Perspective

Really great article & exercise. Wish it could be tried by everyone.


It’s unreasonable to expect others to accept or consider our perspective if we’re not willing to do the same for them. The truth is that the world isn’t really “as it is,” but as we see it, and we all see it differently!

http://www.positivelypositive.com/2012/09/25/the-power-of-perspective/

Love Thyself, Honor Thyself

I used to look in the mirror and see shapes, colors, good hair days, bad hair days, flaw, flaw, flaw. Now, I am 36, and I see myself more clearly than before. Not in a book smart way, or a scientifically accurate way, but in the sense that I have come to know ME.Some people claim that we are born with basic personality traits. Others, believe we become who we are based on experiences we have in our lives.Still others, believe we are born with traits that are switched on or off based on our personal experiences. No matter how you get there,shouldn't we KNOW what makes us, us? I think we do, but we allow ourselves to be lead astray by self-doubt,and the words of others. At what point did this happen? At what point did my voice become confused, mixed, over powered by the voices of others? At what point did I become what others thought of me, instead of who I wanted to be? When was that moment. Maybe it wasn't a moment at all. Maybe, I was worn away over time, like stone worn down by wind and rain. Reworked, and reshaped, by the elements around it until it only partly resembled its original appearance. Maybe, I too was reshaped by the voices and the elements around me until slowly, without realizing it I lost me. Now, years later, I am found. I no longer see what the mirror reflects back to me, but I see value in the uniqueness of then shapes. I see shades in the colors. I see good hair days, bad hair days, fun hair days, and days when what my hair is doing just doesn't matter. The flaws are still there. I still see them, but I also see good. I see strength, resilience, and power. Lines formed from years of laughter and tears. The voices, the elements, they are still all around me. They still creep into my head. Echo in the canyons of my mind. Trying to change my shape, challenge my shape. At times, I feel them beginning to alter me, and I must look deep within myself. If I close my eyes, quiet my mind, and repeat to myself "Love thyself, honor thyself”. Then, then the voices become whispers on a much gentler breeze, and I remember me.

Art Therapy/ Walk

For Michelle, ok more for me at Michelle's suggestion.

The Fog

It is.one of those nights again. It feels heavy. My chest is heavy, myhead is heavy with thought, my heart is heavy, and most of all my mood is heavy and gloomy. Could i be tired? I could. Is it a passing mood? Maybe. but it seems to me that ot has been moving in on me for a few weeks now. Like a slow thick fog rolls across a mountain, thwn settles into a valley to stay for a spell, encompassing and covering all that dwells there. So too has this heaviness rolled in over me and my every day, encompassing all of my thoughts, and deeds. There is a hopelessness that comes with it. A, sort of, surender to the commonness of this feeling. And yet in this serender, this lack of fight, there is a sense of freedom. A sense that this heaviness is familiar, and that the sheer knowledge that there is no use in fighting, makes it more tolerable. when the sun rises and its bright warm rays heat the valley and all with in it, even the thickest of fogs burns away.

Life Journey

Tonight I am trying to remind myself that life is a journey, and that every day, no matter how difficult it may seem, is part of a bigger picture. It is all happening as God's way of preparing you for what is yet to come.

What Do You Hear In These Sounds

I had forgotten this song by Dar Williams, but as soon as I heard it again, it hit home.
My favorite line:

And when I talk about therapy, I know what people think That it only makes you selfish and in love with your shrink But Oh how I loved everybody else When I finally got to talk so much about myself............

What Do You Hear In These Sounds
Dar Williams

I don't go to therapy to find out if I'm a freak I go and I find the one and only answer every week And it's just me and all the memories to follow Down any course that fits within a fifty minute hour And we fathom all the mysteries, explicit and inherent When I hit a rut, she says to try the other parent And she's so kind, I think she wants to tell me something, But she knows that its much better if I get it for myself... And she says

Oooooooh,aaaaaaah, What do you hear in these sounds? And... Oooooooh,aaaaaaah What do you hear in these sounds?????

I say I hear a doubt, with the voice of true believing And the promises to stay, and the footsteps that are leaving And she says "Oh", I say "What?"...she says "Exactly", I say"What, you think I'm angry Does that mean you think I'm angry?" She says "Look, you come here every week With jigsaw pieces of your past Its all on little soundbytes and voices out of photographs And that's all yours, that's the guide, that's the map So tell me, where does the arrow point to? WHO INVENTED ROSES?" and.......

Oooooooh,aaaaaaah What do you hear in these sounds? And...Oooooooh,aaaaaaah What do you hear in these sounds?????

And when I talk about therapy, I know what people think That it only makes you selfish and in love with your shrink But Oh how I loved everybody else When I finally got to talk so much about myself............

And I wake up and I ask myself what state I'm in And I say well I'm lucky, cause I am like East Berlin I had this wall and what I knew of the free world Was that I could see their fireworks And I could hear their radio And I thought that if we met, I would only start confessing And they'd know that I was scared They'd would know that I was guessing But the wall came down and there they stood before me With their stumbling and their mumbling And their calling out just like me...and...

Oooooooh,aaaaaaah, The stories that nobody hears...and...

Oooooooh,aaaaaaah, and I collect these sounds in my ears...and

Oooooooh,aaaaaaah, that's what I hear in these sounds...and...

Like a Little Girl

Suddenly the flood gates broke and I began saying the things I've been holding back for months. My father responds with the stuff he's been holding back. Suddenly I'm 10 years old again and I'm sobbing. I feel myself get light headed and the words begin to choke me again. I hear him and respond in my head, but all that comes out is tears. A constant flow of tears and my head spins. I occasionally try to defend myself or make him understand, but mostly I just cry. I feel trapped, and little. I am thankful when he ends it and says he is leaving. I wanted to stop arguing, stop hurting each other much before that, but again the words just stuck there. They swirl through my head at such a rate that I can hardly make sense of them, but they never escape my lips. As he leave I feel myself crumble. Once shin feeling like I have failed them. Feeling like I have failed me. Like I have just plain failed. I cry harder. I am still 10 years old, I feel disloyal, dishonest and cowardly. What I want most, is what every sad little girl wants. I want someone to scoop me up, wrap me in warmth, and make me feel safe. I look around and find no one there. Now I have failed and it has left me alone, unloved, and crying like a child while I wait for someone to come rescue me. But I am not a child, and knowing this makes me feel even more like I am not ok. Like there MUST be something wrong with me. Why am I crying like a child? Why am I sitting there alone in a dark store? Why am I so unlovable that I deserve to be sitting there alone when I have a husband, parents, and children, a family? What on Earth is wrong with me? What have I done that makes it so hard for someone to be compassionate toward me?

These feelings and questions overwhelm me, and by the time my husband arrives, I am beyond needy. I am a little girl, sitting in the dark, alone, scared, and feeling unimportant, unloved. He does not see this little girl though. The one who is scared and alone. What he sees is a grown woman who he expects to know and understand that he loves her. So the girl is once again alone, feeling like she is unlovable, unsafe, unimportant.

I tell the little girl. I love her. I hear her, and she gets quiet. But I know she is still inside of me. Still full of self doubt, and fear, and blame. She is still scared and lonely, just praying and waiting for someone to wrap her in warmth and safety.