine and shared history.

Stop tolerating the erosion of my boundaries. I once let a friend ridicule my critical boundaries and it caused so much damage that I’m still trying to untangle it.  But I have learned. Respect begins with me.

I am learning that love, connection, and purpose aren’t built through my busyness—they take root in the quiet moments I am making by releasing what no longer serves me.

Inquiring Minds

I have been home sick for the last 10 days.  First was the norovirus that came on suddenly and painfully. Vomiting and diarrhea added to the misery.  Finally  after four days of that and one day of feeling recovered, I have been felled by a nasty cough and cold.  

I always thank Martha for these contagions since she often subs in an elementary school - the petri dish of germs.  Thanks!

I have been using my down time reading historical novels which I prefer.  But as I lay in bed with tissues wadded up my nose, I thought of this question -

All these old century stories deal with horrible diseases - typhoid, Bubonic plaque, small pox.  But I have never read of a protagonist in earlier centuries having a common cold.  Did it not exist back then?  Did Michelangelo never sneeze on David?  Did Cleopatra never cough on Anthony?

And my burning question is - what did they use for tissues? This baby needs her Puffs Plus with Lotion and Vicks.  I can’t imagine rubbing rough papyrus on my already raw nose.

If you have any insight, please leave all scholarly research, or fantasy guesses in the comments.  Inquiring minds need to know.