I saw my therapist today. Yup, that’s me back in therapy. Thank god for this lovely kind and deeply insightful woman. I make her cry some days. She makes me cry some days. And we laugh a lot. It still doesn't quite make sense to me why I'm in therapy because I'm dealing with someone else who is fucked up but hey...whatever helps. She quiets my inner critic which by the way can have a very loud voice that sometimes sounds like my mother’s, or one of the exes. She knows my family story. The good, the bad, the very bad and the down right shit show stuff. She also knows I can still find joy. She celebrates small things with me.
Today we talked about hope. The two sides of it. For example I hope I don’t I get a touch of the dementia like mama had. I hope my grandson grows up to have good friends and that he finds someone who loves animal facts and visual instructions just as much as he does. I really really hope my hard working daughter wins the lottery and she can buy the plot of land she wants so she can raise chickens and goats and grow a huge garden. She currently farms her driveway. I hope my accountant will let me know when it's time to go to Switzerland because I'm out of money. Hope has allowed me the courage to leave a bad situation, more than once. Hope can be a good thing.
But Hope has a darker side. Sometimes we hope for something that just isnt going to happen ...ever. When family is involved whatever the circumstances, we hope the hell out of things. We turn a blind eye. We normalize things in increments. We kid ourselves. And we suck it up. And we suck it up again...and again. We piece our stomped on hearts back together and dive back in. Family mythologies run deep. The myth in my family as the middle of three girls was that I was the nice one. No wonder Im in therapy. Right now, she's helping me to understand that a particular hopeless hope Im living isn't healthy for me. Hope is breaking my heart.
So I'm trying something new. It's not living without hope but instead focussing more on hopes that have at least a little potential. Like the possibility there will be room for a king size bed in the next home Paco and I choose. Maybe I should forget about therapy completely and just start looking at paint swatches again. Paint, the god of all hope. One sure thing I can count on.
But my hope for today is if I'm boring you to tears with this blog and I sound like I'm wining, please let me know.