It starts in mid-May. I get moody, snappish. Kate asks “Are you mad at me?” No, I’m not mad at you. And yes I am, but only because I’m mad at everyone. It’s been over 40 years since that terrible day in June when my brother John died by suicide, three days before my 14th birthday. And nearly 30 years since my beloved sister Barbara died, also by suicide, in July. So summer kind of sucks.
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Thirty three years ago the world lost a brilliant writer, mathematician, linguist, and social justice champion.
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I’m so grateful for therapy. These days I can almost immediately identify when something from the past is muddying up the emotional waters, and clear it out so I can be present to what’s happening now.
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I am all sorts of discombobulated.
We recently finished a big house project that necessitated getting EVERYTHING out of three bedrooms — beds, dressers, nightstands —along with everything off the walls. Furniture, clothes, and boxes of knick knacks were jammed into every nook and cranny of the house for nearly three weeks ….
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What happens if you replace all your “I SHOULDs” with “I’m worth taking care of”? An experiment in self-compassion.
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