I had another weird dream last night: this time, my tiny adorable 22-month-old daughter was trying to kill me and I was terrified of her. Really? She's two feet tall and weighs 20 lbs! What the hell is there to be afraid of?? If I dare try to analyze it, I might attribute the "my daughter's killing me" theme to the fact that as much as I love her like crazy, she adds a HUGE amount of stress into my life (financial, relational, time management, etc.), and stress has been driving me a bit bonkers lately. Maybe that's just it - this weird dream might be an indication that the high stress I've been dealing with especially over the past month needs to go, because this stressy lifestyle is killing me. TA DA! Officially analyzed.
This afternoon I needed to go grocery shopping. I didn't want to drive because it's really just a few blocks away, and driving short distances always feels so wasteful now that I'm a bike-commuter. At the same time, I couldn't take the stroller (it couldn't possibly fit everything I needed to buy and would have require multiple trips), and I also didn't want to bike because that would have meant putting a helmet on my daughter, and given her propensity to tantrum over EVERYTHING, that sounded like a battle I would have rather not picked. Then it occurred to me - didn't the Schwinn bike trailer come with attachments that turned it into a stroller? Hmmm . . .
I took a few minutes to put on the accessories and then - voila! - I had an embarrassingly large stroller! At least I knew it definitely had cargo space, and it helped to know that the weight limit was 100 lbs. Okay, groceries, you're ON!
I walked to the store, mostly with my daughter walking along beside/behind me because she refused to stay in the stroller beyond a couple of blocks. It made the stroller look even more ridiculously huge because it didn't have anything in it, and I took up just about the whole damn sidewalk anyway! I stuck to side streets to hide my shame.
Shopping was unpleasant as usual, as my daughter refused to go in the stroller (I tried - she threw a fit - I tried to ignore said fit - her tantrum outlasted my patience - she got to walk around). I darted between checking my shopping list, searching for my grocery items, and chasing my daughter down whenever she'd get away from me. People glared at me for taking up so much room in the aisles with my giant stroller. People glared at me as I ran after my daughter while she flailed awkwardly down the aisles laughing maniacally. Some people looked on with sympathy, others with an appreciation for the indescribable adorableness that my daughter exudes. I was sweating by the time I got to the check-out line - partly from the physical exertion of chasing my toddler, partly from being flushed with embarrassment, and partly from the panic that enveloped me every time I lost sight of my daughter (who, by the way, enjoys playing hide-and-seek with me - without my prior knowledge or consent - in the produce aisles).
After having to squeeze through the tiny space left between the stroller and the candy shelf at the check-out counter to chase down my daughter once again, it occurred to me WAAAAY too late in the game to bribe her into sitting in the stroller while we waited in line. "You can have these delicious Cadbury Mini Eggs if you sit nicely in your stroller," I told her, waving the package of candy in front of her brightening face. She sat in the stroller and patiently allowed me to buckle her in, then proceeded to quietly and calmly make her way through her Mini Eggs. Why the Hell didn't I think of this BEFORE????? GAH!
I managed to fit $150 worth of groceries into the bike-trailer-turned-stroller, including two 4L jugs of milk, a 4kg bag of cat food, and a whole whack of fresh produce. Hahahaha!! Screw being embarrassed at the size of it - I was damn proud I owned the thing! The best part was that it was so well designed, it took hardly any extra effort to push it home. I only really noticed the extra weight of the groceries when I had to lift it - groceries, toddler, and all - over curbs that weren't ramped. Oh, Schwinn trailer, you complete me!
I got home, put the groceries away, and made a faaaabulous well-rounded dinner while my daughter mercifully amused herself. I felt like SUPER-MOM!! I was AWESOME! Screw needing a car, screw needing a partner! I can exercise, do my part for the environment, get household duties done, and involve my daughter in important life tasks while teaching her counting skills and colour recognition ALL ON MY OWN! For a couple hours there, I was a domestic goddess.
I spent $250 on the Schwinn trailer that my daughter has rarely ridden in since I got it, mostly because she hates wearing a helmet. Today, I have to say: it paid for itself in awesomeness just for making my day.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Dream Weaver
Last night I had a bad dream. I don't remember much of it, just one part where Guy 1 had Guy 2 handcuffed to a bedpost. Guy 3 was observing, and I guess he knew both the first two guys somehow. Guy 1 took out a large hunting knife and stabbed it into Guy 2's handcuffed forearm as he squirmed and yelled out in agony. Guy 1 calmly, and even with a sense of pleasure, then pulled the knife out and slowly sunk it into Guy 2's rib cage. He did it slowly to savour the pain he was inflicting on the other person. Guy 3 tried to speak up to defend Guy 2, but Guy 1 threatened him into silence. The scene skipped forward a few minutes, and suddenly Guy 2, bleeding from his wounds but apparently not in pain, was standing over Guy 1 getting ready to suffocate him with a plastic bag. At this point I woke up.
My heart was racing and I felt genuinely upset when I awoke. I checked the clock: it was 3 am. The image of the knife sliding into Guy 2's rib cage kept repeating itself in my mind's eye, every time causing me a vague sense of panic. I focused on my breathing, reminded myself it was just a dream, and went to the bathroom. By the time I got back into bed, I was calm again, and I was able to fall asleep.
I don't really know what the hell that was about, but lately I've been thinking about people's capacity to hurt each other. I see it all the time in my line of work, the horrible consequences that people have to cope with when others inflict emotional damage upon them. The vast majority of the time, it's not even done in cruelty, or with malice. It's just the natural consequence of social beings learning how to interact with each other. It's not that we're bad, or evil, or cruel. We just are, and we do what we think we need to or should in any given situation, and each action we take has consequences. "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so" (Shakespeare).
So why did I have that dream? Perhaps because I was still upset about receiving a flaming anger-ball of rage from a client a couple days ago, and as much as I've tried to learn from the experience and extend compassion towards her, I can't help but feel defensive and angry about how she treated me. I felt helpless and wounded by her behaviour, and perhaps the lesson for me is that I need to remind myself that she is just a person doing the best she can in whatever circumstance she's in. And if doing the best she can still means that she needed to lose it on me, then maybe that's okay, and maybe that says something about how difficult her situation is. So maybe there's room for compassion, for letting it slide, for not taking it personally. Maybe it's that her behaviour was neither good nor bad, but that how I see it makes it so. And maybe I can give her the benefit of the doubt - and take it less personally - by choosing to see it from a place of compassion, not judgment.
And maybe I just need to develop a tougher skin. One impervious to hunting knives.
My heart was racing and I felt genuinely upset when I awoke. I checked the clock: it was 3 am. The image of the knife sliding into Guy 2's rib cage kept repeating itself in my mind's eye, every time causing me a vague sense of panic. I focused on my breathing, reminded myself it was just a dream, and went to the bathroom. By the time I got back into bed, I was calm again, and I was able to fall asleep.
I don't really know what the hell that was about, but lately I've been thinking about people's capacity to hurt each other. I see it all the time in my line of work, the horrible consequences that people have to cope with when others inflict emotional damage upon them. The vast majority of the time, it's not even done in cruelty, or with malice. It's just the natural consequence of social beings learning how to interact with each other. It's not that we're bad, or evil, or cruel. We just are, and we do what we think we need to or should in any given situation, and each action we take has consequences. "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so" (Shakespeare).
So why did I have that dream? Perhaps because I was still upset about receiving a flaming anger-ball of rage from a client a couple days ago, and as much as I've tried to learn from the experience and extend compassion towards her, I can't help but feel defensive and angry about how she treated me. I felt helpless and wounded by her behaviour, and perhaps the lesson for me is that I need to remind myself that she is just a person doing the best she can in whatever circumstance she's in. And if doing the best she can still means that she needed to lose it on me, then maybe that's okay, and maybe that says something about how difficult her situation is. So maybe there's room for compassion, for letting it slide, for not taking it personally. Maybe it's that her behaviour was neither good nor bad, but that how I see it makes it so. And maybe I can give her the benefit of the doubt - and take it less personally - by choosing to see it from a place of compassion, not judgment.
And maybe I just need to develop a tougher skin. One impervious to hunting knives.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
This Too Shall Pass
Lately, it's been feeling like I've got a bit of a hard-knock life. I'm currently taking a breather after a client who felt our services weren't helpful directed her anger at me and almost made me cry. I'm glad I don't have another client right away, so I can collect myself and prepare myself for the next emotional upheaval. Being a psychologist is the most rewarding job I could have possibly chosen for myself, and at the same time it can be remarkably draining.
Perhaps my work would feel slightly less draining if my home life was really my down-time, but it's not. My daughter was sick for the fourth time this month yesterday, and I had to miss work yet again. The past couple of weeks, I've been working especially long hours trying to make up for some lost time missed because my daughter has been sick so often, and also trying to write a paper for my dissertation. I've given up biking and delayed our usual dinnertime and even ended up getting take-out more often than I care to admit, all in an effort to satisfy all the different things that demand my time.
How has that been working out for me so far, you ask? Well, not so well actually . . . I'm exhausted all the time, I have very little patience with my daughter (who, by the way, is entering the terrible twos with f-ing gusto), I'm eating terribly, I'm getting absolutely no exercise, and I'm pretty sure I've gained weight even despite having had the stomach flu earlier in the month. In an effort to do something nice for myself, I bought myself a little bouquet of white carnations to brighten up my living room. Within a few hours the cats had torn the flowers into pieces all over the floor with the crystal vase tipped over and the plant food solution all over my fancy "grown-up" table and the old hardwood floor. I just sighed at the mess, wondered why I even bother with anything, then cleaned it up.
The biggest sign to me that things aren't going well is that the first thing that pops into my head whenever something goes wrong is, "I hate my life!" My daughter throws her milk on the floor and it explodes everywhere: "I hate my life!" The cats knock over my water cup: "I hate my life!" My daughter wakes up before the alarm goes off: "I hate my life!" I run out of paper towels: "I hate my life!"
Really, Johnson, things could be SO much worse. A friend of mine recently had a difficult medical procedure. A family member is recovering from cancer. An acquaintance once told me about her life as a single teen parent with infant twins. And that's even local stuff! I should be grateful I live in a country where I'm a woman who can vote and work and have a baby on my own! I should be grateful I've never experienced the horrors of war, political unrest, or natural disasters. I'm healthy and successful (sorta), I have a beautiful, intelligent, healthy child, I have a family who loves me unconditionally. Of course I have bad days, and perhaps right now it's feeling like there are more bad days than good, but as my mom always tells me: "this too shall pass".
Indeed, it shall.
Perhaps my work would feel slightly less draining if my home life was really my down-time, but it's not. My daughter was sick for the fourth time this month yesterday, and I had to miss work yet again. The past couple of weeks, I've been working especially long hours trying to make up for some lost time missed because my daughter has been sick so often, and also trying to write a paper for my dissertation. I've given up biking and delayed our usual dinnertime and even ended up getting take-out more often than I care to admit, all in an effort to satisfy all the different things that demand my time.
How has that been working out for me so far, you ask? Well, not so well actually . . . I'm exhausted all the time, I have very little patience with my daughter (who, by the way, is entering the terrible twos with f-ing gusto), I'm eating terribly, I'm getting absolutely no exercise, and I'm pretty sure I've gained weight even despite having had the stomach flu earlier in the month. In an effort to do something nice for myself, I bought myself a little bouquet of white carnations to brighten up my living room. Within a few hours the cats had torn the flowers into pieces all over the floor with the crystal vase tipped over and the plant food solution all over my fancy "grown-up" table and the old hardwood floor. I just sighed at the mess, wondered why I even bother with anything, then cleaned it up.
The biggest sign to me that things aren't going well is that the first thing that pops into my head whenever something goes wrong is, "I hate my life!" My daughter throws her milk on the floor and it explodes everywhere: "I hate my life!" The cats knock over my water cup: "I hate my life!" My daughter wakes up before the alarm goes off: "I hate my life!" I run out of paper towels: "I hate my life!"
Really, Johnson, things could be SO much worse. A friend of mine recently had a difficult medical procedure. A family member is recovering from cancer. An acquaintance once told me about her life as a single teen parent with infant twins. And that's even local stuff! I should be grateful I live in a country where I'm a woman who can vote and work and have a baby on my own! I should be grateful I've never experienced the horrors of war, political unrest, or natural disasters. I'm healthy and successful (sorta), I have a beautiful, intelligent, healthy child, I have a family who loves me unconditionally. Of course I have bad days, and perhaps right now it's feeling like there are more bad days than good, but as my mom always tells me: "this too shall pass".
Indeed, it shall.
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