Finding a Place to Put It All

It is a beautiful day here in New England and after going to the doctor to get my ankle checked (my diagnosis is arthritis) and taking advantage of Borders “going out of business sale”, I am home for the rest of the day in order to try and straighten out my brain and my house. The mess in the house is usually a reflection of what is going on in my head so I am going to try and find places to put things, both literally and figuratively.

I am dealing with stories. Other people’s stories. Years ago, when I decided to become a counselor I consciously made the decision to dedicate myself to work with women who had experienced great difficulties in their lives and were working to try and mend. This has meant that, at times, I become the receptacle in which other people put some of their pain by telling their stories. This is my choice. I can’t take away the pain, but I can help ease the effect on them by hearing their tales and helping them find the strength they have inside to be able to move on.

If I don’t take care of myself, though, these stories tend to accumulate in my brain and I need to find my own place to put them. This week I have heard some horrendous stories; stories of childhood abuse that were unconscionable and graphic. I looked into the eyes of these women and saw pain and heartache along with tremendous spirit and strength. I was glad to hear their stories because I knew they needed to be heard.

I understand at times why survivors of childhood abuse are not believed. I think it has to do with our desire to believe more of humanity, that it is not possible for people to do the things that they do. Some people want to hold onto the hope that these stories cannot possibly be true, because if it were true, then they would have to admit that it could happen to them, their children or grandchildren, to the child next door, the sweet baby boy in the shopping cart next to you in the grocery store. We don’t want this to be in our world. It is, though, and it is so important to believe someone when they need to tell their story. People perpetuate the abuse through unbelief.

I have people tell me that they can’t understand how I do the work I do. The thing is that I don’t understand not doing the work I do. If I think of becoming a florist or a truck driver or any other of the myriad career paths I have considered on my bad days, I realize that I would not be true to who I am by doing something else. I can’t not do it. So, when it starts to get a little tough I have to take a break and find someplace to put it all and get my psychic and physical house in order so that I can be ready for the next story. I do a little retail therapy, get a massage, play my cello, sit on the side of a mountain, or take my bike out for a nice long ride along the river. In order to do what I do I have to take care of myself, because the thought of not being able to do what I do scares me more than doing it.

On the Mend and Cooking

It’s the last day of February and I feel like I am finally on the mend. I have high, but probably delusional , hopes for an early Spring. If the turnout at the Farmer’s Market at Cole Gardens in Concord yesterday was any indication, I am not the only one. I bought a beautiful succulent to add to my growing collection of plants. They are so important in the winter to help clean and humidify the air.

I hate that it took so much down time to get over this last bug that hit me. Is this part of getting older or was this just a really bad virus? A lot people that I know were hit hard and I hope I didn’t contribute to the spread of the germs. I tried hard to keep them to myself. I sat in a meeting the other morning and had two boxes of tissues, a large bottle of hand sanitizer, and a plastic bag tied to my chair. I would blow my nose, put the tissue in the bag and then clean my hands before passing out papers. By the end of the meeting my nose was bright red, the bag was full and I had gone through almost a whole box of tissues.

Enough of that, I am done with it. I am moving on.

It really wasn’t a waste. I read a lot. I finished Chris Bohjalian’s new book , Secrets of Eden. It was typical Bohjalian – some good research and a twist at the end. It was about a fictional murder/suicide in Vermont and the impact of the incident on the town.

The other book I have started is A Burning Desire by Kevin Griffin. He takes the concept of the Higher Power in the 12 Step programs and applies it to Buddhist teachings. I am finding the book fascinating and consider it a real find for my recovery and my spiritual path. I may write more about it after I finish reading it.

Last night I spent some time thinking about what are the things that contribute the most to my well being and

health. Number one is music. I have talked about that before in another blog so I won’t wax poetic on the riffs of the blues (which I am listening to right now) or the beauty of cello and oboe. The other things are nature and the joy of a walk in the woods, a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer before bedtime, a heating pad on my stomach, hugs from grandchildren, yoga, massage, and a happy cat. Sometimes the yoga and happy cat go together. This morning I had to include some new yoga moves – Rubbing Boo’s Belly, Scratching Boo’s Ear, and resting in Savasana while getting fingers licked.

Yesterday I also engaged in one of my other great joys. Cooking. I made a great soup for dinner and combined that with some wonderful onion dill rolls I bought at the farmer’s market. I found the recipe in a soup cookbook but once I started chopping I ignored the measurements and just went for it. Here is what I ended up doing.

I heated approx. a tablespoon of olive oil in my mother’s old cast iron soup pot. I love this pot. I remember her using it while I was growing up and I am glad to have it now. It is perfect for cooking soup.

Using my favorite kitchen tool, the Pampered Chef chopper, I diced 2 large onions, 3 large carrots (yes – carrots – I know some of you may be surprised by this) and three large celery stalks. Those all went into the soup pot and I cooked them on medium heat for about five minutes until the onion was translucent. Then I added about 2 tsps or more of curry powder (the recipe called for one tsp and I thought that was incredibly stingy so I just went for it) and four very large cloves of garlic that I had minced (again, the recipe called for two cloves and I thought that was just plain crazy). I let that cook on medium heat for about a minute or so before I added a half a pound of rinsed red lentils, a cup of V8 juice and a quart and a half of vegetable broth. That was all brought to a boil and then covered and simmered for about a half hour or when I couldn’t stand it anymore and wanted to eat. I also seasoned with fresh ground pepper and salt to my personal taste. Along with the rolls, it was a perfect winter meal. There is plenty left for two or three more meals. The recipe said it could be garnished with some sour cream or plain yogurt but I was saving the fat component of the meal for the butter on the rolls. The apartment still smells like onions, garlic and curry.

I am looking forward to getting back to work. My week is structured so that I have a preparation and planning day tomorrow, two days of travel and trainings, a tele-training for the Virginia Coalition on Thursday and then I will be spending Friday and Saturday at a Trauma and Addictions seminar in Boston at Harvard University. As long as the weather cooperates it should be an excellent week.