Mindspace

Griefwork

Had a moment of teenage angst this morning. Nally swallowed her pill wrong and it went down the wrong way. And she choked and gasped and fussed over it. Her brother brought her a cup of water, her father explained to her the anatomy of a pill gone down wrong. The child cried from 730-815. It was intolerable.
i had a brief flashback about her when she was a two year old toddler and we put her in her room for two minutes for the 2 years-2 minute rule. The child stayed in there for 2 hours. Every time i asked if she was ready to come out she said "NO!" i was just floored. As i was this morning. And i couldn't decide which was worse, her tenacity, her perseverence to hold onto a hurt state ( wonder where she got that from ) or the fact that it brought out this chilled side of me that went completely calm. " It's hard sweetie, everyone runs into those times when we swallow a pill and its goes down the wrong way, and we can choose to think about it all day, or we can distract ourselves with something else ". Where are your father's distraction-self-soothing skills when you need them.
Listening to her cry all the way to school was just excruciating. i found myself saying " You keep this up, they'll send you to the office. But then you'll have to be somewhere else in the office because NOBODY CAN WORK WITH THIS! " It had that grinding, droning whimper of a child that is just keeping up the crying for the sake of principle. i found myself wondering " An emotion has a shelf life of 90 seconds in your mind, what thoughts are you feeding yourself that can keep this fit up for 45 minutes ". I'm realizing as i write that her frontal lobes probably can't do that.
But in the middle of the fit, we brought up Keys and of course it hit both our raw nerves. " I'M NOT GOING TO KEYS" of which i responded, " You know lots, of mommies would not be offering their kids a 6 month trial period. You keep this attitude up you're there for a year! "  Which didn't get us anywhere. 
But as i processed this with my friend this morning, i realized something that was completely obvious. It's grief work. She is still struggling with leaving her friends. She is still grappling with the acceptance of her new school. And one tiny things triggers it all " the my life sucks " monologue. I need to have compassion, i need to give her space.
And something about that explanation hit a chord. i need to give her time and space to process this. My friend's daughter is switching schools for high school and is going through a similar process. i know better to ignore that stages of grief. Baby girl is in denial and anger right now. i should give her due process.
Scared me to see the part of me just withdraw from her when she is that distress. Especially since it was a hounding, grinding kind of cry. I am learning that sometimes, with the children, they need to just get the energy out like Buzz. Maybe she needed to cry for 45 minutes to get the anxiety of school and the grief of leaving out. If she does, she is entitled to it.

The Whole Story

The most bizarre thing happened this Sunday. My husband was away at a wedding so i went to church alone. 
And the senior pastor whom i adore in front of the entire church preached on my husband. " Of course he did" was everyone 's response whom i told. No i mean he preached on my husband by name. We were talking about the Good Samaritan and who does he pick as an example of someone who serves strangers : ie. people we have no relationship with: Enoch Choi.
For a split moment, all the months of recovery showed up. i had this surreal moment of saying " ok let's see how long i can sit here watching the world watch you", i was infinitely glad that my husband was not sitting next to me, or i would not have the mindspace to willingly suspend my disbelief. i was definitely glad Pastor made mention of the sacrifices that was made on the part of the family and children, that kept me from running from the sanctuary screaming. But it was so crazy to listen to my pastor preach about my husband, in this idealized way of him being a hero and having an intimate relationship with God.
It was surreal but what was more surreal was what happened after. i felt so compelled, i felt so "outed", so indignant that he dared preach such a one sided portrait of my man that i went up to him later and asked for prayer. i decided maybe this is God, He has been working on me these weeks -- maybe this is the blessing, the one last blessing -- i was going to go and ask for prayer from my pastor so i can finally let go of this toxic anger and rage that i had been nursing all these years.
And Pastor listened. He nodded, he said " I was going to ask him about family and the marriage." He nodded gravely, and he said he was going to call me, and meet with me, and call him and meet with him and then he is going to meet with both of us as a couple.
And i watched myself as an angry teenager, barely even look at him from the anger and bitterness, i watched other part of me weep so unabashedly at the gall he had to portray my husband as a hero. i felt all of me showed up, the anger the sadness and the space around all of that to know that there is nothing Pastor you can do that 15 years of marriage counseling can't. Yet at the same time, i knew better than to let go of this humungus bouquet of flowers that i felt God sent me. It is the one that i was bawling in my therapist office that my borderline got that i didn't. That even her, with all of her dysfunction was getting a marriage shifting and changing. i wept at the words i told her " God is healing your marriage. Without your help, without your permission, without you even knowing it ". i wept because i felt so deprived, so hopeless, so singled out -- that even my borderline had a better more conscious marriage than i did.
And now this. And this is after Enoch and i had the one honest conversation we've had in months. After i told him how unappreciated i felt with him planning these trips without even planning childcare, how i felt he treated a babysitter with more respect than he treated me.
He heard me. And i felt like more importantly God heard me. Because everyone he talked to after when he told them he was leaving town for a wedding asked him " Who is taking care of the kids ?" i felt like where he dropped me, God picked me up and gently held me in front of his face and said " Tell your wife again, how much you appreciate her " and he did. Every time he was prompted he did.
I feel the whole world shifting. This whole time with him with 3000 friends on Facebook with all the cool stuff he does, how many times i had been so tempted to ream into him, and burst his bubble of what an amazing dad and husband he is. I hear the words of Meredith saying "When our husbands are that important you want to be very careful who we tell", and i felt like that was a death sentence for me to be quiet, and to keep his image and be the perfect wife for the husband. All of me wanted to put in the comments, how much each trip costs us, how preoccupied he is, how the first trip to Haiti costs months of his time and attention, how i would have nothing to do with all his trips, threw all of the Haiti stuff from our house, refuse to go to all his fundraisers, i hate missionaries, hate mission trips, felt like he dragged them around and at the end of the say depended on the help of a woman when he took the kids to Cambodia. 
All of that, fell into place when i told pastor " I need prayer for the anger and resentment in my heart about the sacrifices my husband made that you preached about ". i wasn't on board and he went anyway.
But after this weekend, i feel the cracks of anger breaking through. i feel me coming up to the surface for air after years of being under water. i feel the warmth of the sun and the companionship of another human being. Twice now, a man has stopped me while my husband went on and on about his trips to another person and asked me " How are you doing? How does this fit with the marriage and the family? " and it unravelled such a huge wave of rage and grief and anger in me, i could barely breathe.
This week it is Pastor. And i don't know why it is so important it be him, but i feel like if he sees, then maybe God sees. That God sees me finally and he doesn't just love my husband more. That he knows this is wrong and not what He wants for our marriage, and it's not just me being a pain.
For the first time in my life, i felt integrated. That the life i live at home is finally a life someone outside sees. Not just my girls, not just my therapist, but someone huge and public like Pastor. And if he has the gall to preach about my husband, he better preach the whole story.

 

Alumni Event

I'm going to an alumni event this Saturday. And i realize, that this is huge. On my resume is an embarrassing number of name brand schools. Yet through the years, i have found no impulse to go to a single alumni event.
Yet this school, this year, this career i find myself wanting to network with my peers. More so i realize, i am excited to tell them what i'm up to. i am finally in a place i am proud of, so i can go back to school and tell my teachers, tell my peers -- look this is where i am. What i've done with my degree, are you proud of me.
That could be it. Or perhaps i am finally comfortable in my own skin. Comfortable that who i am, not what i have done is worth showing, worth connecting with another person. i am proud of all that i've become. Grateful enough to inspire, to mentor to give back.
Thankful.

The Peace about Keys

I have been stalling sending in the papers for Keys. Conflicted still about whether or not to send Natalie. Part of it now is that Denali has a waiting list, and the chances of going back now is not as easy as it was.
We will be forfeiting a school. As Enoch said '" You just have to choose"
Yet somewhere between making amends to Natalie, and remembering how awful it was for me to leave Nanyang, i stalled still praying for a sign.
So i did, driving into school praying. And the child unwittingly gave it to me. She said her friends were thinking of going to Denali for a year. Just as we were trying Keys, they were trying Denali.
And just like that -- it was clear.
These friends that we were giving up our dream school for, were not as committed to us, as we were to them.
And as i signed the papers with enoch. i felt the peace that we were picking the school that resonated with her. That at the end of the day, i didn't hate Nanyang because of the people, i eventually found people i liked. i hated Nanyang because it wasn't me. It was so Chinese and conservative, and communist. And i was a liberal arts girl even then.
Keys is natalie. It fits her the best. With the art and music, and drama. With the Singapore Math and the support around her ADD.
And as if to confirm my decision, i ran into the mother of her favorite friend this year. And we found out we were in the same predicament, in a position where we would have to "break our word", rescind on our decision, not because we were untrustworthy ( as accused by my daughter ) but because life dished them a curveball too, that they had to listen to their values and not just to the warmth of friends. The mother modeled a comfort level with her son's dissonance in a way that comforted me. It couldn't be more comforting for us both to be going through this same process. For my daughter to commiserate with the very person she wanted to relinquish Keys for.
Thank you God for the confirmation, for the sense of peace to take the next step. You're going to have to take it from here. 

Always in Awe

1st of May and i have 2 new client referrals. Someday, i will get used to this. Get used to the fact that random people call interested in working with me. But for now, it still is nothing short of a miracle. I always get floored, always feel humbled, slightly embarrassed yet somehow compelled to tell someone, to bear witness to how amazing God has been or is.
Month 4 of being out on my own, starting out month 5. And i am so amazed at how on track i am at the trajectory of  growth. My clients are renewing themselves, they are giving themselves raises, they are petitioning for their services. Most of my practice is now full fee, a few of them even higher. I feel so blessed every time i tell someone my fees and not balk or feel nauseous. i never thought the day would come i could say my fee in almost the same endearing tone of voice of a greeting. Or ask  " How would you like to pay for today ? " with the same comfort level as " How was your session like today ? ".
I am so aware that i am getting paid the same i was when i first graduated from RISD the same salary i was getting at Oracle but only working half as many hours. Every now and then, i wake up and say " Am i really living this life ? Getting paid as much as i do, working the hours i want, with the flexibility i choose, in the manner that is meaningful and life-giving ? " Who knew this life existed ? I didn't with every internship i did at 15.
I am also so aware that this isn't a given, this isn't the usual path for MFTs, this is nothing short of God's grace and God's calling, and God's favor.
And i am secretly pleased, vaguely guilty and always in awe. 

We're going to Keys

The unthinkable happened. Keys called and offered us a spot off their waiting list. Just when i told Natalie, she could finally let her guard down and dream and be with her friends in Denali -- we had to entertain the thought of being a different school.
What proceeded was a side of my daughter that i never get to see.
" You broke your word"
" You're not trustworthy, that's where Aidan gets it from"
" You said that we could apply and say no"
" You need to focus on yourself "
" Why do you get to make all the decisions ? "
" i am going to hate drama and hate art! "
And while she was going on and on, i found a part of me so angry that said " Fine! Let's both not get what we want and we'll go to public school! "The child cried all the way from Mountain view to Palo Alto, sobbing in the car. I can't tell whether it's because she is usually monosyllabic, composed and rational that hearing her cry just broke my heart. I finally had to get out of the car when we got home and breathe. It was so hard because everything she said was true. And i had guarded her heart and prepared her for all the pros and cons of all the schools. i actually got the child open minded enough so that the day we got the news about being on the wait list  -- she had said she liked Denali "1%" more than Keys.
Then this.
And i can't tell you what was so disorienting about it. That she used all my words back on me. That i was that mother that had to break her word with new information. That i was so wildly proud of her for having all those words without her ADD meds. That at the end of the day, my heart broke because i wanted so much for her to be part of the process and on board.
I finally told her that we'd try it of which she told me
" Well, should i try jumping off a cliff? Should I try alcohol? Should i try drugs ? "
The child should be lawyer -- really.
But i know my father disapproved that i told her, but i told her that we would try Keys out and if she didn't like it after 6 months, that we could consider going back to Denali.  She locked herself in her room and cried. And i just sat outside grief-stricken. And then she came out in a great mood.
It's interesting to realize all the old parts of me kick in. The avoidant part of me that doesn't want to broach the subject again. The codependent part of me that wants to cuddle up next to her and be reassured that we still have a good relationship.
Yet another part of me knows, this is the space that i talk about with all my parents. Here we go: this part that needs me to be calm, bigger, non-reactive, reflective. It sucks, it's awful, it's unfair. Yes we still need to go to Keys..
Yes i broke my word. Yes plans change. I know…. i know… we love our friends even more now that we've gone to China together. Yes we still need to go to Keys. 
OK if feels better just saying it out loud.

 

Art Retreat

Came home after an exhausting weekend painting. Honestly, paying attention to yourself -- your resistance, your juice, your energy, staying with anxiety, the discomfort -- is EXHAUSTING!
Still it is lovely to have 4 pieces of art to show for it. To realize that at the end of the day, i am a painter, an artist, that i do enjoy watching the paint run into each other.
Painting this weekend, brought back all these memories of my father coaching me, his favorite colors, how my art teachers made me outline everything in black, Chinese painting class, at the end of the day, they all show up.
It continues to thrill me how i am such a different person coming in this time. The last time i was in the studio, i was uptight, my critic was deafening. I finished 4 paintings in 1 hour. i ran from the session screaming. i don't think i got what process painting was.
This time, it was lovely to see me jump right into movement as if i had always done it. How i was able to stay in my own skin even though i wasn't show if i could connect with the women, how i was able to hold onto myself while i bristled with the new teacher. How i was able to notice myself criticize her and pick her apart.
But all in all, it was a wonderful weekend. It was lovely to have Buzz there, and to fellowship with my friend Elizabeth and to watch her teach the students; to watch others paint and to see the things that came easily for them and harder for me.
I'm glad i went.

Making Peace with Black

One interesting observation yesterday was the origins of my third painting this retreat. i am finally respecting the space and time defined by the retreat. Just like the writing practices with Natalie, nothing juicy can come out from tiny slivers of time.
Creativity needs space to stretch out, and warm up and settle.
But my third piece ( after i've reconciled my happy and sad sides ), was one that consisted of these tiny little brush strokes i found out this brush made. It were these fan like marks that i got really into making all over my painting.
i kind of got lost in them, and really enjoyed them.
And then i realize that it needed black.
And this flashback came back about how my father and art teachers would make me "outline" everything in black after a picture. Black was definition, contrast and power.
As i was painting, i realized i was really hesitant with black. i'd use it to hint at a boundary but unlike the painters around me, i realized that i wasn't comfortable being definite about the outlines, or putting it down with commitment, or being comfortable with boundaries.
So i thought "what the heck, i'm here, i should try something i wouldn't before" so i took a brush and painted it down. And immediately the painting got richer, deeper and more dimensional. i found out that there were all shades of black too, and the black i was using had more brown in it. And that i went back and looked for BLACK black. And that it wasn't as scary as i thought. It didn't ruin the picture and actually it integrated beautifully.
( pause -- to make a mental note about integrating my dark side )
Then the most crazy thing happened.
I tipped the painting over and there it was. The image of mother and child, and each black outline reinforced the protective encircling of her arms around the child. It so paralleled everything i was going through with Natalie. The tentativeness i feel about laying the decision down about middle school. The fear i have that the boundaries would take over and spoil the beautiful relationship we have. That it would take over the painting.
How from this perspective, they looked so loving and so comforting. It made me tear up. It was lovely.
This morning, a friend of mine on Facebook said she saw Buzz's face as well. But of course, that would make sense.
Here it is.

Process Progress

Finally getting the hang of this process painting thing. I realize i am an intuitive, natural process painter. Just as with the Natalie Goldberg retreat, this time i hit the ground running, like i've been doing this for years. I am realizing though, that unlike being a writer, i don't have the same commitment to being a painter.
It's a part of me i haven't really owned. i kind of dismiss it, invalidate it, feel like it's "less than". It is definitely much cooler to be a writer than a painter.
In going there, i realize, " painter" has much more of the "starving artist" feel, the temperamental personality, someone who cannot integrate into society.
Writers are observers, critics of society, "above than". If i had to starve, i'd starve being a writer than a painter.
But on the canvas, i realize i am a natural process painter. i love color, i gravitate towards them like old friends. i get attached to my palette and how the colors run into each other resistant to washing them. i love my brushes, finding out how to use them, the textures -- they each have a personality.
I realize that i am engaged, and if i take a color in my hand, the painting tells me where to put them. It feels intuitive, less cerebral, less taxing.
I am noticing that this time, i am less concerned about what people are thinking saying, most importantly -- my "teacher". It helps that i don't think much of her. Already, i've put her down i know. I realize that by artistic standards, being a process teacher is so much easier than an art teacher. And i'm dependent less on her feedback than her companionship in this process.
It's lovely to notice that after all these years, of trying to please my father, my high school British art teachers, my RISD professors, at the urge to please and impress has faded and i finally FINALLY don't give a rat's A-S-S about what you think about my painting.
I finally stopped trying to define standards of excellence in this space, redefine a curriculum of how i know i am doing "well". Somewhere between Natalie Goldberg and recovery, i finally get PROCESS over PERFECTION or in my case product.
 

Process Painting retreat

Drove 1.5 hours to Oakland for a process painting retreat this weekend. It was one of those rare retreats i didn't have to plan for weeks in advance, or arrange for exorbitant babysitting. Just like how this week kind of just unfolded, this retreat kind of culminated on the last two days before the kids get home.
I know i've always poo-poohed painting before. And the last time i tried process painting, i ran out screaming -- riddled with anxiety and hearing full blown critiques in my head by all my different RISD professors. i walked out angry with the lack of structure, criticizing the quality of feedback, feeling ignored and unseen, disorientated from the lack of feedback and longing for the praise i did when i was 10 years old in art class with Mr Ellis walking around the classroom.
It was a regressive experience.
Process therapy is about "process" and not the end result. The therapist/ facilitator walks around asking these questions like " What color do you feel needs to go there ? " " What do you feel as you are painting this ? " " What would you need to ruin this painting ? " The last one kind of freaked me out. 
I have to say though for the mere 1.5 hours i was there last, i launched my website that i had been mulling around for 3 years - redesigning and redesigning. i just threw it up. For that i was impressed.
Yesterday, i noticed that i was more relaxed on the drive, i talked to a friend which kept me sufficiently distracted. i got more stressed in the 15 minutes i took finding parking than the 1.5 hours in traffic there. i found myself bargaining with God again -- " If i don't find it, i will go home", " I'm scared, Buzz is in the car, i can't be lost ". But God came through, He found me a spot right across the street, after 4 rounds of driving. It opened. up.
And i walked in 2 hours late.
This time, i loved it! I was like a kid in a candy store, with the paints, the mess, the paper. i loved the texture, the brushes. i painted with my left hand.
I started out with traffic angst and then finished off exuberantly happy.
i realize, i am instinctively a process artist. i am intuitive, and a colorist and i love just the texture and form.
It was glorious fun. And the hour passed. And i got to hang out with my friend Elizabeth. And the hour drive home was a pain but it was worth being in my own bed.
Here are the results...

.  \

Spring Break 2013

It's been an incredible week.
And i am trying not to run ahead and worry about how to immortalize it,i am trying not to panic about how to replicate it, i am trying not to be sad about how in a couple of days the kids will be home and these mornings will be filled with bustle.
I am trying to take it in. Breathe it. Take little sips. Swirl it in a glass and watch it move.
the meditative, spiritual singing of a new artiste that i stumbled upon who is literally singing in tongues but with words...
the luxury of lighting candles without the feverish gleeful energy of my son when he sees fire....
my intuitive gravitation to tea without sugar -- knowing that it's not coffee, or chai or a hazelnut latte that really grounds me....
a gorgeous new book on meditation that is set like poetry....
the sight of a sleeping dog at my feet, who is almost grateful for the silence, thrilled for it to be just me....
i feel the completion of an animal, the companionship of a simple canine...
the fullness of a joyful practice.....
It's been a great week.
It's different this time...
i don't feel the feverish need to fun someplace else to retreat
i am find a place to hide in my home.
i don't feel the need to run up to my Holy Hill or fill my days with dinners and girlfriends
this week i scheduled a writing group and a yoga class during the week.
i feel the evenings cease to become looming and threatening
and become womblike and inviting
i am watching Buzz do downward facing dog, and extension stretch faithfully every morning
He is such a gift.

Natalie 10 years

Have i told you lately you're so amazing?
That you can step on a plane to China without even blinking an eye or being homesick
That you can keep your calm when i get triggered and tell me
" Mom i am the one that's calm here"
That when you're triggered,
You can come up with arguments, rationale, comebacks
with a speed that defies all ADD
with such solid understanding,
it takes all of me not to rescind on my word
Can i tell you why you are so amazing?
That you can remember to plan out things,
That you are taking plan in your projects,
Joy in your work
That you worry during drama and try to get a headstart on your homework for the weekend
That you are changing and shifting
You let go of the Mindcraft server
all by yourself
You are so beautiful
So unfolding
So mysterious and complex and deep
So much more than i give you credit for
I miss you.

Her Practice

Her practice has been such a gift. Everyone deserves this -- a methodical, structured way of interacting with people in meaningful conversation. She loves looking at her datebook, the list of names that fill each hour. People she sees for only slivers of time each week -- one precious hour. She loves that she is compensated per hour, that her time is measured so meticulous, so minutely and valued and accounted for.
She loves that they find her, on the internet, online, she is part of a search. The feeling of being found throws her every time. " How did you find me ? " she asks every time. " Oh i Googled" and even if it doesn't pan out -- just the fact that they were looking and she was found, fills her on some ephemeral level.
She loves that she can't prepare for them -- the way she would agonize over her projects for technology. She loves that her preparation is her self-care, that she has meditated, prayed, stretched, sipped her Chai, walked the dog, left the house in a centered way so she can be there for her clients. She loves that all the things she has to do for herself, is now a professional requisite. That 20 clients are now counting on her to keep good boundaries and take care of herself.
She loves the structure of the day, the hours and the rhythm of no show.
She loves that she can now sit in the anxiety and unpredictability of no shows better -- she can take a deep breath and believe that God has ordered a cancellation and a termination. She can run safely to the refuge of a dog that always is thrilled to see her, dying to walk her and believes that their loss is his gain.
She loves the stillness of the room, the smallness of it, the confined space that she had designed and carved out for herself. The window, the colors, the sofa, the light. She loves…. she loves.
She loves the journey, all that it's taken to get there, the process, how it's so different from all the other careers. That for the first time she did not envision this space -- that she simply had put one foot in front of the other and loved each step for itself and let go of time and deadline and results.  
She loves that everything counts, she gets to show up for them. She gets to make meaning out her suffering. She gets to use her pain for His glory.
Thank you God.

I've taken the morning off my meeting to write. I haven't written in weeks. And somewhere between reading a blog about a writer who said that small consistent strokes are better than large ones -- convicted me to pick up my writing practice again. 
I remember the year i first got my nanny and how i would write consistently everyday for 2 hours. Somehow between justifying her existence and me needing feel like i was "working", i settled into a routine at Starbucks in those purple chairs. I remember writing practice then -- sharp and lucid. i could think clearly. It was exactly as Natalie Goldberg said -- writing that often, that regularly made me step on the stage ready to dance because i had been warming up everyday. These days i am muggy and dull-headed. i have this moments of "ah ha" but i can't put it on paper.
I am distracted when i get there, checking Facebook and email. i am almost this close to getting back on my PsyD track again just so i can get the discipline of writing and deadlines again.
So ironic, that life is only so much more productive when we have less. When we have tight slivers of time to accomplish things, i get them done.
i know i have to just get up and write. Get up and pick up the pen and keep it moving. i need to wake up at 6am sit for 10 minutes and write till 645. i need an alarm clock like Aidan.
But since the daylight savings. i have been lazy.

Aidan 8 years old

My son is the joy of my life. Some days i feel like i don't tell him enough, don't catch him and say "
Can i tell you why you are so amazing ?
How you can string together coherent sentences first thing in the morning
that you burst into my room with a night's worth of stories to tell me,
that you fixed that broken alarm clock and then set it to go off at 6.15am because
you are the only one who knows that you took 30 minutes to get out of bed in the morning.
Have i told you why you are amazing?
When you run to me in the morning and tell me you had memorized the speech all by yourself
That you did it just as you got up.
That you sit there, whittling on the front porch with your pocket knife
You sit there whittling like an all in all boy.
I am so amazed by your boy energy
It is foreign and intriguing to me
It feels foreign and new to your father too
I can't imagine him as little as you,
So pure, so wide eyed and true
So full of un-distilled joy untouched by the world.
You are truly amazing.

 

Who is Buzz

My therapist asked me who Buzz reminds me of -- my ex-boyfriend or my husband. My clingy, needy, dependent ex-boyfriend that watched my every move or my detached, self-reliant, accomadating husband. Buzz still befuddles me. When we picked him out in the store -- he was chill, mellow letting Aidan and Daddy pet him. He was detached, self-reliant, and non-needy. Andy, the PTSD war veteran that i fell in love with that first day, the one that refused all toys and food in exchange for my presence, i got. i clicked with instantly. Buzz, we kind of circled each other warily. i was grateful he was low-maintence, 3 years old, void of puppy energy and indiscretion. He had a quiet dignity about him, a flexibility of sorts. The kind that would be ok if he slept with us, ok if we didn't.
When i described both dogs to my Al Anon group, they all loved Andy. We were all bred to fix, bred to attract to the broken like moths to the flame. Like Father Tom said he would bond inter-celluluarly with them most broken person in a meeting. He would bond with them through steel." They all chuckled and said " Of course we would pick Andy" but Buzz was healthier. On some level, i knew, and a part of me felt the old boredom towards health "meh".
But today, we are both surprised how attached we are to each other. As i read more and more articles about the psychology of dogs and how dogs bond with humans -- i realize, they bond with boundaries. They bond with routine, clear structure, consistent rules, reliability, trust. Unconsciously, because I wasn't needy, because I had to work through my issues with bonding, the residues of grief with Hosanna,  it took time for me to gush, time for me to simply adore him the way the kids were doing. He wasn't ready too. And he still isn't. Unlike Hosanna, he isn't a lover of all man. He is more cautious about the world, he looks cuddly but he really isn't. He needs space and boundaries, and like we found out with Aidan, when they are crossed enough times, he has no qualms enforcing boundaries with a growl or a snap.
But today as i breathe in the morning air, grateful every morning that we've honored both of us by going on our 15 minute walk -- i realize, the dogs reflect me. Hosanna came to a needy, dependent college senior who was on the brink of losing her boyfriend/husband for the next 5 years of her life. Enoch was entering medical school, i was contemplating staying in the America, and not leaving to go back to Singapore. i was driven to merge, i had no boundaries, i was terrified out of my mind about actually living in this country. Enoch was still showing me the ropes about shopping at Costco, managing a household, ( the only time in my life he knew more than i did ), i had just started driving for the first time in my life. Looking back, Hosanna was born to chaos, i was gone for 6-7 hours at a time with my design critiques, she had no routine, no fixed times of feeding and no training. She was set up to be an anxious dog.
Buzz is born into such a different household. Even with 2 kids, i am such a different mother of 2 kids. Today i am walking out with him and i realize, because i have a dog i have "neglected" my kids. But i can't decide if they are worst for it. i come back from my 15 minute way to Aidan making his 2nd BLT sandwich for breakfast. Nally is up without me having to scream her awake. We were 5 minutes late for school but at least we were all in a loving space. i am just in the right time in my life to take steps away from the kids and to ease up and to not focus on them. Nally said that i was calmer with him and that i don't have all the time in the world to be "on her".
But i was just noticing how i am such a different dog owner. i am grounded, slanted to routine, he replaced a meditation practice, an opening ache as i start my new practice. He filled the space of the bustle of supervision and how i missed community. He echoes my detachment, my self-reliance -- even in my marriage. I am so much less needy, less anxious, less insecure.
And just like that, the dog matches the season, and clearly what a gift marking a new chapter. i am so grateful for his company, his demeanor, his growing attachment for me. So grateful.

 

New Natalie

Natalie is doing so well on her meds. This week her tutor confirmed what i knew in my gut all along -- that if she applied to Middle School now, she is a completely different applicant -- a different writer on her applications, a different person on her shadow visits, different grades, different ISEE scores. Miss Samimi  tutored her since the start of the year, pre-meds. She saw the Natalie that needed a break every 5 minutes, one that needed her to weave all kinds of learning, one that needed walks around the coffee shop and visits with insects in the one hour of tutoring. Today she can't believe how focussed, enthusiastic and teachable she is. Natalie still doesn't like tutoring -- but for someone disinterested, she is finally leveraging Miss Samimi the way i've wanted her to since she was in 3rd grade.
But it's more than that, its the little things like she is learning to work on her projects ahead of time. Yesterday she said she was working on her project. i asked her when it was and she said 'April 12". This is a child who could never even think 2 steps ahead of her day. She is holding deadlines and projects in her head, portioning it out in time and working on them little by little.
When Miss Samimi said that, i had the goosebumps. If my child is really off her application deadlines by as close as one month. Ie. if the applications had been simply one month later -- she would have been a different applicant -- then God really must want her in Denali. In 2 months, peace has restored to our household. The terror and stress, and anxiety that gripped me every night since last September is gone. That awful gut feeling in my stomach that i am trying to deliver something i really can't control is gone. That sinking feeling like i knew deep down, that this was an impossible task -- is gone.
I often wonder why i even succumbed to the engaging in the endeavor. All alone and by myself, i took on the task my husband set before me, knowing full well that it would put us through incredible stress.
A part of me still resents him for it. For the age-old Al-anon equation where he wants something and i suffer to make it happen. Yet as Nally and i look back at the last couple of months -- the one remaining gift through it all -- is Buzz. He was the gift that was to make up for all the injustice i felt i put her through and today he is my gift. My calm fuzzy remnant of the stress of that time. 
What a season it was.

Teachable Moment for Who

Baby girl and i had an argument this morning -- and i ended up getting so worked up.
She was complaining about taking her Adderall; and then how she won't take the cod liver oil pills, or  eat the salmon daddy cooked or drink the Omega3 Flax Seed Oil milk. i thought i gave her a ton of options of how to get Omega 3 oil into her short of injecting it into her ( which i am this close to suggesting ) and somewhere between giving her choices i ended up in this space where i was yelling " You don't get to choose Natalie, you have ADD. Do you see some cancer patient refusing to take their pills, or grown ups refusing to take anecdotes to poison? Or a guy in a wheelchair deciding he doesn't like wheel chairs ? "
I just lost it. Every suggestion is a "fight" but to make matters worse, the most logical and "reasonable" fight. Twice my daughter is telling me " Mom, i am the one that is calm here ", while i am ranting and raving. Once she tells me "This is why i like dad, he is calm " of which i retort " Well he can calmly INJECT this stuff into you then ".
I can't decide which is more infuriating, a daughter that demurely disagrees with everything you suggest, which is the sweetest "oppositional defiant disorder" you've ever seen, or the fact that at the end of the conversation, i am the one ranting and raving and she is sitting there calm as a cucumber. I tell my friend, it's happening again, they are the "crazy one" and i am the one that looks bad. It reeks of my marriage.
But i swear we're entering into a whole different era. Today i finally broke down and asked her if she got her pill before she got out of the car -- she said " I am getting the water. You know it can't just magically appear in my throat you know. " I am like "augh!!!!!" -- i couldn't pin the infraction: it wasn't sarcasm, it wasn't rude, it wasn't loud, it wasn't defiant. It was as her sitting there comparing the ingredients between the regular milk and the flax seed milk going through all the ingredients while we are late for school. i was like JUST DRINK THE DARN MILK ALREADY AND SWALLOW THE PILL!
I tell myself, it is one long power struggle with this one. She is the classic poster child for Love and Logic. Everything step is a teachable moment, even if i don't want it to be one, she'll make it one. And i have this horrible feeling i am the one getting taught.

Middle School Decision

Nally got wait listed at Keys and GMS.
And if i am truly present, a part of me knew all along. The part of me that went into a panic in September when i realized that i had to get the applications ready by February. It was the part of me that heralded the principal about this process when he hired the new 5th grade teacher. A part of me knew that Nally was so far away from being ready for the middle schools that Daddy wanted. The part of me that raged when i felt so overwhelmed by the insurmountable tasks of getting her "ready" and her motivated to write her middle school applications. The part of me that refused to coach her, and to change those one line paragraphs she wrote on the applications.
Enoch was so hopeful " Both schools would love to have her " and i wondered then if it was the competitive Singaporean in me that was so clear and sure that she was a different candidate from her peers. It's been an incredible journey of listening to my gut, and learning that there is a part of me that knows and won't do, just like how Nally is impermeable to persuasion something that we know in our gut is not right.

I knew that i didn't put my all in those apps, i knew that i refused to coach Natalie, i knew that i almost sabotaged a few. i did because i knew it wasn't right. And every time i fought it, every time i engaged in  the system, every time i aligned with my husband's philosophy of having " all options open" just like how he wants us to say yes to the waiting lists -- all my me clenches. My peace leaves. It's not right.
It's so funny, because it was how i applied to Brown, how i applied to RISD. It reminded me of those times i tried to psyche myself into applying for full time jobs when the kids were home and i would get all the way through the last interview and i would lose it. And finally my friend who wasn't even a therapist, a fellow designer who looked at my portfolio and my resume -- asked me "Which part of you doesn't want this job? "
i am learning to listen to that part more. It is the part that guards my serenity and peace.
And as i listen to my daughter explain to me, my monosyllabic child, "Mommy, i want to go to Denali because i learn better when i am with my friends. i don't have to worry about being popular. Because i am comfortable"  We have guessed this all along, her teacher, her Chinese teacher said those exact words in Chinese " she learns best when she is comfortable" -- where was i to listen.
As i pray a prayer of thanks for closed doors ( i was just praying for them ) i felt the same peace i felt when i hit the button of my MFT exam knowing that i if failed, i knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God had "better things in store for me". It wasn't random, it wasn't a failure -- that it's exactly why i tell my clients " Closed doors are to protect us ".
As i breathe in this direction, i smile almost giggle to imagine what if God knew all along.
What if He had this world class SUMMIT school Denali  founded just in time for her, that it would be the pilot class so she would get in, that it would be completely technology driven and tracked ( the way Nally learns best ) that it would be no grades, skills based only, that it would co-ed the way she wanted it ( no girls ) t, that it would have 8 out of her 10 classmates going ) 
What if it was the perfect school or transitional school to get her through this year of ADD transition ?
What if ?
We always what ifs in the anxiety and fear. This morning, what if-ing in a space of believing that the God of the universe had planned this all along. i think of all the jobs that God closed on me, the positions that i wanted so badly but got turned down, even Brown for early action -- i am beginning to believe and finally believe that there is no demotion with God -- that we only get promoted from "glory to glory".
Yesterday, my daughter says to me after waffling back and forth that she likes Denali 1% more than Keys. These were the only 2 schools we were considering. 5 minutes later, i open a letter informing us we were wait listed.
I look at her with the same wonder i did when she refused to go to GMS shadow day and another slot opened just like that -- "How much does God love you? " thank God more than Mommy and Daddy.
You love her God, and i thank you for protecting her from our dreams, our fears, our crazy options. You know that this even fits with Enoch's plan to work less. i feel the relief in the finances and i am tickled to realize that God even addresses my worries about our finances. Hold her in that palm of your hand, you've proven that she is safe. i release God, she is yours.  Thank you for being bigger than me.

Growing Practice

i feel cocky these days, whenever i don't feel infinitely grateful.
I know i keep saying this but i feel so aware that i have the amazing gift of a full practice in just the mere 2 months and 2 weeks of licensure. i would take it for granted, except i have friends licensed for almost a year with problems finding clients.
So it's weeks like these when i have a 9 hour back to back day, when it is month 3 and i am still getting 2 referrals a month,   a part of me wants to stand up and say -- " Does anybody else see how crazy this is ? ", whether i am living in the same world, a part of me wonders if this is transcient; if it's sustainable, if I am being too cocky. whether i should do marketing.
But God, i breathe a prayer of gratitude, and you know that deep in my heart of hearts, i am as wild eyed and bewildered as the day i was as a brand new trainee.
Thank you for favor, for your referrals, for your grace and honor.
Thank you for the priviledge of this job.