I am a therapist. Okay, technically I am a Licensed Clinicial Social Worker (LCSW) – say that 10 times fast. But the word everyone knows? Therapist. What do I bill as? Therapist. So I guess, that makes me a therapist. Unfortunately, therapists tend to get a bad rap. But we aren’t all created equal. Right now, I work with children and specialize in trauma therapy to address abuse. I also work with adults (who are typically just children who didn’t get therapy soon enough).

I have also seen a therapist. I mean, who hasn’t? Okay, so maybe there are some well adjusted people out there, but although I consider myself well adjusted for the most part, life can be an overwhelming S.O.B. sometimes, ya know?

So anyway, today I am imparting 10 things your therapist might want you to know…

10. Don’t be paranoid. We only write things down on our notepad because we have terrible memories. We are not doodling a picture of you that says “crazy Mofo” as the caption  (usually). We see lots of people every day, and we don’t want to look like fools (I pity da fool!) when you come back next week and we can’t remember things we obviously should remember (like how many cats you have, or the exact shape of your tinfoil hat that will keep the aliens away. I kid. Sort of).

9. We will challenge you. If you want us to sit silently and not reflect back to you, or offer suggestions – say so. Otherwise, it is our job to challenge you – to challenge your thinking – and to support you in changing areas you would like to change. If you want to stay the same? Save your time and mine – stay home!

8. Adulthood is a constant struggle to overcome your childhood. Usually. So when we ask you about your childhood, don’t be a wise-ass. Just answer the question because yes, it does matter (or we wouldn’t bother asking). Frankly, you learn how to cope with life when you are a child, so sometimes it’s a matter of learning about how you learned to cope with life and if it was healthy or not. Don’t take offense.

7. We know things. Really. We went to a lot of school, and most of us have a life long relationship with Sallie Mae to show for it. If we make a suggestion, try it. IT MAY HELP! It may not. But if you enter a working relationship with a therapist assuming that nothing will work then guess what? Nothing will work. You’re the one paying the money. You can make the best of it, or you can have a bad attitude. The choice is yours.

6. SPEAKING of money, we are expensive. I get it. Again, we all owe 6 years of debt to Sallie Mae. Sorry ’bout that. But did you know most private therapists have sliding scale fees? Yeah. It’s in our bitchin’ code of ethics to work with people around payment. So before you decide you aren’t going to get a therapist because you can’t afford it? Reach out and ask.

5. We WILL in some fashion, manner, or medium ask you how you are feeling. Because you know what? IT MATTERS. I know it’s cliche, and I hate myself a little everytime I ask it – but let’s face it, feelings are what we all tend to avoid and that’s probably why you’re in therapy. Acknowledge them. And stop rolling your eyes.

4. You are not a broken car. We can not replace your muffler and send you off running smoothly, free of hysterical, over-the-top, inappropriate emotional reactions. People are not things that can be fixed. We can give you opportunity to say what you need to say (thanks, John Mayer for ruining that phrase) and we can offer up advice about things to try to reduce symptoms. We cannot live your life for you. You must figure out what works for you. Also, we cannot come to Thanksgiving Dinner, your birthday party, or your work Christmas party to explain to people “why you act this way.” Stop asking.

3. Not all therapists have couches. Sorry. And if they do? They do not want you to lay down on it the moment you walk in the door. As my teenage clients would say………awkward.

2. If we’re not clicking personality-wise, don’t be afraid to speak up. There may be a change we can make, or we can refer you to someone that may be a better match. Believe me when I tell you, that we do not take it personally.

1. Please show up. Listen, we don’t get paid when you don’t show up. So if you can’t make it – or you’re pissed at us for what we told you last week – don’t be passive aggressive, just call and re-schedule. It’s way cooler than standing someone up. If you do this a lot, someday you may show up and I won’t be there. Okay, probably not. Because I want money love my job, and wouldn’t want to miss an appointment. But still? Have some respect. Show up or call to let us know. I have things I could be doing if you aren’t going to be there, like drinking paperwork.

Happy Friday, everyone!

Linking up with Mamakat’s writing prompt today for the first time! The challenge I chose was to write a poem ending with “my friend.”  I couldn’t get the button to work, so the link will have to do for this week until I become more savvy.

There is beauty,
if you look around.
Beauty in the beginning of something new,
a chapter all your own.
Dizzying possibilities within your reach..
they lay before you, crossroads.
I am proud to be beside you,
to cheer you,
to hold your hand and snuggle you.
Remember the questions will have answers,
the choices will unveil themselves,
you will never face the unknown by yourself.
Our journey is as one,
but also separate.
A team, but also individuals.
Our triumphs, our failures..
they are ours apart, and ours together.
I am proud, to call you my husband
the love of my life, my partner
my friend.

I was right in the middle of a dream (although I forget what about now), when I was suddenly awakened by Jenn shaking my arm. I could see she was wide awake and looked almost a little distressed. “Honey,” she said,”my water broke…our baby’s coming.”

Holy crap. It’s really happening. What happened next is kind of a blur, but I did my best to crate Skeeter (who was going nuts; he can always tell when something is up) and help Jenn out to the Buick, grabbing wallets and cell phones on the way.

I called her parents on the 20-minute drive to the hospital, and luckily, mananged to wake up Sandy. When I told her what was happening, she started crying and told me that she would get there as soon as she could.

I called Stacey next, then my parents, and pretty much got similar reactions.

The contractions started on the way to the hospital. I did my best to drive fast, but steady. I admit that I had flashbacks to the story my Dad has told me many times about my Mom throwing up in his car while in labor with me. I realize that I don’t care about collateral damage, I just want Jenn and the baby to get through this ok.

We made it to the hospital without incident. We were given a room. Jenn was in labor for five hours, which probably felt much shorter for me than for her. On a positive note, it gave Sandy time to get there from Vermont. Even Mike managed to come with her, his third time out of Vermont in thirty years. Stacey and my parents, only living 30 minutes away, made it in plenty of time.

I spent much of my time holding Jenn’s hand, and doing my best to comfort her. She was nervous…how much would it hurt? Would the baby be born healthy? I have to admit, that I was just as nervous, but tried to maintain my composure for her.

I was never so nervous, as when it came time for her to push. She held me hand so tight..and I did my best to hold back. I was crying; I couldn’t help it. Jenn told me later that it didn’t hurt as bad as she thought. It didn’t take long, and at 9:27 am on Wednesday, November 14th, I’m pleased to announce…

…nothing.

We woke up at 5 am like normal. We went to work. I spent my lunch break writing a work of fiction for people to read.

On Friday, February 25th, 2011, Jenn had a miscarriage (as explained in her post from today and others). The above story might have happened today, or tomorrow, or next week. It might have happened in a different way. We’ll never know. All we’ll know is what DID happen. And all we can do is hope that this story will play out in some form, some day, for a different baby.

Happy Birthday, Baby That Never Was.

November sucks.

Before I met Casey, there was a time that I didn’t want biological children.

Let’s face it, I have a pretty crappy set of genes in some ways, and I became determined that I didn’t want to continue passing them down the line. I was certain that I would simply adopt at some point and that would be fine.

When Casey entered the picture, I let him know early on (so as not to have surprises later on) that I wanted to adopt children. I didn’t believe that I wanted biological children.

And then, a few months after we were married I had a pregnancy “scare”… I say “scare” because at the time, I was scared. It wasn’t in THE PLAN to have kids (biologically) or to have kids at all until we’d been married awhile. It turned out that it was a false positive or some such nonsense, as only one test was positive and the 25,000 others I took were negative. We were in the clear.

Except.

The day or so that I thought I was pregnant? I was scared, but also incredibly excited. Feelings were ignited in me that I didn’t know were possible. My fingers were on FIRE googling how to have a healthy pregnancy. Suddenly I was dreaming about what a baby that Casey and I made would look like. Would they have curly hair like me? Blue eyes like Casey? What adorable way could I tell my parents?

The same sort of feelings came about for Casey, and we started talking about trying. Casually. Like it would just sort of happen in its own time. A year after that we started talking about TRYING. Like charting and tracking and paying far more attention to my underwear than anyone should. I learned terms like TTC, BD, BFN, EOD, HPT, OPK – seriously it’s like another whole language. Thank goodness for communities of women who helped me through this- and Dr. Google, of course.

Months after that we miscarried. This is the month that I should have been having a baby.

We found out Casey has low sperm count and he ate more bananas and seeds than any human being should because it might help. Nothing. So a couple of years later, we are now in a process of grieving. We cannot afford further testings or treatment, because I no longer have insurance and Casey’s doesn’t cover it. We cannot afford private domestic adoption without going into deep, deep debt and being picked over with  fine tooth comb by an adoption agency that I’m not sure would take us due to Casey’s stroke and my chronic health disease.

A decision that is easy to make, becomes so very hard to follow through on. Our options are limited. We keep hoping for a natural miracle, but my hope is dwindling. When we eventually move to NC and get settled, we will look into adopting through their welfare system. But the baby thing? May very well not be in the cards for us. I don’t know how to reconcile with that, but I am trying to every day. I am also trying to break the silence and shame around it, because it certainly exists.

Infertility is real. It is painful. It is part of our story, and our journey. It is likely part of the journey of someone you know. Be open to hearing the stories, be gentle, and be kind with your words and judgement- we never know what someone else is going through or what they are trying to let go of.

I was about 23.

It was a cold night. Below zero. The homeless shelter I worked at was over capacity, we couldn’t accept any more people.

My heart ached. What a failed system. How was this helping?

He was disheveled. Intoxicated. He had a smile I’ll never forget. I had to tell him we were over capacity. I scolded him for not coming in sooner. I offered to get him a cab to somewhere. There was nowhere, really, he told me. He had been kicked out of the other shelter, he didn’t have anywhere.

I took two of our dismal grey blankets. He wrapped them around himself and went to sit on the bench outside. After several minutes, I bundled myself up.

I went outside. And I sat while he slept.

I checked his breathing all night and woke him every hour to come inside and warm up.

That one night? He never forgot. He would thank me everytime he saw me while I was at work, or around town. He came in early every night the rest of the winter, to make sure he had a spot. The city opened an overflow shelter so we didn’t have to turn people away.

I never forgot that night either, and whenever I’m stuck on a selfish feeling I remember it. I snuggle in closer to my husband and remember that one night.

Pastel walls.
Outdated magazines.
A quiet, powerful energy of fear.
Tick.
Tock.
Buzzing of telephones.
Quiet murmuring of receptionists.
Glass windows.
Tick.
Tock.
Fumble with a book.
Listen to music.
Wonder about why she is here. Or him.
Tick
Tock.
Daytime TV, let’s find out if he’s the real father.
Quick bathroom breaks.
Lukewarm water.
Tick.
Tock.
What if scenarios play out in your head.
Tears in the corner of your eyes.
Wondering.
Tick.
Tock.
How much longer.
Startled by every movement.
Knees bump with the person beside you.
Tick.
Tock.
You wish you were anywhere else.
Ponder your to-do list.
Pray even though you don’t pray.
Tick.
Tock.
Jump as the doctor enters the room.
Take a sharp breath in.
Attempt to read their face.
Tick.
Tock.
Good news? Bad News?
Invitation into a family room.
Holding breath.
Tick.
Tock.
She’s alive.
She’s alive.
She’s alive.

I tried to write this blog last night. Instead I stared at the blank computer screen, wrote and erased several so-so topics, and then I gave up. Sometimes inspiration just doesn’t hit.

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I took a walk yesterday with Casey, Stacey, and three dogs. When we were walking back, the light was perfect, just a half hour or so before sunset. The leaves appeared golden, the fallen leaves were crunching beneath my feet, everyone was quiet in their own appreciation of the moment. It’s one of my new favorite mental snapshots.

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This morning I woke up feeling like a zombie. All I want to do is sleep. Instead I have to figure out how to eat and get to the gym and have dinner with friends tonight. All good things. Caffeine will enter the picture soon.

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Speaking of caffeine, it’s just one of the words that I’ve looked up to make sure I was spelling them right in this post. Sometimes words just don’t look right, and I don’t want to look like a spelling fool. (What instantly pops in my head when I say fool? “I pity da fool!” ~Mr. T.)

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I am really enjoying posting daily, but mostly enjoying meeting new people and reading new blogs through this process. Yesterday we got 114 hits on our blog (small for some, but big for us!)

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I want to write a post about infertility and how much I hate it, but I want to write it thoughtfully. I have to keep working on this.

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I like twitter a lot, but sometimes it seems very clique-y. Like I’m in high school again and want everyone to follow me back. It’s a weird phenomenon.

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Last night we played a very fun game with our friends Julie and Justin. It was called “Things” and I highly recommend it if you’re looking for a great party game.

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We’ve decided we’re going to hold an Ugly Christmas Sweater Party! I’m hoping this will inspire me not only to reconnect with friends, but also to make sure my living room gets painted.

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It’s time for lunch here, so I’m going to stop. Hopefully tomorrow will be a more cohesive blog post (yeah, I just looked up cohesive to make sure I will spelling it right).

Have a happy, Sunday!

This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes only.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post.
• Link up your post at all.things.fadra
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

In participating in this blog challenge, there have been a lot of new people visiting our blog! And one thing we reference quite frequently is weight loss, but we’ve never quite told the whole story (because mostly the people reading were our Moms, who know the whole story- hi Moms!)

After graduating (the first time) from college in 2006, I decided to lose weight. I was point blank told that I couldn’t be a kidney donor for my Mom, because of my weight (we later learned I have the same disease she has, but I didn’t know that at the time). This was the turning point that spurred me into action.

I lost 114 pounds in a little over a year.

I have maintained that weight loss (within an 8 pound range) for over three years now.

In August of 2008, I replied to a post on the TODAY show website about “Joy Fit Club” members. This was a club that you could “join” if you’d lost over 100 pounds without surgery. I thought it was an online community. Turns out, it was applying to be ON the TODAY show. And surprisingly? They contacted me back. In a whirlwind week, I was interviewed by phone, did a voice over for my segment, and they flew me out to New York to be on the TODAY show for my weight loss! I also talked them into letting Casey come too, as he had also lost over 100 pounds at the time (he’s lost 160 total, now). It was a surreal trip that lasted 24 hours, but was amazing.

If you have a desire to watch our “segment” from the TODAY you can watch it here:
http://www.dietinspire.com/2008/08/04/success-weight-loss-story-jennifer-barton-lost-114-pounds/

A LOT of people ask how I did it. Unfortunately, I doubt many people like the real answer. Because it isn’t magical. There isn’t a pill. And it doesn’t happen that quickly. Honestly, I researched a very low fat, low carb diet and stayed on a 1,200 calorie per day diet (which I maintain 90% of the time to this day). I exercised at the gym for at least a hour a day 6 days a week. My roomie, Stacey, basically went on the same plan with me (even though she was about 100 pounds soaking wet at the time), but that was so important because I don’t think I would have been able to stick to a plan if she was chowing down on crap right in front of me. Emotional support is SO crucial. Each milestone for me?Amazing. I LOVED going down pants sizes. I started in a size 22/24 pant. It got expensive to go down sizes (thank goodness for Goodwill!) but I’ve finally evened out at a size 8/10 pant size, and size S/M shirt (all depends on the brands, of course…right ladies?).

I continue to have a lot of self image issues (I write about that here that I am working on it). Someday I really do hope to have surgery to remove some of the extra skin that is leftover from losing that significant weight. But nothing is better than having your doctor give you a clean bill of health (other than that pesky kidney disease!) and being able to do things like complete a triathlon with your husband. Even though Casey & I lost the majority of our respective weight before we met each other, it is a strong part of our bond because we keep encouraging each other to stay with it and taking on new challenges together. It is a choice every single time I put food in my mouth. It is a choice every time I go to the gym. Really, weight loss comes down to being aware of each choice you make regarding your body.

If you have any more questions about weight loss, I’d love for you to leave a comment! It’s something I’m passionate about, and would love to talk more about.

November is a month that is historically hard for me. My Grandfather died in November 19 years ago, my grandparent’s anniversary was in November, and I also spent a lot of time with them during November because it’s deer hunting season.

I don’t have a lot of clear memories surrounding the death of my Grandfather. I was 10, and there was a lot of hushed talking, unanswered questions, and I wasn’t allowed to see him in the hospital.

I don’t remember how I found out, but eventually I learned that my Grandfather was an alcoholic and he died from complications related to that.

My Grandmother didn’t like to talk about it, and didn’t want anyone to know because it was a “family” thing. It was a skeleton in our closet.

I don’t know my Grandfather as an alcoholic, because for most of my life he was not actively drinking. After the death of two of his children, I believe he started drinking again. The details for the most part, are unknown to me. I was a child at the time, and I didn’t need to know. I do know that his drinking affected my Mom, and I’m sure his whole family. Although she does not talk badly of him, I know there are reasons that she left her home 2.2 seconds after graduating high school and didn’t look back.

I believe that some issues were resolved when she was an adult, and I do know one of the reasons he quit drinking was because my Mom would not allow him to take my brother in his car because he had been drinking. He stopped by the time that I was born. But, I know there is a lot of hurt within the family that was never resolved because it wasn’t to be talked about or acknowledged as a problem. And then? My two uncles and both grandparents died without resolution. My Mom and her younger brother even now have different perspectives about what happened in their family.

I’m sure that all families have skeletons buried in their family closets. Things that aren’t talked about, that there is a common understanding of silence around. I hope, as we figure out how to have a family of our own, that when the time is right, we can be honest with our children. Encourage them to ask questions, and be able to have (honest, age appropritate) answers. Because kids understand way more than we give them credit for.

And my Grandfather? He was a flawed man (who isn’t?) But he was also a wonderful man. He had a contagious laugh, a mischievous grin, a sarcastic sense of humor, a kind heart, and he could make a mean pancake. I am lucky that I can remember him most this way, even though I now know what the hushed conversations were all about.

How about you, are there skeletons in your family closet?

Fall is in full swing, in fact it may have already swung by us this past weekend.  Nonetheless, I often find myself a little unnerved at least once or twice during the fall.  While having a fall wedding anniversary, a wife with a fall birthday, and some cool fall holidays help a lot, there are a lot of bad things that have happened in the fall.

Fall of last year I had a stroke.  This fall we almost lost Barney.  Every cloud does have a silver lining, I suppose; last fall was also when I began a pretty successful road to recovery, and this fall is the fall in which Barney got better, and didn’t die.

I think my life right now is a silver lining to another bad fall.  The fall of 2007.

In the fall of 2006, I finally moved out of my parents’ house into our current residence (but before I knew Jenn).  I say “finally”, because I turned 28 that summer, but that’s probably another topic for another post.  The point is, I had spent 28 years in a house with at least two other people.  Living alone made me feel good, and grown up, and independant, but it also got very lonely all of a sudden.

I really didn’t have any close friends, and my family isn’t too much for visiting these days, although I did spend some time with my sister and her husband.  But having your sister and brother-in-law as your only friends gets kind of old after awhile.

In January of 2007, I finally decided to lose weight.  I made the choice due to the fact that I was getting older (pushing thirty, yikes!) and I felt maybe it was time to live like a normal, active adult, and not like a lazy, gluttonous, lonely nerd.

The whole weight loss thing has been talked about before in our posts, so I won’t go into a ton of detail.  By March, with my exercise routine in full swing, I decided to admit that there was another missing component to my life besides my health.  I needed a social life, and a girlfriend.

I had never had a girlfriend before (honest), and didn’t really know how to go about it.  I had confided in a coworker, who had helped me get the weight loss ball rolling.  She suggested a dating website, so I tried match.com for a month and got no interest from anybody.  I cancelled my account and kind of put the on-line dating site idea on hold for awhile.

But by late summer/early fall of 2007, I started feeling defeated.  I had lost somewhere in the 70-80 pound range, but I wasn’t really feeling that much better, and I wasn’t any less lonely.  Work was my only life; I was using the gym we have at the office on a daily basis, so I was spending almost all my waking hours during the week at work.  I found myself confiding in my coworker friend more than ever.  My loneliness and frustration with life manifested into anger at stupid things.  I didn’t get invited to some day-long seminar and I rode the elliptical so hard during lunch that I thought I was going to break it.  Ever see one of those go 12 mph?  It makes some noise.

I started getting annoyed at a lot of my coworkers which manifested into me talking badly about them behind their back to my confidant.  I even dropped a “C bomb” about one of them once.  Luckily my confidant told that coworker that I was frustrated with them (not using my exact words, luckily) and I was able to apologize, as did they for the minor incident that set me off (as I recall, this person stepped in and interrupted a conversion once or twice).  I’m still not a big fan of this person, but I regret what I did and I’m glad I was able to get things squared away with them.

As the weeks passed, my anger and despair continued.  I skipped the office Halloween party and sat out in my car with my Darth Vader helmet and cried instead.  I continued to feel like I didn’t belong at the office, in fact I felt like I didn’t really belong anywhere.  I started voicing these sad feelings to my office confidant which turned into 30 minute-plus crying sessions at her desk.  I was hiding in empty conference rooms crying at random times during each day.

It got to the point that my confidant politely told me to “keep it professional” and stop coming to her with my personal problems.  This really made me sad, as I felt that our talks were my only emotional outlet (not that it was helping, looking back).  I am embarrassed by this now.  I broke some professional boundaries.

I was so sad over this, that I cried all evening.  I believe it was a Wednesday night.  I skipped supper and just sat in my room with the TV on and cried.  I felt like my life was a prison of loneliness and depair.

The day after Thanksgiving I woke up after having a dream.  I forget what the dream was, but I think it had something to do with me feeling left out at work.  When I woke up, the idea hit me.  Maybe I should just give up on it all and kill myself.

I looked on-line, and actually found a “pro-suicide” website.  It’s pretty disturbing what kind of crap is on the web.  I thought a little bit about how to do it…I decided to overdose on Tylenol or aspirin or whatever over-the-counter pain meds I used to keep in the house back then, but I never attempted it (I don’t even know if this would work).  In fact I mentioned this to my confidant, who naturally kind of freaked out.  She made me promise that if I was about to do something that I would talk to somebody first.  She kept telling me “Remember your promise.”  She even had me called in with her to our top supervisor’s office so he could apologize if I was feeling left out, and to tell me how well I was doing.

The confidant ended up suggesting a therapist she knew of, and I started seeing him.  I began to improve right off.

At some point over the fall I had found a free dating website called okcupid.com and had decided to give that a shot, although maybe a little half-heartedly.  The weekend of Thanksgiving, when I was at my worst, I got an e-mail from a girl in Westbrook named Jenn.  It all started going uphill from there.

Would I have done it?  I’d like to think I wouldn’t have, and that I have a will to survive that got me talking to someone.  A lot of it is kind of hazy, but looking back now, I must have recieved Jenn’s e-mail before telling anyone, so maybe that inspired me.

Up until now I’ve only told my confidant (who I am keeping nameless, probably obvious by now), my old therapist, Jenn (after 5 months of dating), Sandy, and Stacey (at some point more recently) about any of this.  I mainly kept it secret from my family, so they my parents wouldn’t blame themselves for any of this.  This was just a bad situation, and had nothing to do with them being supportive of my moving out, or upbringing, or anything like that.

That’s probably the hardest blog post I’ll ever write, and it’s one I’ve been putting off for months.  I hope for the next one to be a lot more cheery.