Tastes Like Chicken...

Philosophically, I would say that my life probably looks pretty attractive. I boycott McDonalds. I support a living wage. I don't support the war, but I love my soldiers. I don't believe Jesus was white, rich, Republican, nor American. But when philosophy intrudes on my reality, I'm a real bitch.

Case in point. I live a hectic grad student life. Three jobs, an internship, full course load, church, hubby, and two kitties. Last Friday, I actually found a sliver of time to go work out. Amazingly, afterward I had just enough time to run by the grocery store. Being (relatively) poor, by American standards, I chose Aldi. If you've ever shopped there, you can't help but have a strong emotional reaction to the Aldi experience. Hyped up on the excitement of basement prices, the aisles of Aldi are jammed full of customers frantic to escape. Buggies (rented for a quarter) are always piled high with boxes, cans, and produce with a checkout line longer than the wait for Space Mountain at Disneyworld.

As always, I was in a hurry. I zoomed around the aisles, throwing people food and kitty food into my cart. I was vaguely aware of a large family that seemed to have 4 or 5 of their own carts, filled to overflowing. When I made it to the checkout, I became alarming aware of this family, because all of them were in front of me. At first I was perturbed. I began examining this family that dare delay my plans for a shower, some makeup, and lunch before heading for a night shift at job #3.

Upon further examination, I realized that this family was not from my suburban world. Brightly dressed in multiple colorful, gay, clashing pagnes (wrap around dresses of sorts), their ebony skin shone and their tongues flickered with syllables that I could not discern. They had the most interesting items in those overflowing carts. The most popular item appeared to be frozen, fried chicken, followed by cases of coke and enough produce for an army.

But it was clear that this family did not understand the rules of my world. At first, one family member was in line in front of me. Then another family member with a full cart joined the previous, passing myself and 2 others in line. Then another. Then finally, one more until all four carts had "jumped" my concept of a line. No self effacing "forgive me" smiles. No kind nods, just marching right to the front of the line, cart in tow, as if family members should stay together at the expense of all else. At first I was peturbed. This literally could add up to an hour of waiting in line. Everyone else around me was clearly upset. People looked around uncomfortably, scuffed the cheap linoleum with their toe, unsure of what to do.

But something struck me at that moment. How unwilling am I to change my "rules" to accomodate new people? Sure, I donate to the refugee families hosted by my church. I sponsor a child through Compassion International. I complain how our government is negligent to the people in the Darfur region of Sudan. I may never buy another diamond again in my life. But when it comes down to daily living...to sacrificing an hour of my life to accomodate a family that is new to my neighborhood...I get peturbed.

Right there in Aldi, I began to chuckle. I don't know if it was the absurd number of boxes of fried chicken in the carts ahead of me or my own hypocrisy, but for some reason the situation seemed humorous. For the first time, it really stuck with me why I am so greedy. I despise being made uncomfortable. I don't move to the Congo because they don't have fried chicken frozen in a box. They don't have Aldi. And I don't know the rules.

And so, we all become uncomfortable when someone, something, challenges the rules that make us comfortable. That's why we all hate the social awkwardness of elevators. That's why we debate the appropriateness of breasts in church. So yeah, philisophically, I'm a relative Mother Theresa. But then I remember, it's not about the philosophy, it's about the living.

What I Do When I Should be Sleeping

You Are Not Scary

Everyone loves you. Isn't that sweet?

How scary are you?

You Know You're from Tennessee When....

• You've never met any celebrities....other than Fred Thompson
• "Vacation" means going to the family reunion.
• You know all 4 seasons: Almost Summer, Summer, Still Summer and Christmas.
• You laugh when people from anywhere north of TN tries to say or spell "y'all"
• It's "Mar-vull" not "Mary-ville"
• It's "Knox-vull" not "Knox-ville"
• A tabogan is a hat, not a sled. You butter your hot biscuit by cutting it open, putting a slab of butter inside and closing it back up again.
• Every town in East Tennesse has a "strip" and they're not particularly safe to be in at night.
• Pigeon Forge is not pronounced with a French accent.
• Gatlinburg does have an "L" in it and it should be pronounced.
• Sales tax is 9.5%. You shop at Walmart for groceries, not at a grocery store.
• You don't drive in Knoxville on game-day. EVER.
• You can't remember the last time you saw snow.
• You have a "piss on" sticker on your car window
• You know when Elvis Presley Day is
• You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Tennessee.
  

The Complexity of the Human Body

Here is the exhibit that my husband and I went to see actually on a Valentine's outing to the city.



Here is a *blurry* shot of a preserved body of a lady who donated her body when she learned that she nor her child would most likely survive the birth. The exhibit is currently on exhibit at the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry.


A closeup of the child about to be born. Please forgive the poor photography, I was breaking the rules to even be taking pictures, so I had to be discreet and look innocent.


And you always wondered how testicles worked....

Further Adventures in Graduate Life

So, today, I had my interview(s) for the Doctor of Psychology program. It's interesting how everyone's psychopathology floats to the top in such stressful sitations. I am sure that mine does, too. Oddly enough, I did not suffer any undue anxiety about the interviews. It helps when you have already had some of the courses and you know a lot of the professors. I met some really cool people. I am more concerned that I will get in and be stuck with a bunch of uptight overachievers than I am about not getting in. How is that for paradox, and for making myself look like an uptight overachiever? (Achieves that purpose quite well, I think.)

About this having a blog thing, I've decided that it presents some interesting quandries for me. I desire the anonymity of being able to bitch about classmates and coworkers, clients, family, and inlaws, but realize that it wouldn't be a large leap for someone to figure out who I am. Especially considering that my hubby's blog is a lot more popular than mine, and he keeps pestering to link to me.

So, in honor of stream of consciousness, let's switch topics. I have been writing a paper on my approach and conceptualization of cases in therapy, and for some reason I feel the need to share an excerpt on psychodynamic theory and appraoches to therapy.

For some reason, it seems that communicating my emerging theory for formulation of cases must begin with my view of sin as a Christian. Sin, this three letter “dirty” word in our society, is at the root of all suffering, pain, and problems of living. While personal responsibility for sin cannot be denied and must be addressed, this is not the sin of which I write. No, it is the state of sin in which we live, the force of sin that influences every moment of human existence that is integral to understanding the problems that clients present.
An object lesson best communicates what I mean by the “force of sin” in the lives of individuals. For a moment, consider a client named Mary. Let us say that Mary’s one purpose in life is to hold a rather large stone in her hand with her arm extended away from her body. Once Mary uncovers that this is her purpose, she could commit countless individual sins. She may decide never to pick up the stone, or at times pick it up only to set it down again. Mary could hold something other than the stone in her outstretched hand, or do things with the stone other than merely hold it. But, one thing is for certain, even if Mary picks up the stone and holds it outstretched, her arm will grow weary. She will constantly struggle against a force that pulls her arm and the stone it holds toward the ground. No matter how much she desires to hold up that stone, how dedicated she is to holding up the stone, or how good her intentions may be, gravity is constantly working to fatigue her and eventually she will fail. Sin is the gravity of all our lives.
It is because sin is the pervasive force of all humankind, that I feel psychodynamic approaches are the primary means by which I conceptualize cases. Psychodynamic theory allows for the losses that we all invariably suffer. It begins in childhood when, from the moment of birth, we must learn to mourn the loss of the perfect parent or the perfect union with a parent. For if even our parents, the formative relationships to who we are to become, are fallen from the start, how do we expect the rest of humankind to be any less fallen?
The pain evident in birth continues throughout life. An empathic failure here, a rejection there, an unmet need or desire elsewhere, all lead to a continued need to mourn the losses of living in an existence that is never free from the force of sin. But, part and parcel with falleness comes the reality that losses are often ignored, viewed as weakness, or treated in other damaging ways. Sometimes the force of sin becomes so pervasive that we might even force others to create patterns of relating that would never occur otherwise. At its worst, the gravity of sin makes an us capable of distorting God and incapable of receiving His grace and forgiveness for our state of sin.
Therefore, in treatment, it becomes crucial to enable clients to identify and mourn losses. Whether or not a client acknowledges that these losses are the result of sinfulness is not the point. Rather, facilitating the process of loss, bereavement, and recovery, can facilitate the relief of guilt, the acceptance of grace, and instill hope that true change can be made. I feel that, except in rare cases, a clinician’s main purpose is to help a client clarify losses, acknowledge and mourn those losses, and to deal with what really exists in the place of hoped for perfection. It is only then that a client may stop desperately repeating the same unhealthy patterns of relating and receiving the same deflating results.

Enjoy...until next time....

The Peanut Gallery

Life is a laugh a minute with these two around.

Crime and Punishment

The Crime




The Perpetrator

What's Wrong With Mental Health

So today, at the psych hospital where I work with adolescents, something interesting happened. A female patient grabbed a staff member, took her keys and threw them across the room to another patient. At the old hospital where I worked, she would have been on the ground in a restraint in no time. She posed a threat to safety AND no one had any way of knowing what she would have done. An added plus is that restraining any 14 year old for a small moment is amazing behavior modification.

The outcome of the scenario was the girl was sent to the quiet room, where she got what she wanted...a nap...and never had to suffer any consequences for her behavior. Seems to be a theme lately...well, always...at this hospital. I don't know how many times I've heard that we can't treat this (affluent, white, spoiled) population that way, because "they expect more." So we have random kids getting up and walking out of group without asking first, no structure, and no set of expectations, rewards and punishments. What is up with that?

I feel like I need to sit the staff down and make them watch Super Nanny. She at least seems to understand that expectations, rewards, and punishments are necessary to teach kids how to become decent, respectful, productive human beings. The staff here seems too busy talking about their crazy weekend, their dog, their kids, or whatever to give a damn if some kid has some boundaries.

Some kids even refuse their family visits. I understand that a large part of a kid's problem sometimes is the parents...but it's the kids with the most supportive, unabusive families that seem to be the most unappreciative of what they have. One girl even wrote that her mother was a horrible mother for taking away her cell phone. What a damn shame.

Yes, I'm cynical. Yes, I'm pissed off. I guess that's what keeps me going in school. I want to get my degree and take these people out of mental health. It's naive and impossible, but I'm going to try nonetheless. Some of you are probably thinking that I'm a barbaric controlling automatron for even suggesting that a 14 year old needs to be restrained. Hmm, I started to qualify my thoughts, but I've decided not to. If you work in mental health, I think you might understand.

Anyway, this hospital is more like a social club than a treatment center. Being on an inpatient unit isn't supposed to be fun, inviting, or warm. It's supposed to be brief, contrived, uncomfortable, and make a healthy individual desire to leave as soon as possible. Not by torture, demeaning acts, or other unhealthy means...but because once someone is on the turnaround from a mental illness, the last place most teenagers would ever want to be is locked up, restricted, and with people who hate generally hate life at the moment that they are in the hospital.

I love teenagers. They are the revolutionaries that will change the world. Directing their fire and energy can give their lives meaning and purpose, a sense of efficacy, and develop a communities next leaders. That's why I find it especially grievious when an adolescent has lost their fire for life. However, the way to fan the flame lies somewhere between legalistic power struggles and loosey goosey boundaries that are never enforced. There need to be expectations that leave room for creative expression. Questioning boundaries, rules, norms, and expectations is healthy and the only way that the status quo will ever change, but teaching kids to do so in a manner that is not detrimental to everyone involved is necessary to prevent their own self destruction.

They Say I'm Supposed to Know

You know, we tend to think, or at least I do, that one day we'll have it all figured out. You know, that direct line to God that our parents seemed to have will magically appear in our lives and we, too, will be able to make decisions without all of this self-indulgent ambivalence.

Evidentally, this is never going to happen. Damn. I am so busy trying to figure out what to do with my life. Anxiety, fear, disbelief, and anger flood me as I try to know where God wants me and my husband. These weren't supposed to be a part of the package that they told me about in Sunday School.

One thought that has gotten me through is the following prayer by Thomas Merton:

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead
of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am
actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact
please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I
will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you
will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore
will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face
my perils alone.
- Thomas Merton, "Thoughts in Solitude"