Encanto

 If you have children under the age of 12, you have probably seen Disney's Encanto.  It's a cute movie with catchy tunes written by Lin Manuel Miranda and since I am pretty much obsessed with Hamilton, it seemed a solid choice of movies to watch.  There's the very catchy tune "We Don't Talk About Bruno" and "Under Pressure" is basically my own personal anthem.  There's a play on swear words with the whole "Miercoles" thing and a house with not only a name, Casita, but magical abilities to help the family with daily tasks (side note: my life goal is now, besides having my own Wikipedia page, to own a house with a really pretentious name.  Like, Casita is not a little abode like the name implies.  It's fricking huge.  And has a tower.)

Anyways, as I am watching it, my therapist training took over as it often does to ruin entertainment for me, and I noticed two things: 1.) Generational trauma was all over this fucking movie.  Like, trauma begetting trauma begetting trauma.  That whole family could use some EMDR after Abuela got a hold of them.  And 2.) The family is also a perfect example of the family roles in addiction.

What, say you, are family roles in addiction?  Well, addiction is a family disease in that it does not just affect the addict (no shit, Sherlock, right?  Just wait...)  What most people DON'T know is that there are roles that people tend to fall into in these families.  There are six different roles, and many people can have multiple roles in the family.  But usually they are all present in some form.  So let's dig in.

First, of course, there is the addict.  In this case, that is definitely Abuela.  Her addiction?  The magic that the family has been gifted.  In alcoholic/addicted families, we very often see an attitude of "brush it under the rug.  Put on the happy face and pretend everything is OK.  What happens in this house, stays in this house."  Abuela is OBSESSED with preserving the Madrigal family magic, to the point of "punishing" her granddaughter Maribel for NOT have powers. (Ironic, because she does not seem to have any herself...)  I will also say here...I have NEVER met an addict or an alcoholic without a history of trauma.  Never.  And Abuela...well, I don't want to give too many spoilers, but they address her what her trauma is in the movie.  And it's a doozy.  I will also note, addicts are very often charming and "give you the shirt off their back" kind of people.  And we do see these traits in Abuela, unfortunately at the cost of her family.

Next, there are the enablers.  And I would say, as is often the case, the entire family are her enablers.  There is so much focus on their gifts and what they are able to do because of the magic (Abuela's "addiction".)  There is not much said about people who marry into the family because they do not fit into the narrative of the gifted people giving back, therefore they are not much "use" to Abuela other than to continue to produce the next generation of gifted citizens, therefore perpetuating Abuela's addiction.

Then there is the hero.  I actually kind of detest this label, as it implies someone who swoops in to save the day.  That is not the case.  This is someone who the family can point to and say, "Look.  We aren't that fucked up.  Look at what we produced."  They are the visible sign of the family's success.  There's a few heroes in this movie, the most prominent being Isabella (who hopes to continue this role by marrying Mariano even though she does not really want to.)  One could also make the argument that Luisa is a hero as well as she keeps on working and serving the community as Abuela demands, even as she questions if she is even worth anything if she cannot continue to produce.

Next is the scapegoat.  There are two apparent scapegoats here: Bruno and Maribel.  There's an entire fucking song about Bruno: "We Don't Talk About Bruno".  He is blamed for the family's problems, and then when he disappears, they act like he never existed.  Then Maribel, when the house is LITERALLY cracking, is blamed for that as well.  At one point, she even says point blank to Abuela "I will never be good enough for you".  Addicts often demand perfection from those around them, because they need to maintain things for their addiction to survive.  In this case, Abuela needs everyone to fall in line so the magic can continue.  The scapegoats job is to take the focus off of the addict, and both Maribel and Bruno do a great job of doing this.

Mascots come in next.  These are the funny guys, the clowns.  This would be Camilo as he literally changes himself to create humor in any situation that he sees.  He is the comic relief.

Finally, there is the lost child.  These are the forgotten ones, the ones brushed aside.  Luisa would at times fit this role as she is often left to fend for herself and to carry her anxiety all alone.  Dolores would be another example of a lost child.  She hears things not meant for her ears and is brushed aside as a partner for Mariano as she is not "perfect enough" like Isabella is.  These ones are often the ones who provide a sense of relief for the family as "we don't have to worry about them."  Unfortunately, they often end up as the ones with the most anxiety.

And like so many alcoholic/addicted families, things will fall apart eventually.  You can only do so much patching, Bruno, before the house crumbles.  And just like treatment for addiction, you need to develop a completely new foundation before another house can be built (hopefully a more healthy, functional house where things are aired out and not swept under the rug.)

Ph.D.

It is absolutely crazy, at this point in my life, to even contemplate getting one of these.

Yet I have.  And do.  Quite frequently.

It has always been a personal goal for me.  I certainly don't *need* it to do my job.  I  have no desire to teach, because that would be disastrous most likely as, despite having a Master's degree in education, I am decidedly NOT an educator.  I bow down to educators, in fact, and would like to gift all of you a virtual bottle of wine.  Virtual, in that my husband has still refused to show me where he keeps all the money I married him for, and because I am trying to start a small business and this last month I *just* cleared enough to cover rent for the office and that's it.  Yay me!

Research would be fun, but again that might involve teaching college courses.  Though I suppose if all I had to do was lecture, that might not be too bad.  As opposed to being responsible for the development of the minds of the future generation.  At least by 18, they already know how to read and shit, and both on the toilet even.

Most of my clients call me Doctor, anyways, so it would be nice to be able to stop correcting them.  Plus, I would for sure grow in my clinical skills, and supervision would be a possibility as well (long and complicated topic, but basically helping to train the next generation of therapists).  But again...it's not something I *need*, but more something I want.

And therein lies the crux.  I feel as though, despite having a higher degree than anyone in my immediate family currently does, that I am still not good enough.  That I still have not proven myself, that I am a failure because I got knocked up at 16, then graduated high school a year early with only a 4.2 GPA because I could not get straight A's while raising an infant and going to high school and I lost an entire year to bring it up, then graduated college with only a 3.5 GPA because college doesn't give 5 point A's and I had to work 40 hours a week to support my kid because my dumb ass refused to get cash assistance, then took 3 years off from higher education after my bachelor's because I got married and moved me and my daughter 45 minutes away from family, then got my Master's while being pregnant multiple times, giving birth once to a live child, and losing my son and multiple other pregnancies.  I don't have those three letters after my name, so all of that is meaningless.

What.  The.  Fuck.

Why do I feel this constant drive to prove myself?  I've been doing it for years.  Most people would look at all of that and be like, "wow".  I look at that for other people and I go "wow."  I look at that for me, and go "what the fuck is wrong with you that you haven't gotten your Ph. D. yet?"

I frequently confront clients with their thinking errors.  I often ask them what the would say to a friend who is going through what they are, then ask "what makes you so special that this does not apply to you?  That what you would say to literally every other person on the planet, you would not say to yourself?"  This usually elicits a smile (though, full disclosure, one time this backfired on me spectacularly...) and gets them thinking.

So, self...what makes you so special that this does not apply to you?  That what you would say to literally every other person on the planet, you would not say to yourself?

Physician, heal thyself.

And wait for the fucking Ph. D. until you are at least only working one job.

Letters II

I had originally thought that I might be up to writing one of those letters people used to send out around Christmas every year on this blog, but let's be honest here bitchez...I usually can't be arsed to commit to anything that serious as I have a hard time choosing the appropriate shopping cart in the grocery store,  I can't even pretend that it is going to be an every other year thing as the last (and, well, the first really) was in 2013.  2016 has been a super special year, though, so I figured that it deserved a letter as well.  Enjoy, and happy holidays!

Dear Bitchez,

Well, 2016 has been quite a year.  And not just for this family, really, but for the nation as a whole...staring with Harambe and ending with Donald Trump and some super fun conversations with my daughters as to why slightly less than half of the nation thought it would be OK to vote for someone who lacks the appropriate knowledge of the female anatomy and thinks that you can grab women by their pussies in an attempt to get them in bed.  Seriously, Donald, if you are gonna be a misogynistic douchebag, at least make your pathetic attempts at exuding toxic masculinity somewhat believable.  No one grabs women by their pussies.  Hair, maybe.  Pussies, no.

This letter has gotten off to a great start, just like 2016 did for us!  Sadly for my husband, there was not as much talk of felines as there was of surgery and physical therapy and being off of work for 5 months.  The good news was that he was able to stay at home with the little girls this summer while he healed.  The bad news was that he had a slight look of despair in his eyes most of those days, but let's be honest, he is married to me so that *might* have had something to do with it.  Don't worry, he's back at work now.  He totally missed the mismanagement and politics of his job, and was super excited to return to the news of no Christmas party or raises this year!  Go team!

I left my former employer and went to private practice full time.  So far, the reduction in stress has been worth it and I have remembered that I am in fact an adult who is capable of things such as time management and good decision making skills.  Waiting for the insurance companies to pay up sucks monkey balls, but the trade off is totally worth it.  Charles also decided to go and buy me a new to me vehicle that was more reliable for the longer commute since the van only had like 191K miles on it and was in totally great shape.  If a heap of rusted metal with sometimes working parts constitutes "great" shape....

Elizabeth has graduated from high school and started college.  She so far seems to be loving it and has managed to get a paid job running social media.  She claims that the only reason she got it was because it is for the practice I am working at; however I only tried to extend nepotism to getting her an unpaid internship.  She did all the work involved in getting them to pay her.

Alexis continues to barrel full speed toward puberty, which I look forward to with as much anticipation as I do things such as my yearly pap and a colonoscopy.  She has continued to dance in competitions and to date has not descended into any kind of unsavory behaviors as a result, so I'm thinking that was a solid parenting decision there.  High five for me!

Charlie decided to stop competition, briefly did gymnastics, then returned to the dance studio for acro classes.  She started kindergarden this year, on the same day Elizabeth moved into college.  This worked super well except for the fact that I had managed to injure my groin in a misguided attempt to start running to better myself, and this turned into a massive ball of suck to try to move her into college and then come visit while limping/on crutches.  It also worked super well while trying to get a five year old ready for kindergarden.  Yeah, I try not to think about the kindergarden/college thing too much....

It has been a bad year to be an animal in our household, too. Unless you are Reggie, then the prepping and ninja skills will serve you well.  It started out with Bean getting mauled to death by Deogie, possibly from the frustration of not being allowed to hump Angel.  I am sure the aftermath of this did not add to any therapy needs Elizabeth has AT ALL.  Then, Angel passed away as well.  She went fairly quickly and unexpectedly...started to pee a lot, and then died before we could get her to the vet.  Then, Spartacus died unexpectedly shortly after this as well.  Nothing like losing three animals in rapid succession to generate some super fun talks with the little girls!

All in all, things have been just a wonderful ball of change around this house!  And stress.  And uncertainty.  So super fun and exciting and not at all anxiety-provoking!  Here's hoping that 2017 has a little less of the change that 2016 has.

Merry Christmas!

Laura, Charles, Elizabeth, Alexis, and Charlie

Random IX

Charles and I were pretending to be adults last night and were talking about our wishes after we died.  I told him that in no way was I to be cremated because if there is a zombie apocalypse, I fully intend to participate to the best of my abilities.  Charles then remarked that he limps around anyways due to his knees, so really it was not going to be too much of a stretch for him to be a zombie anyways, at least movement-wise.  I then also told him to be sure to part me out as well, though given my health it is unlikely that they would use any of my spare parts unless the doctor really hated the patient and wanted to kill them.  And if that is the case, I'm pretty sure you have bigger problems than just needing my organs.  Like probably you should find a new doctor.


Getting a new iPhone: Well, it was free since I traded my old one in and this was when Verizon still let you get one for fairly cheap.

Downloading the Amazon Music app:  Also free, though if you want to get technical I do pay for Amazon Prime, so maybe the app really cost like $99 but I'm deluding myself that it is free.

Downloading Air Supply's "I'm All Out of Love":  Well....also free, but possibly $99.  See above.

Rocking out to "I'm All Out of Love" at the top of your lungs and totally embarrassing your 9 year old even though you were alone in the house:  Priceless, bitchez.  Isn't that why we had kids?


I've been hiding at work lately.  Mostly because of our accrediting body doing their visit and everyone being all cranky.  And because we have to have all of the doors shut in the hallways, so now I am firmly convinced that someone is going to jump out and murder me.  And because I am in a back hallway pretty much by myself since my supervisor is on maternity leave, no one would hear me getting murdered.  I've got too much stuff to do at home, people, for me to get murdered at work.  So I will stay in my office, thankyouverymuch.

Humor

Note:  Usually, around this time, I write about my son and his death and my struggles with this time of year.  It hasn't gotten any easier, even 7 years out.  This year, I am taking a bit of a different approach and will be writing a more lighthearted post.  I'm well known to use humor as a coping mechanism (see: me barely avoiding giggling like a school girl cause the chaplain at the hospital kept referring to Gabe as she and Charles kept trying to correct him to no avail...) so I figured that this year I would give that a shot.  If you are interested in reading about Gabe, there are posts here, here, here, here, here,  here, and here.


There comes a time, in everyone's work day, when you just know that you aren't going to be productive anymore.  It happens to the best of us.  It happened to me today.  Now, mind you, I was staring down the barrel of a 4 day weekend and was antsy to get the hell out of the office.  One of my coworkers came by, and we started to discuss various emergencies that we have worked on together.  We then tried to dissect the mind of people who deliberately try to commit their loved ones when they get mad at them.  We were unsuccessful.  Hell, there are days when I wish Charles would go to court and probate me to the psych ward.  I could use the break.  But only if I go to a swanky one.  Because you know, that is totally how the system works.

(FYI, it's totally not.)

This conversation then proceeded to devolve further into the wonders that we had seen while doing in-home therapy.  Mostly it revolved around the whole people wanting to do therapy in various stages of undress.  I mean, I am all for being comfortable in your own home, but for the love of God, therapy requires pants, people.

This then moved to the idea that pants were not optional in the office, except for strippers, but that they probably wanted to put their clothes ON at the end of their shift vs taking them off, and then to people sending penis pictures using company e-mail.  Again, the logic that goes into this was beyond us.  As my coworker said, "Sending someone a picture of your penis is like the opposite of romantic.  In fact, I think you may have skipped at least ten steps one would normally take before you get there.  Minimum."

Then, the conversation moved to serial killers keeping heads in their fridge because they accidentally decapitated them in the midst of their psychosis because they just kept killing people when they did not mean to.  We both agreed that it was a little frightening that we could follow the logic of keeping heads in the fridge because of accidental removal of said head from the body but not of sending penis pictures or feeling that pants were optional in the work place.  However, the conclusion that was reached was that both being pantless at work and decapitating people, accidental or otherwise, are probably no-no's in the scheme of life.  Additionally, being in a relationship where your go-to move when mad is to involuntarily commit your partner is probably not healthy.

I guess the take home from this conversation?  (Besides the fact that mental health workers are pretty disturbed in and of themselves?)  Apparently I understand the psychosis that leads to serial killing better than I understand misogynistic thought processes.  I always knew I would make a disturbing psychotic person vs a happy one.

MHPMHD

A few months ago, a group of co-workers and I got together for some one's birthday outside of work.  A pretty small thing, considering that hundreds of people probably do it on any given day...but it was revolutionary for us.  We talked, laughed, drank margaritas, and had such a good time that I made the executive decision that we would have a monthly Mental Health Professionals Mental Health Day, otherwise known as the MHPMHD.

Most people don't realize this, but therapists are people too.  The work we do is very important, but we are severely underpaid, overworked, and under-appreciated.  Hearing stories of abuse, terror, pain, misery, and just humans being the very worst they can really wears on a person.  Hence, the importance of caring for one's self.  Most mental health agencies will not do it for you.  They want to wring every last drop out work out of you they can and then will still tell you that you are not doing enough.  It is disheartening.  Much like parenting, in fact.

Right now Charlie is in the midst of a knock down, drag out fit.  She is pissed at me because I am making her play with her toys.  (Call Children's Services, y'all. I am so abusive.)  Not only do I have a toddler to contend with, I have a teenager as well.  Teenagers are really more like toddlers than they are adults, but they have more words and really aren't quite as portable.  Then I have the 6 year old who is totally focused on rules and all of the perceived injustices that are wrought upon her at the hands of others.  Shit gets crazy all up in here, yo.

Most days I am perfectly content to stay at home and referee.  Most days I don't mind the crazy that is both my house and my job.  I thrive on it, in fact.  I chose this and I love it.

But...I need a break.  I need to see my coworkers outside of work where we can laugh and let loose.  I need to NOT be with my family for a few hours.  I need it for my sanity.  I am crazy enough on my own; I certainly don't need their help.

It has gotten to the point now where every once in a while, I can feel the depression starting to creep in.  Like an ominous storm cloud encroaching, it slowly sneaks up with the intention of wreaking havoc on my mood and my ability to cope.  This tells me it is time to engage in some self care (mind out of the gutter, pervs!) and to remove myself.  To go and do something for me.

Does it always work?  No.  Sometimes the depression stays.  Sometimes the storm does not blow over, and it stays and is destructive to my soul and mind and it sucks monkey balls.  Sometimes the storm is able to blow over, like all those times when the hypervigilant peeps at the National Weather Service tell you there is a tornado coming and issue a warning and then are all like, "Oh!  Just kidding!  My bad!"  But you still have hunkered down and prepared yourself because you just never know.  Maybe this is the time that the golf ball sized hail will materialize and destroy your carefully cultivated garden and dent your vehicle and leave you with a huge mess to clean up.

The MHPMHD is designed to be the basement, the storm lanterns, the battery powered radio in the storm.  Sometimes it materializes, sometimes it does not.  Sometimes there is clean up, sometimes not.  It is preventative.  Hell, if I thought it would fly with the IRS, I would totally deduct whatever amount I spend on those days as a job or a medical expense.

Necessary for my mental health, and for yours too.  In fact, I am going to challenge all of my 7 readers to do this.  Once a month, to take a few hours out of a day and do something for yourself.  It can be getting together with friends and having lunch; going for a serene walk by yourself, or going window shopping with your mother.  Just something.  Slow it down, and care for your mental health.  Care for your soul.  See what a difference it makes.

Rainbows II

I recently had to do an assessment that sent me to my knees for a variety of reasons that I cannot go into (HIPPA, yo!).  This was the kind of thing where I really struggled to maintain my composure and in fact, lost it during the session.  Luckily it was clinically appropriate.  I got back to my office, shut the door, and sobbed for about 10 minutes.

It was a rough day, to say the least.  It really did not get any better after that.  Thank God for 5 PM.  I went to pick Charlie up from the daycare.  She jumped up and down, she was so happy to see me.  That helped.

I take her to the Jeep and strapped her into her car seat.  There, across her cheek, was a small rainbow. I have hanging in my rear view mirror a prism that was my grandmother's.  I vividly remember it hanging in her dining room window, above her cart of houseplants.  She always had the most beautiful plants, and her  violets were always so vibrant and a deep purple.  Obviously I did not get the talent for growing house plants as they enter my house and just kill themselves instead of waiting for me to do it for them.  Anyways, this prism always shone rainbows all over her dining room and I always was fascinated by them.  This prism has always been in my car, and at various times does shine rainbows.  However, it had never done so at this time of day as it just did not catch the sun where I park.

Until this day.  There it sat, a small rainbow with no explanation for how it got there.  Never saw one there before, and have not seen one since.  A rainbow, just when I needed it.

I am not going to comment on beliefs about God, heaven, and the afterlife.  Mostly because I know that my  whole 7 readers run the gamut from the extremely devout to outright atheists, with everything in between.  And quite frankly, what I believe is what I believe and none of your business. Could the rainbows be a coincidence?  Absolutely.  Humans do look for meaning in the mundane.  I am incredibly comforted by the idea that my son is looking out for me in some way.  Whether it is true or just me grasping at straws, it was comforting.

Parenting

So since I am a therapist and all, one of the basic premises of my personality (besides being a glutton for punishment) is that I want to make people feel better about themselves.  Keeping that in mind, here is my contribution for the day towards that cause.  After reading these gems, you are sure to feel better about your parenting and mental stability in general.


Charlie is playing with a bunch of bowls of water and some cups and spoons.  This usually keeps her entertained for almost a full hour.  I happened to look over at her and she is standing on top of the picnic table where she is playing.  I tell her to sit down and she sits...on top of the table.  Advantage, Charlie...next time I will need to be more specific.


When Elizabeth was about five or so,we had a Jack Russell Terrier named J.D.  Charles REFUSED to get this dog fixed.  REFUSED.  J.D. was lying on the ground one day, and his balls were sticking out from under his butt.  Elizabeth, of course, notices them and turns to me and says, "What are those things under J.D.?  Those...balls?"  I lost it and laughed and probably peed myself a little.  I figure that probably tacked on a minimum of 6 months of therapy...


These weren't my children, but just to show you that my stellar skills extend to other children as well (you know, in case you were ever contemplating leaving your children in my care...)...I worked at a daycare for years on and off.  My last stint was in a 3 year old preschool classroom, co-teaching with my sister.  We were talking about traveling or some shit, and what the kids would pack.  We got all of the typical stuff...clothes, nightgown, blankie, etc. (Though one kid did throw out "ointment", which of course I cracked up about...what three year old says "ointment?")  We were almost done when this one very sweet little girl pipes up with her contribution.  Now before I tell you what it was, keep in mind that her father always complained about how old he was to all of us.  Her contribution?  "My daddy packs little blue pills when he goes out of town."  The poor children did not know why their teacher thought that was so funny.  I told them all to ask their parents, cause I am so good at deflecting like that.


Both Elizabeth and Alexis could use fuck as a noun, adjective, and a verb by the age of three.  Charlie is probably well on her way there too.


Charlie comes walking into the kitchen in nothing but her diaper and a shit load of Mardi Gras beads.  Charles turns to me and goes, "Well, I guess she earned those beads, didn't she?"


Alexis is driving along in the car with me when Rhianna's S & M comes on.  She goes, "Oh, Mommy, turn this up!  This is my song!"