Chunk of Perspective on my Shoe.

There's a chunk of perspective on my shoe and I can't shake it off.

I just got back from a vacation. The stressful, screamingly-happy (and screamingly-tired) children type of vacation. We had a blast.

Of course, the Ogre tried to ruin it in countless ways, but we took as many precautions as we could and just didn't have the phone on for most of it.

And now we're back, and I'm back to reading "The 4-Day Win" by Martha Beck (awesome book, too). I just bought "Feminine Warriors" by Al Marrewa on Amazon, too (it has to go back to the library, and I am SO not giving it up). But, best of all, I'm looking through my tasks, thinking about which ones make me feel trapped, and which ones feel liberating.

Now, a note on tasks: all tasks on your to-do list suck. Otherwise you wouldn't have to remind yourself to do them. I get this intellectually. But tell that to my stomach, my hands, and my mouth, which all go into Munch Mode as soon as I even CONTEMPLATE a task that I really hate doing. And then, the more I put it off, the worse I feel about it, because now I feel like I hate it, but I feel guilty.

Here's an example: I have to clean out the litter box. There are WEEKS that I've cleaned out the litter box twice a day, and don't mind doing it. But once there's more than a day's worth of crap in it, I can't do it. I end up pouring the whole thing out and replacing all the litter. Then I'm grossed out for a couple of days. Then I can't clean it out again. Now I feel guilty, because my poor cat's feet smell like pooey litter after a couple of days. Now I REALLY can't face the litterbox, because it's smelly and my cat is looking at me like I'm a bad Kitty Mommy. And, since I'm already a bad Kitty Mommy, how can I face her and clean out the litter box?

It's a vicious circle. And, although I don't feel like eating when I think about the contents of the kitty litter box, when I think that I have to change the litter, I feel like munching.

Now, "have to" tasks are very trapping. "Want to" is so much more liberating. But guess what happens when I take a "want to" task, and start telling myself that I "have to" do it for a little bit a day in order to get better at it, or whatever?

Suddenly it's another chain holding me down.

I can totally see why people have to have a lonely, rebellious year or so after they get out of an abusive relationship. And if I didn't have such an amazingly considerate boyfriend, who does not tell me what to do, or what I should do...and if he slips, he corrects himself and apologizes, I would need a year to just do the opposite of what everyone says. In fact, I am doing that now, but luckily he can take it, accept it, and then ask me when I'm more logical what I really want to do.

So, after vacation I read about gauging the unpleasantness of what I do, and then when all of this mental clarity vomited up the tasks of my life and my feelings about them, I ended with a piece of perspective: I don't actually like what I'm doing with my life.

I mean job-wise, responsibility-wise, etc. I don't like being in my apartment much ("home"=bad, for most of my life). I don't like being indoors very long. I like climbing trees, rocks, pretty much anything. I like walking at night. I like coming and going. I like quick answers, not filling out long forms. I like analyzing processes for things I can improve, not checking them against some published standard. I like solving problems, not filling out paperwork.

AND THAT'S OK.

But it's also showing me how miserable I am sometimes, and although it distracted me from my home-life misery for the past six years, it is certainly not a happy place now.

So I keep trying to bury my head back in the sand, and tell myself I'm just not "back in the swing of things" yet.

But of course I know what it is....

It's that big, shiny piece of perspective I just can't shake off.

Fine

I'm fine, really.

I smile. I laugh. I'm helping out a colleague. I'm going out with the girls. I'm reading the children bedtime stories.

I'm fine, right?

Not so much. Like you, I put on a face of being fine. Happy, even.

I just managed to talk to my therapist about being molested, raped, abandoned, abused, and terrorized, all with nary an eyeblink. I even laughed at a few points. Then, at the end, she (bless her little pea-picking heart), did some relaxation exercises with me and I--guess what?--cried.

I patted my belly and said, "there's a lot of cry stuck in here."

I remember when I used to pat my belly and say, "There's a lot of laugh stuck in here."

But no, not now. Now there's just a whole lotta cry, and I'm afraid to let it out. There's a whole lot of punch and kick and scream, too. And I'm terrified that it will break out.

The past week or so, the synchronicity is this: Self-limitation. I'm writing a little booklet on it right now. Because how many of us fail to try because we've already told ourselves that we can't? Depressed people are LOADED with self-limiting thoughts. "I can't go out because..."
"If I do this, then that might happen..." They also tend to think they're impostors.

Impostor Thinking is real. And it means that you don't believe you're really as good as people say you are, and one day you'll disappoint the whole lot of them. So either you work really, really hard, and live in fear, or you underachieve and adjust their expectations.

I always did the latter.

Many Cognitive Behavioral Therapy worksheets ask what you want, and then what keeps you from doing it. The thought is that, if you blast out your reasons for not doing something, then you'll just go and do it. God, I wish it were that easy. I'm constantly developing new ways to shoot myself in the feet. And all the while, I'll tell you that I'm fine.