Thanks Marsha

Ok, this DBT stuff works. As I mentioned the other day, my mood has been a bit low for the past week or so. But now I’m feeling a bit better. (Dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT) is a psychosocial treatment developed by Marsha M. Linehan)

A major symptom of Borderline Personality Disorder are the persistent, intense and frequently fluctuating emotions. One of the things they teach in DBT is how to regulate emotions.

Well yesterday, I inadvertently wound up practicing the “opposite action” skill.

A little information about this skill: The idea behind this skill is that words, actions, facial expressions, and even posture can influence our emotions. By consciously reversing them, we can change our emotional experience. For example; if fear urges us to run away, the idea of “opposite action” suggests that we should face what we fear until we become confident. Thus, if depression urges us to hide and give up, the opposite action would be to engage in activities until we feel better.

So sometimes, when I feel really lousy, I try to do activities that will make me feel competent. One time, I was really low so I spent an afternoon taking IQ tests. I got a nice score and felt better about myself.

Anyway, yesterday I had an appointment with the dermatologist. This past spring and summer my never-ending-adult-acne really flared up. My “self-harm” behaviors weren’t helping either. Anytime I had a bad pimple, I had a strong urge to pick and cut it. If I wasn’t paying attention, after five minutes of mindless hacking, I’d have an open crater on my face.

It took a while – I had to convince myself to call my doctor, get a referral, find a dermatologist, and then wait until they had an appointment available. During this time, I took Jessica Simpson’s advice and started using “Proactiv” (which actually worked reasonably well – making the dermatologist’s appointment seem somewhat pointless.)

Anyway, the dermatologist couldn’t do much for me. Once she heard that I was trying to get pregnant, she even recommended that I stop using the Proactiv! (Apparently nobody’s studied the effects on a developing fetus of a mother’s topical use of benzoil peroxide or salicylic acid. Here’s my bet – they do nothing!) She told me to come back in a couple of years when I’m done with pregnancy and breast-feeding. Then she’ll be able to give me all the drugs western medicine can think up. Sigh. I can deal with a few more years of pimples, I guess.

But as long as I had the dermatologist’s attention, I decided to ask her to check all my various freckles and moles. My dad was diagnosed with melanoma this spring and since I’m so pale I’m practically translucent, I’ve always known I’m in a high-risk group. She checked and no problems yet.

While she checked, we talked about all the drugs you can’t be on (but are probably safe – it’s just that nobody has tested them) when you’re pregnant. I told her about how I tapered off all my psychiatric meds this summer. She asked if it was hard. I told her yes, but that I was ready to try it… I’ve had a lot of therapy in the past few years. And you know what? She was really… respectful. She didn’t treat me like a crazy lady or anything. She seemed interested in my experiences and didn’t tell me how irresponsible I was for trying to get pregnant with my diagnoses. She didn’t even seem annoyed that my visit was kind of pointless.

And I felt better when I left. I acted competent. Like a normal, intelligent, adult woman who can take care of herself and get her moles checked out and taper off her medicine when she chooses to.

Thank you Marsha. Even though you do have helmet hair in all your videos.

Just apply pressure

Right now, I’m helping two boys (or should I say, young men, since they’re both 12 years old?) prepare for the ISEE. The ISEE is The Independent School Entrance Examination, an admissions test administered for placement in private high schools. It’s like a mini version of the SAT – easier, shorter and generally less intense.

“Timmy'”
I met with Timmy for the first time yesterday. He hadn’t started studying or even looked over the test yet. We started by going through a few questions so I could get an idea of how much help he’s gonna need. And… he’s gonna need a lot. It took us the better part of an hour to get through the first ten questions. He forgot how to do fractions, long division and even had trouble with some subtraction problems. After an hour, he seemed worried.

“Oh man… I shouldn’t have gotten some of those wrong. Sometimes I just make dumb mistakes like that.”

“Well, that’s why we’re practicing!” I said in my cheeriest voice. “Try not to worry – everyone makes careless mistakes like that. We’ll just have to work on it.”

After our session, I spent a little while talking to his parents. They seemed… high strung. His mom just talked and talked and didn’t seem to have any concept that I might eventually need to go home. They told me that Timmy wants to be an architect. He’s taking the ISEE so he can go to this school in San Francisco that has a good arts program. His parents raved about Timmy’s interest in art and made him show me some perspective drawings he had done.

I told them I’d get him a math workbook so he can practice some basic skills before we move on. He seemed eager to improve his performance. We have just over a month to prepare. He’ll probably remember most of what he learned in grade school, become familiar with the ISEE and do fine. (Unfortunately, he’s a little young to properly warn about the financial and emotional perils of architecture… )

“Michael”
As I mentioned in a previous post, I’ve been working with this student for a couple of years and I started familiarizing him with the ISEE in September. But he’s not making much progress. He’s a smart kid… that’s not the problem. In fact, he’s so smart, he’ll figure out exactly how much work he has to do to get by in school and do just that amount and not an ounce more. BUT, If I can get him interested in a project, he’ll go above and beyond. (For some reason, he was obsessed with this Mayan math project last year…)

The problem is, sometimes he miscalculates. Like when he thought he could get away with not reading “Animal Farm” and still write a paper on it. And now he isn’t taking the ISEE seriously enough. Every week, I give him an hour or so worth of homework. And every week when I return, he waits until the last minute and only completes about 75% of the work. And his scores show his lack of progress: his math scores have improved from an average of 43% to 62%. His verbal scores seem stuck at an average of 51%. (He’s not a big reader and his vocabulary is weak.) Never mind the fact that these scores are NOT going to impress his parents that they have hired the right tutor…

So after our session today, I talked to his mom for a while. I told her that Michael isn’t improving much and that I’d like to increase the amount of tutoring. She agreed with me that he taking the test seriously yet.

“I don’t know what to do with him!” She exclaimed. “You know last week while you were away, we tried to get him to sit down and write the essays for the private school applications. He kept putting it off and putting it off. We took away the TV but he can still IM with his friends on the computer. They only way we could get him to do the essays was to sit down with him and practically hold his hand.”

“You know, I helped a student through this process last year and it was the same thing.” I said. “I don’t know if students at this age can really get the motivation to do these applications on their own. I think it’s pretty common.”

“You’re probably right.” She said. “I mean, at one point, I realized that I’m doing more work for this than he is. Maybe, if he just doesn’t care about going to a good school I shouldn’t force him. But how does he know at his age!?”

Driving home tonight, I thought about the difference between the two families.

I’ve got one set of stressed out parents who are going to control Timmy’s every move to ensure his success. I won’t have to worry that he’s not taking this seriously enough. I’m not sure why, but I got the sense that Timmy was picking up on his parent’s stress – and that it was motivating him somehow. My job will be to reduce Timmy’s anxiety about the test while getting building up his skills.

On the other hand, I’ve got stressed out parents who are not willing to set limits or control the situation. They say they want success but they won’t monitor Michael’s free time and still let him spend most of his time on sports. And guess what? Michael doesn’t take the test seriously. My job will be to scare some discipline into him. But he may never listen to me. He won’t get a good score, but then again, he won’t be stressed out.

How do you motivate a kid to do something as seemingly pointless as a standardized test? It may help them get into a good school, which may benefit them in the long run. But in the short term, it may increase their stress level and push them towards a level of achievement that may not teach them about balance or mental health.

I don’t know which family I pity more.

Monosyllabic vocabulary lessons

My job is trying to eat my weekend.

Act one:
Yesterday morning I had to wake up at 8:00am. (To my readers with little kids… yes, I know, that’s probably deliciously late for you.) My tutoring company had scheduled a free proctored practice SAT for 9am. I’ve signed up to proctor most of these tests because they’re like a paid study hall for me. I sit there, get caught up on work and get paid $50. Besides, my husband is rarely awake, showered and caffeinated before 1pm on a weekend. So usually, it makes sense for me to do this.

Not yesterday. Yesterday, nobody came. Not one kid. Now, it’s not like they cancelled or just didn’t show. Nobody signed up. And I knew this on Friday. Both my boss and a co-worker suggested I didn’t have to show up. But did I listen? No. For some strange reason, I got it in my head that I should still go… “Just in case.”

“What if a kid forgot to sign up but still comes?” I told my boss. “They could be sitting there for four hours waiting to get picked up.” Yeah, right. Every kid who can afford SAT tutoring probably has his or her own cell phone. The real reason for my early-morning burst of dedication? I was trying to impress my boss. So when 8:00am rolled around and I had to yank myself out of a nice sexy dream I was having, every fiber of my body wanted to stay in bed. My boss would never know, I kept telling myself. But now that I had agreed to show up, I knew I had to.

So I drove 20 minutes over to the local high school where we’d rented a room. (Just to add insult to injury, we normally hold these proctored tests at a tutoring company that’s just down the street from my house. But yesterday we had to use this other room because we were using the other space for a meeting… that also got cancelled. Grrr.) After waiting 20 minutes for nobody to show, then drove home, climbed back in bed with my husband, fully clothed and tried to remember where my dream had left off.


Act two:
Right smack in the middle of yesterday afternoon at 3:30pm, I had another work-related commitment. I was supposed to meet my boss for a “SAT consult.” (The way our company works - when a parent calls about SAT tutoring, we go out to their house to interview the student and provide info about our the SAT and our services. We do this for free because it helps us to meet new people and often, we make useful connections.) Luckily, I reasoned, this client’s house was only 10 minutes away from mine. Should be no big deal… right?

Nope. My boss was 20 minutes late. So by the time I drove there, waited for him, talked to the family and drove back home, the whole thing had taken 2 hours. Why did I agree to do this in the first place, I kept wondering? Yes, my boss is training me to do these consults on my own so he can focus on other tasks. Yes, it’s been hard to find times to meet that work for both of our schedules. But two hours on a Saturday afternoon?! I was trying to impress him again. God, I thought, I am vastly over-qualified for this part-time job! So, why do I feel the need to please this boss so much?


Act three:
When I got home, my husband and I decided to go for a walk. We live right on the edge of a beautiful residential neighborhood and we love to walk up and down its hills. We look at the craftsman houses and talk to all the local cats. On our walk, I talked to him a bit about this irrational fear I bring to every job I have: that I’m not doing enough… not working hard enough or earning my keep. I talked to my psychiatrist about this on Thursday. I don’t want to be like my mom… filling up every possible second with some “task” or distraction or work. This is my opportunity to figure out how to spend my time doing things I actually like, my doc said. You know, pastimes, hobbies, ect. Stuff other than sleeping or watching TV, my husband said.

When we got home from our walk, there I had a voicemail message. The father of the student I’m tutoring today at 1:30pm called. Could I call to confirm that I was coming tomorrow?

Yes.

Could we move the lesson a little earlier, he asked?

Maybe…

Say, before 11am, he wondered?

NO. That would mean we’d start at 10am. I’d have to leave my house at 9:45 which means I’d have to get up by 9:30am. Not on a Sunday, buster. No way. That’s sacred New York Times reading time.


Scene four (and the last):
So I woke up this morning to realize that I never called that guy back last night. We went out with friends and I forgot to call. (Yeah last night... we went go-kart racing. Good lord. Those cars go fast. If I ever had a death wish, I surely don’t any more. I was puttering around the track like a little old granny compared to the rest of the drivers. They were all guys…) So I grumbled and crankily pried myself out of bed and called the guy. Told him I couldn’t meet any earlier. He was fine with that. Whatever.

Then about an hour ago, my phone rang. What now, I wondered? It was my 3pm student. Could we move our session back a bit?

Maybe… what time?

Oh, like maybe 8pm? You see, she’s doing a charity car wash right now and then she’s got a birthday party she forgot about this afternoon. They’re going into the city to see “Chicago” and then having dinner but they should be back by 7:30 probably. Oh yeah, and she has a math test tomorrow.

NO. I told her, no. I almost never tutor later than 7pm on a weekday, and certainly not on a Sunday night. She can call me if she wants, but I can’t come that late. Sorry. I hung up the phone and turned to my husband.

“So, did you hear that? I told her no. 8:00-9:00pm is too late on a Sunday, I think. See, I’m learning to say no. Aren’t you proud?”

“That’s great hon. So, you stood up to a little girl!” He laughed.

“Nooo… she’s not a little girl. She’s a sophomore. I think she’s 15.”

“Ok, that’s not so little.” He started chuckling again. “Well, that’s progress. Maybe someday you’ll be able to stand up to a fully grown person!”

doormat available at: http://www.plowhearth.com

blaaahhhg

I’ve been feeling apathetic, disinterested and a little down for the last couple of days. And I don’t really know why. It's left me with a brain that feels like this:


Looks like it’s time to do p. 162 in my DBT workbook.

Prompting event: see above.

My Interpretation: Something must be bugging me and dragging my mood down. I’ve been feeling good for a while but now I’m worried. I’ve only felt down for a couple of days but maybe that good period is over? Maybe my depression is more cyclical than I realized? When I feel like this, I don’t feel as “better” as my doctor seems to think I am.

Body Changes: I have a slight headache. I feel fatigued and leaden. I kinda feel like I want to cry – that whole heavy eyelid, tingly nose thing.

Body Language: I’ve been dragging around the house. My husband says I look like I’m moping. I find myself staring off into space.

Action Urges: I want to just stare at movies or TV. I have a small urge to drink just to distract myself from how I feel right now. Most of all, I just want to crawl in bed and stay there.

What I’ve said or done: I’m trying this stupid writing exercise but it doesn’t seem to be helping much! I’ve tried telling people that my mood is depressed. But I can sense how frustrating it must be for them.

After effect: I want to act like I feel fine so my husband doesn’t worry too much.

What I learned from this worksheet: I dunno. Maybe I need to build more positives into my daily life… more things to look forward to. Lord knows I’m not looking forward to going to work these days… it just feels boring. Who knows, maybe everything would feel boring right now. Everything just seems a bit... blah.

Worth her weight in gold

A couple of weeks ago, I finally gave in and took our cat to the dermatologist. Since we moved to California in 1999, she's been getting itchier and scratchier. At times, it's gotten so bad that she has licked herself raw. We resisted going to see the dermatologist (Taking our pet to a specialist felt somewhat... extravagant) and tried a variety of treatments: cortisone pills, over-the-counter sprays, hypoallergenic food. But nothing helped.

So the cat's ($250) bloodwork came back today. Turns out, she is allergic to certain things in the air. Here's the list:

Molds:
Aspergillus
Alternaria
Rhizopus
Stemphylium
Cladosporium
Mucor
Aureobasidium

Weeds:
none

Trees:
Cypress
Redwood
Eucalyptus

Grasses:
Bermuda
Rye
Fescue
Red Top

Insects:
Mosquito
Housefly
Cockroach

House Dust Mites:
None

Epidermals
Human Dander

Yep, human dander. That last one threw us too. Our cat is allergic to US. For those who don't know, Wikipedia defines dander as: the excess from the coat, including scales of dried skin and hair, or feathers of various animals. It is often of an allergenic nature. It is similar to dandruff.

"Does she ever lick you or sleep in bed with you?" The vet dermatologist asked.

Uh... our cat LOVES to lick us. And forget sleeping in bed with us... she'd sleep on our faces if she could.

So here are our choices:

1. Allergy shots = poor people + happy, fuzzy cat
2. No allergy shots = thicker wallets + bald cat
3. Cat gets her own apartment = no human dander + homeless people
4. Move away from California = no Cypress, Redwood or Eucalyptus pollen + unemployment
5. Seal cat in plastic bubble = no allergies + very bored cat

So I guess we'll be giving her the allergy shots once a month. Doesn't she just look thrilled?


By the way, she's only 6.5 pounds. The way our vet bills are trending this month, that's about $100 per pound. More expensive than Kobe beef but still cheaper than most street drugs, I suppose.

Wise-Ass Onesie Wednesday

By the way... for those of you keeping score:

Number of months trying to get pregnant: 3
Number of babies: still 0

Back on dry land

So… there was a lot of booze on that cruise.

There were numerous opportunities to drink every day:
• Wandering waiters selling the “drink of the day.” (Has anyone ever heard of a “Miami Vice?” According to Absolut, it exists.)
• Five or six bars throughout the ship.
• Wine, cocktails and shots offered throughout dinner.
• Jugs of hard liquor and free “tastings” in the onboard duty-free shops.
• Roving waitresses in the casino and theatre.
• All the open-air bars and carousing in Mexico.
• All the passengers wandering around with buckets of Coronas, cans of Coors, or those new metallic Budweiser bottles.

I wasn’t exactly shocked. A couple of years ago we took an Alaskan cruise to celebrate our second anniversary. I’d only been out of the hospital for six months and a cruise seemed easy, like something I could handle.

That boat was awash in alcohol too. I was particularly tortured by the free samples of vodka sat unguarded in the gift shop. I kept thinking about how I could just grab one. Nobody would care… well, except for my husband.

One dark, clear night I stood by the rail watching the glaciers slip by the boat. At that point I’d only been sober six months and I wasn’t really sold on sobriety. More than that, I still didn’t really care if I lived or died. I just didn’t want to hurt my husband anymore. I knew if it wasn’t for his influence, I’ve been wasted five seconds after stepping on board.

At that moment, I knew that wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t keep using him for as my only motivation. The thought made my limbs feel leaden and tired. Eventually, I was going to have to care. The only way I was going to stay sober was if I actually WANTED to be sober.

I’ve had a hard time accepting my alcoholism. I knew I had a mental illness since I was a kid. I’ve had a LONG time to get used to the idea. I never, in my wildest dreams, thought I’d grow up to be an alcoholic. It’s a title/diagnosis/shame I have a hard time associating with myself.

Well, it’s been over three years between that cruise and the one last week.

In the interim, I’ve had three brief relapses where I’ve had a drink or two… but no big or permanent falls. And that realization I made on the Alaskan cruise has never been far from my mind. I made it a goal to WANT to be sober. Yet… I could never quite get there. Every time I saw booze, I wanted it. Bad.

But… last week’s cruise was a bit better. There was just as much alcohol and most of the time I really wanted to drink it. But there was something about watching people get drunk, day after day. Watching them bake in the sun, unable to do anything but hoot and bray like bloated animals. Not surprisingly, drinking didn’t seem appealing.

For the first time in… maybe forever, I could imagine myself just having ONE glass of wine with dinner. Or enjoying ONE measure of scotch to celebrate on a special occasion. I could actually conceive of myself drinking in moderation… something I’ve NEVER been able to do before. I used to just try to drink as much as possible in whatever time I had available.

Don’t get me wrong… I’m not saying that this is going to happen any time soon. First, I have to get pregnant (hopefully a couple of times). Then I need a couple more years of sobriety under my belt. I need to see if I can make it without medications.

Still.

It was nice to feel what it would be like… not to be controlled by alcohol.


How could I forget - Vacation pictures:


The Coast Guard doing figure 8's for applause. Your tax dollars at work.


Mazatlan. Just looking at this picture makes me want to sweat.


More Mazatlan. No shade in sight.

The Talking Cure – Part 324

Aka: What I learned in therapy today. I meet with my psychiatrist on Mondays and Thursdays. Unlike most psychiatrists, he dispenses talk therapy as well as medication.

Today, we talked about a phone conversation I had with my parents yesterday. Mom was friendly and asked about all about the cruise. Unfortunately, her back is still bothering her. The day she got back, she FINALLY went to the ER. Luckily, her neighbor next door took her and brought her home. (My mom’s living alone right now, which complicates everything…) All her tests were normal, so it looks like this is some kind of chest wall muscle pull. Her muscle spasms kept getting worse and worse so she saw an internist. He examined her said it will probably go away. He also prescribed a muscle relaxant and a nerve blocker. They help her, but with the pain pills she’s pretty wiped out. The combination makes her very sleepy so she’s not taking them all the time.

When my dad got on the phone, he sounded annoyed. Surely he must be happy to be on such a long vacation… right? (They’re leaving on Wednesday for a three-week long vacation to Hong Kong, Singapore and Australia.) But when I asked him, he sounded even gruffer.

“Well, I’m not really on vacation yet. I’ve got conference calls and work to do for the next couple of days.”

“Uh, ok. Well, I hope mom’s back starts to improve so she can enjoy her trip…”

“So do I. I don’t know what we’re going to do if it doesn’t… We’re going to be on the other side of the world!”

“Well, at least you can help mom pack. The more she can stay still and rest, the sooner she’ll probably heal… I tried to get her to keep still when she was visiting me but you know her… she just wants to do everything.”

“Well, she only had a couple of days and she wanted to spend time with you!”

He almost sounded like he was reprimanding me. Uh, she could’ve spent time with me AND sat still, I thought. I tried to end the conversation and get off the phone as soon as possible.

hmmmm....



Immediately, I assumed I’d done something to piss my dad off. Maybe I wasn’t sounding happy enough about our cruise, I wondered? We were stuck in traffic so I had a while to think about it.

After a while, I started to realize something. I DIDN”T DO ANYTHING WRONG. My dad’s just in a pissy mood because his vacation is getting all screwed up.

- This was supposed to be his retirement celebration, but due to some problems at work, he can’t retire until the end of January. Now he feels guilty about taking so much time off from work.
- This trip is costing him a fortune and now they might not get to enjoy it because my mom’s back is all jacked up.
- He’s got to spend the next three weeks, alone, with my mom. Who is not fun to be around when she’s sick.
- Not only is his trip all messed up, but he’s so emotionally crippled that he can’t even handle how he feels about it.

I actually started to feel bad for the guy.

But more importantly… I DIDN”T DO ANYTHING WRONG!!

I’m sure this seems abundantly obvious to everyone else, but I’m just so used to assuming I’m the cause of everyone else’s emotions. Especially my parents’.

This.

This is definite progress, said my psychiatrist.

“I enjoy talking to you, Juniper. I’m glad your back. I like taking your brain out for test drives.” He said.

“Yeah, well… at least if I’m going to have a quirky brain, at least it corners well.”



Now for the all important vacation pictures:

Getting on the tender ships to disembark at Cabo San Lucas

Rock formations where we snorkeled with the manta rays

Our stateroom. Don't worry though... those beds push right together.

Bon Voyage & Back Again

Bon Voyage (and not just to mom)

Sorry I haven’t blogged in a week. Friday was all about getting my mom to the airport and catching up on all the work that had piled up while she was visiting.

When she left, I was exhausted. Right after I got back from the airport, I had a meeting. All throughout the meeting, I noticed that I felt extremely emotional - like I wanted to cry. And I kept rubbing my face. (In grad school, I learned that I do this when I’m really stressed out. My friends and I would be working on structural engineering problem sets late in the night. “Hey Juniper,” they said, “when you get tired and frustrated you bury your face in your hands!”) Anyway, as soon as the meeting was over, I tucked myself onto my couch and treated myself to a few episodes of “Sell this House.” I started to forget my mom had ever visited.

But I digress. On Friday night, we also had to pack. Because we went on vacation! We dropped the cat off at the kennel and drove down to LA - then stayed the night in a nice hotel room at a Sheraton near LAX. We got room service, watched the Mets lose game three of the playoffs and slept for about 10 hours. On Sunday, we boarded the “Vision of the Seas” and headed south for a week-long cruise around Mexico and the Baja peninsula. So I can’t complain.

But I can make some observations:

1. Shouldn’t the kids I saw onboard be in school?

2. The security screener who called all the passengers “my sister,” “honey,” “my son,” or “my brother” will live to be 100. Anyone who brings a smile to so many people’s faces must get extra karma points.

3. Where do all these people get pants that big? I have enough trouble finding a size 14…

4. Our first table assignment... FOUR Mormons. We changed tables the next day. Come on guys... not even caffeine?

5. To the newlyweds in the top hat and veil with attached mouse ears… really?

6. Oh right. All the alcohol in the world is ON THIS SHIP. I almost forgot. More about that later. Don't worry though... no slip-ups.

7. My husband and I have been together for 10 ½ years. The fact that we have been together that long and can still be so delighted to be in each other’s company… I dunno how to explain it. Some kind of psychosis maybe?

8. I now understand the whole Steve Irwin tragedy. I snorkeled with a school of Manta Rays. Small ones. And I kept my distance. But yikes.

9. Mexico is very hot and I... I am very pale. Although not so much on my left shoulder anymore.

10. Cruise ship = petrie dish. Now I have a cold. Thanks Thomas. (our waiter who felt it necessary to rearrange everyone's silverware. Every. Single. Course.)



Darn boat's so big, it doesn't even fit in one frame. More pictures to come over the next week.

Mom visit - day three

I had lots more stuff planned for today. None of it happened.

Mom got another massage but her back hurt her a lot for most of the day. When someone is in so much pain that they can't eat or make conversation the days get reeeeeal long.

Sigh.

Honestly though, this visit didn't feel all that different from most of her other visits. Most of the time she comes and takes over and runs her own agenda. No matter what I've planned, it always gets changed. And I wind up driving back and forth through town, trying to accomodate her.

I dunno.

At least it went better than her fateful visit four years ago. We got stuck in a traffic jam for (brace yourself) SIX HOURS. She was stuck in the backseat with the flu while my husband and I were trapped in the front, desperately trying not to breath any of her infected air. Did I mention I drive a teeny, tiny beetle? When we finally got out of traffic, we drove across the golden gate bridge and down the Highway 1 through some thick fog. "Oh my god, I can't see, we're all going to die!" she kept exclaiming even though I assured her I was very fammiliar with the highway. We were supposed to go into San Francisco for a fancy dinner but we had to cancel it. Why the fancy dinner... ? Oh, it was just our first wedding anniversary. No biggie. That's just the weekend she decided to come.

Sigh.

Mom visit - day two

Here's what I had planned for today:

8:30am: pick up at hotel, get breakfast from bakery across street
9:00am: drive to San Francisco
10:00am: arrive at the museum
12:00pm: depart San Francisco
1:00pm: lunch at local café
2:30pm: tour of local chocolate factory
3:00pm: depart factory
3:30pm: arrive local gardens
5:00pm: arrive back at Hotel for R&R
6:30pm: leave for dinner
7:30pm: dinner

Here's how the day really played out.

7:45am: arrive at hotel. Park at the end of a million-mile long parking lot.
8:00am: room-service breakfast while watching George Bush's press conference. Ugh.
9:00am: really nice massage at the hotel spa!
10:00am: the massage made mom's back feel better! We go sit in the whirlpool, then shower and change.
11:00am: drive to San Francisco museum. Mom's back starts hurting again in the car.
11:30am: arrive at museum.
11:50am: after walking around for 20 minutes, we get lunch at the musuem cafe. Really, it's just an excuse for mom to sit down.
1:30pm: mom's back hurts so badly, we head back for the hotel.
2:30pm: back at the hotel, mom falls sound asleep. I'm now stuck in her hotel room. The internet connection keeps dying on me. BOTH my cell phones have run out of power. I try to get some work done.
4:30pm: mom wakes up and wants to sit in the hot tub. Again. I swam some laps in the hotel pool. I watch 5-6 little kids splash around and annoy my mom in the hot tub. Why do they allow little kids in the hot tub?!
5:30pm: I ask the concierge for the number of an on-call doctor.
5:45pm: I leave a message with the on-call answering service.
6:00pm: the doctor calls the hotel room and my mom acts like there's nothing wrong. "Oh, I'm taking darvaset and treating it with heat." She neglects to tell the doctor that it's a 8 year old prescription for some other old ailment. I want her to get a stronger prescription so at least she can get some sleep. She doesn't ask for anything.
6:15pm: Mom wants to get another massage tomorrow morning. Since I have to go to Palo Alto to see my psychiatrist tomorrow morning, we decide that we'll try to find someone there. I call my friend, a local massage therapist for a reccomendation. Mom goes to take a shower. I can hear her moaning in the background.
6:30pm: I call her friend in Belmont. She refers me to a spa in Palo Alto.
6:45pm: I make an appointment for her to get a massage tomorrow morning.
7:00pm: I hear mom doing her hair and sighing with pain.
7:30pm: we go to dinner. A glass of white wine seems to help her back somewhat but she doesn't have much of an appetite.
8:30pm: we leave the restaurant after a quick dinner. I drop her off at the hotel and drive home.

So. I know my mom is in a lot of pain. I know she ask to have a pinched nerve. But. I'm starting to think my mom's kinda high maintenance.

One more day and then she goes home on Friday. Let's hope she makes it.

Mom visit - day one

Here's what I had planned for today:

2:30pm: pick mom up at airport.
3:30pm: check into hotel.
4:30pm: drive to Tilden Botanic Gardens & Indian Rock Park.
5:30pm: arrive at my apartment.
6:30pm: walk to dinner.
7:00pm: dinner at local French restaurant.

Here's how the day really played out.

2:30pm: pick mom up at airport
3:30pm: we stop at a beautiful park in Alameda for a short walk. Her back was hurting, so I asked her if she wanted to turn around. She said no, but after a while, her back started hurting worse. So I went and got the car and picked her up.
4:30pm: checked into hotel. The room they gave her had two double beds. She wanted a king bed but there wasn't.
5:00pm: Her back still hurt so she asked me to call the spa and schedule her a massage. Then she offered to get me one too! Only catch... it probably screws up our schedule for tomorrow.
5:15pm: She wants to go sit in the hot tub outside. So I run down to my car, grab my swimsuit and we go down to the spa. When we get there, there are two little boys playing in the hot tub. They splash and jump around so much I finally have to go complain to the staff.
6:00pm: back to her room.
6:15pm: drive to my house.
6:30pm: change my clothes at my house and loan her my heating pad.
6:45pm: drive to dinner.
7:00-8:30pm: MY back hurt during dinner since I was sitting at a wooden bench. My entree had olives in it. Yuck.
8:30-9:00pm: drive her back to the hotel then drive home.

I'm absolutely exhausted!

Question - there's a chance I could be pregnant. Was the hot tub a bad idea? It wasn't that hot...

Morbid Meme

GirlMD tagged me again! This time, it's a bit morbid... "List 5 songs that you would want played at your funeral."

Ummm... I'm not sure I should take up this challenge. Over twenty years of suicidal ideation has taught me not to go there. But when I started thinking about some of my favorite pieces of music, I was inspired.

I think it would be nice to play music that I've performed since I'm a singer and a pianist. So here's my list:

Songs I have sung with choirs:
1 & 2. Beati Quorum Via & Justorum Animae - C.V. Stanford
3. I sat down under his shadow - Edward C. Bairstow
4. Magnificat & Nunc Dimittis - Orlando Gibbons
5. When David Heard - Thomas Tomkins
6. Ubi Caritas - Maurice Durfle
7. Requiem, In Paradisum - Gabriel Faure

Songs I have played on the piano:
8 & 9. Kinderszenen, Der Dichter Spricht & Kind Im Einschlummern - Robert Schumann

Songs on the music box I listened to every night growing up (I also play them on the piano):
10. March in D Major no.16 - Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach
11. Minuet in G Major BWV 841 - Georg Bohm

Even though some of these pieces are based on sacred texts, I'm not a religious person. They just seem solemn and reflective and beautiful.

I'll tag two more people:
Anonymous mom
Betty

Sunday Book Review

Gig: Americans Talk About Their Jobs
Editors: John Bowe, Marisa Bowe, & Sabin Streeter
Published by: Three Rivers Press, 2001

The editors of this book have asked over 100 ordinary (and some not-so ordinary) people to discuss their jobs. The questions are removed, so you end up with 3- and 4-page monologues. Each person describes their working life in their own words. It’s a fascinating look at “The American story” and what the American workforce has to say about itself. "Gig" is a voyeuristic window on how people find value and self-worth. It offers insight into the jobs themselves and the passion people bring to their work.

Some of the diverse group of people who are interviewed:
- A cheerful and positive Wal-Mart greeter
- A crude crime scene cleaner
- Escorts, porn stars, & strippers
- A transvestite prostitute
- A web mistress
- A headhunter
- A construction manager
- A lawyer
- A steel worker
- An auto parts salesperson
- A corporate identity (logo) artist
- A clutter consultants
- Assembly workers
- Sports heroes
- A UPS worker
- A mega-producer
- A funeral home director
- People who appear to have a lot going for them
- Those who are just mailing it in
- People who have everything going against them
- Those who risk their lives

I bought this book three years ago when I was in the middle of a career change. Since age seven, I had prepared for a career in architecture. Now I found myself immobilized with a mental illness, relying on my husband and a disability paycheck that would soon run out.

Reading these intimate views of human lives in all their honest, revealing and surprising detail, I realized something. As bizarre as some of the jobs profiled in “Gig” are, few of the people interviewed complained about their bosses, insecurity, layoffs, dead-end jobs, bad pay, poor career choices, or annoying co-workers.

There is no prescription for the perfect job. And my self-worth was not defined by my job. Soon afterward, I stopped going to parties and introducing myself as an architect. And you know what? Nobody liked me any more or any less.

A post that gives me little satisfaction or pleasure

In one of my groups this week, we were talking about how we never feel secure… in our relationships, in our accomplishments, in anything. We can be having a good conversation with someone and the moment they leave the room, it’s as if the bond disintegrates.

I suggested it might have something to do with poor “object relations.” Nobody seemed to know what this meant (and I wasn’t so sure I understood it myself…) I know my doctor talks about it frequently, and I remembered seeing it in my old medical records I’ve been reading lately. The psychological evaluation said:

“[Juniper] is quick to acknowledge her abilities and strengths (for example, her very determined attitude toward architecture) yet, her object-relations are such that she experiences very little in the way of satisfaction or pleasure from her accomplishments. There is an intense and ongoing need for approval obtained through achievement and intense strivings for perfection. These attempts however are repeatedly hindered by continued self-criticism and harsh self-judgments reflective of over-identification with negative part properties of external objects. There seems to be a strong sense of having to live up to externally established standards and expectations resulting in a guilty type of depressive experience characterized by a proclivity to assume blame and a continual barrage of self-criticisms. The prevailing experience seems to be one of not being “good enough.”

So here’s an explanation of what the hell they’re talking about:

The theory of “Object relations” proposes that a person’s concept of “self” exists only in relationship to other objects. In most cases, the most important objects are a person’s parents. The conscious and unconscious ways in which an individual interprets these relationships becomes the basis for personality and for later interactions with others. Sometimes, these objects are internalized versions of real-life objects. (again, usually one’s parents)

Any intimacy, control, loss, transparency, dependency/autonomy, trust, attachment, frustration, or rejection that occurs between the person and their object shapes how they see themselves. These events can become reoccurring mental states that are continually played out in a person’s life.

In Object Relations Psychotherapy, the therapist does not assume a passive role. Active participation allows the therapist to pay attention to how the patient projects old object relationships onto their interactions with the therapist. The goal of the therapy is to resolve the pathological aspects of their interaction by re-experiencing important object relational issues with the therapist in a safe and caring environment. The therapist must provide acceptance and validation as well as set limits to the relationship and to the client's behavior.

A good source for more information: Victor Daniels' Website in The Psychology Department at Sonoma State University

Now that I think about it… that explanation wasn’t really good enough…

Mental Illness Awareness Week

I almost forgot! This is (was) Mental Illness Awareness Week! Brony has a wonderful post on her site, Parenting With a Mental Illness. Like me, she has been diagnosed with depression and borderline personality disorder. (unlike me, she already has two kids.)

Anyway, on her blog, she's tries to spread the word and dymystify mental illness. As she says:

"I started my blog in part to create awareness of what it is like to have a mental illness. Also to show others that they are not alone and reduce the stigma. It also offers insight into the world of parenting in general."

In honor of Mental Illness Awareness Week, she has an excellent list of common myths about mental illness. Here's two to add to the list:

- People with mental illnesses should feel ashamed.
- It's embarassing (or impolite) to talk about your mental illness.

Havin’ little conversations with myself…

A sneak peak at the dialogue running through my head this afternoon:

3:00pm:
“Awww… I don’t want to go to my client’s house at 3:30.”

“Stop thinking that. You know you have to go. You blew him off on Tuesday because your stomach was upset.”

“But I’m tired…”

“And you’re ditching him next week when mom is in town.”

“I could just go home and sleep…”

“AND I'm going to be away for the entire week after that. I can’t miss that much. Besides. I'm a little scared of his mom, remember?”

“Oh yeah. Right.”

5:00pm:
“I don’t want to go to my next client’s house… It’s all the way up in Tiburon and the traffic’s terrible!”

“Well, I could call her and reschedule for this weekend…”

“Yeah! I shouldn’t be expected to drive an hour and a half to a student’s house… that’s too much.”

“I agree. BUT. If I don’t go tonight, I'll have to work more this weekend. And I'm already working from 9am to 3:30pm.”

“But this traffic is horrible. Damn A’s game. Why did they have to let out right at rush hour?”

“Ok, I’ll just go to my client’s house. All I have to do is sit here and listen to the radio until the traffic starts moving again.”

5:30pm:
“Let’s take the back way. There’s going to be a lot of traffic on the main route.”

“Yeah, it’s prettier that way too. There’s a great view of the bay and San Quentin and the fancy houses on the hill.”

5:45pm:
“Shit. That’s why I never take this route. It takes forever.”

“I know. This road just goes on and on! It’s so… Watch out for the deer!”

“Damn. That was a big deer. Interesting how these big creatures just wander around. They’re like giant rats.”

“Just concentrate on the road, please. OK. Look. Here we are. See it was worth it to come all this way. Look how beautiful it is here. I’d drive three hours just to get here.”

“Yeah… I hope she’s not mad that I’m late…”

“Uh, Miss Insecurity, can you just shut up for a little while?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”




No kidding. This is a picture of my student’s house I found on the architect’s website.

There’s a history to today’s title: When anonymous mom and I were little, we used to spend hours and hours playing with my dollhouses. We’d decorate the houses, name all the little plastic dollhouse people, and then make them live out family life. Occasionally, I’d get a little TOO into some little drama I’d created between my dollhouse people. I’d sit there on my bedroom floor, acting out the parts for all the family members. After a few minutes of uninterrupted dialogue, anonymous mom would look over and stare at me. “Uh, Havin’ a little conversation with yourself there Juniper?” she’d ask dryly.

Wild Woman

Since Sunday’s post, I’ve been thinking about all the time I spent in the woods as a kid. I’ve also been thinking about a part of my personality that developed out in the forest.

I sometimes call her “crazy girl.” Crazy girl lived outside. That’s where she came from. She was crazy the way nature is, unpredictable, cruel, wild and spontaneous. The trees and rocks weren’t placed in some grand design and neither was she. She was created out of thin air, out of the power of my mind. She was calmer there, alone, more comfortable. I didn’t have to worry about what everyone else thought. It was ok to climb a cliff without ropes because she was part of the cliff. It was ok to fall down hard because she was part of the ground. She wasn’t damaged; she was the original kind of crazy. The kind that knew how to control the sun and the stars and the leaves if she tried hard enough.

After a while, I started to lose track… did I make crazy girl or did crazy girl make me? Was crazy girl real? How could she be? Was she just a figment of my imagination? Could I control when and where she appeared? Outside at recess, everyone watched her, sitting there, chanting slowly to herself. I hung back and kept watch in case I suddenly had to pull my shit together. I could do it at a moment’s notice if I had to. Back indoors, I held her back and made her go inside my head so I could be in the real world. If I became overwhelmed by emotion, sometimes she’d lash out. It made me happy to have her in reserve.

She made me feel so different from everyone else. Why did things seem foreign and so unreal to me? Did anyone else need to space out and dissociate or were they all happy and nice? Maybe I was an alien or some super intelligent mutant. Or maybe I was crazy… Everyone said I was and teased me about it. It would explain a lot. So, if someone didn’t understand me, I’d use her. If I screwed up or got a bad grade, I could always blame crazy girl. When something upset me, I’d push crazy girl out to plead my case. She could be very intimidating and convincing. Sometimes I’d show her around just to entertain the other kids. I knew she was special but I did it anyway. I felt guilty for soliciting attention so I blamed that on crazy girl too.

And crazy girl could be a liability. She didn’t know she was alive. She didn’t believe there were consequences to her actions. If she cut herself, so what? It didn’t hurt; it was like poking a bowl of Jello that had formed a tough skin over it. If crazy girl didn’t feel like dealing with anything today, she’d decide to die. It wouldn’t be a big deal; she could do it over again tomorrow! She was part of the earth and the earth doesn’t die. When people took her seriously, they’d freak out and I could land in the hospital. Obviously, she was trouble and I had to keep her under more control. There were too many consequences. I liked it when people acknowledged her, but I couldn’t have her stealing the show.

As I got older I started to wonder if she was even there anymore. Sometimes I’d just tell crazy hospital stories to prove I still had the resume of a crazy person. And then I found alcohol. When I drank she would show up take over. Sometimes I’d sober up to find a world that looked foreign and out of place just like it had in the old days. I was back to being a visitor from another planet. It was fun in a nostalgic kind of way, but most of the time it just hurt. I’d have to clean up the mess and she’d head off for parts unknown. Back in the hospital as an adult, I finally felt like I fit in. I WAS crazy girl now and everyone understood that. As long as I didn’t look like I was enjoying myself, then nobody would suspect a thing. I didn’t want them to think I’d just cultivated or invented all of this just. I was crazy and I had proof. Crazy girl had steered me to my correct destiny, madness. It can’t be my fault.

Still.

I don’t want to live out my life in the hospital. I to keep my husband and have kids and travel and experience all kinds of normal things. I want to help others and write and do something with meaning. I know that to get all of these things I have to work hard and stop complaining. And more than anything else, I can’t drink, cut or do anything that might give crazy girl a window of opportunity.

But what if that’s not possible? Maybe it could be but what if it isn’t now? What if crazy girl just steers me back to the hospital or the edge of a cliff? These things tend to go in cycles. The longest I can pretend to be normal is about four years, and then she grabs the reigns. She doesn’t care. If I’m crazy, then I’m crazy and to hell with the rest, she says. Maybe crazy is my native tongue, like a homeland I feel nostalgic for. I feel more like myself there and I some days I don’t know if I want to give it up.

So I’m learning to make accommodations for her. She needs time in the day to do whatever she wants. And I’m still trying to figure out what that is... (Right now, she seems to respond well to: crappy TV, walks in the woods, fooling around with my husband, laughing like a hyena and gossiping about TV with my teenage clients.) When I work too much or try to force her to stick to a rigid schedule for too long, it doesn’t work. I can’t control her by slapping down more rules, more restrictions, and more responsibilities. It just makes her more rebellious.

Don’t get me wrong… I’m not suggesting I have DID. (Dissociative Identity Disorder aka: Multiple Personality Disorder) But the fact of the matter is, Borderline and DID are kissing cousins. With both diagnoses, a person dissociates and their personality becomes more… fragmented. With DID, they fragments just tend to lose sight of each other. They forget that the other personalities exist. With Borderline, there are distinct personalities but they overlap a bit more. I know they’re all in there somewhere and that ultimately; they’re all parts of me.

Picture taken at Pinnacles National Monument in CA

Wise-Ass Onesie Wednesday

Not so underlying veneer of anger

I've been reading the records I requested from my hospitalization back in 1990. I thought I'd share some of the more interesting tidbits. These are the notes that the therapists made back in 1990 about my participation in group therapy. Aren't I just the little ambassador from planet Borderline Personality:

3/28 – Needed encouragement to participate. Juniper remains aloof in group. When prodded she discussed in an intellectual manner feelings of being alienated from her parents and pressure, self-induced to perform in school. She tends not to give feedback to other group members who seem hesitant to take her in.

4/4, 9, 12 - Needed encouragement to participate. Reserved and guarded for the most part. When prompted, she spoke of how anger is expressed (directly and indirectly) at home, and how words/actions are directed at her, often in a painful way. Still depressed and seemingly preoccupied.

4/16, 18, 19 – Was passively non-participatory. Quieter and more introspectively oriented this week. Silent unless prompted by group leaders, as a rule. With two exceptions: Able to identify with male peer (with whom she sees a similar “superficiality” and distance from peers.) and with female peer (her roommate and one who has been physically and emotionally disengaged from group since her admission.) Still seems sad as a rule. Underlying veneer of anger towards self and others.

4/23, 25, 26 - Needed encouragement to participate. More involved this week. Speaking on two occasions about balancing parental and societal pressures with own wishes to individuate/emancipate. Separation anxiety evident. Acting more as “leader” of group and its super-ego actor. Confrontational (nicely) towards peer who elicits negative attention.

4/30, 5/2, 3 - Needed encouragement to participate. Productive week in group for Juniper: able to talk of balance in her life between trying to conform to parents’ wishes and develop her own life and goals (as student). Joined group discussion of how anger can safely be expressed and how to learn to reveal true feelings (along with advice and disadvice of same). More visibly anxious, and sillier. Able to say that she has a “a lot” on her mind. Better connected with peers but still prone to reticence and talking in vague “code.”

5/7, 9, 10 - Needed encouragement to participate. Angry and dripping of sarcasm this week, with anger directed towards peers and co-leaders. Resents having to use hand-held point card and unwilling to see that her frustration is analogous to other situations in which she must submerge freedom of choice (e.g. with her parents). Regression.

5/14, 16, 17 – Refused to participate. Juniper was noticeably sullen, angry, withdrawn this week. She became embroiled in an argument with a female peer about how each labels the other and thus excludes each other from the group. Some distancing from peers, mutually. Defensive, reflexive sarcasm. Notably quiet and remote afterwards.

5/21, 23, 24 – Juniper participated in group discussing problems with unit rules and staff. Her tone continues to be quite sardonic and she directs much hostility towards group co-leaders. Little ability to reflect on her guardedness and hostility. She did provide good feedback to a peer who has similar difficulties to her own regarding the futility of ruminating over the point system.

6/11, 13, 14 – Was more relaxed and talkative in group this week. She contributed to a constructive discussion regarding the reason for the group scapegoating a male group member. Talked about leaving hospital and plans for summer camp and school. Denies suicidal ideation but acknowledges fears about discharge. Acknowledged connection with group but left group on her final day with a statement that she felt “ignored in group.”

There's a classic book about Borderlines... "I Hate You, Don't Leave Me." Sounds like me during this period. But honestly, what did they expect? Leading group therapy for mentally ill adolescents is like juggling cats. Everyone's a little too pointy.

By the way... how can a veneer be underlying? A veneer is a surface treatment... I always knew that therapist was a doofus.

ABC's of me

Inspired by an old post at Betty's old blog:

Accent: None. I’m from New England. (Though some people say that’s an accent.) I can pick up other people’s accents really easily though, like my relatives’ Appalachian hillbilly twang.

Booze: Yes, please! Now if it wasn’t for that damn alcoholism…

Chore I Hate: Changing the sheets, cleaning the catbox, or doing the dishes.

Dog or Cat: Sure! I’ve had two cats who were/are the center of my life and three German Shepherds. I currently maintain part ownership of my parents’ new German shepherd.

Essential Electronics: TV with Tivo! Also cell phone & laptop.

Favorite Cologne(s): I like Issey Myake’s L’eau d’Issey, but I can’t wear it that often because strong smells make me want to puke.

Gold or Silver: silver!

Hometown: A little bit of freaky Appalachia right in the middle of New England. Example: neighbor who had his own lumber mill.

Insomnia: Story of my life. I loved taking Seroquel and Ambien but my doctor make me give them up after two years of sleeping bliss. Now I just practice good “sleep hygiene.” Ugh.

Job Title: Private tutor. I’m also a freelance consultant on architectural issues. I’m also trying to start a tutoring program for the mentally ill. I’m writing a book too. Oh yeah, and mental patient. That counts.

Kids: Hopefully soon!

Living arrangements: Sorta run-down, two-bedroom apartment with husband and grey cat. Chinese landlord and his elderly mom live downstairs. Middle-aged woman who works at a bakery lives next door. Neighbor’s giant rusting hulk of a “classic” Cadillac parked out front. I want to take a baseball bat to the thing.

Most admirable trait: I’m very nice to people and animals. And I survived years of mental illness. And abuse.

Number of sexual partners: enough.

Overnight hospital stays: Three.
1990: three months at the Institute of Living (Hartford, CT) for major depression
2003: one month at Mills-Peninsula Hospital (Burlingame, CA) for major depression and alcoholism.
2004: one week at Stanford Hospital (Palo Alto, CA) for major depression, alcoholism, and Borderline Personality Disorder.

Phobias: The house burning down while the cat’s trapped inside. Spiders in the shower. And I can’t stand it when people are mad at me.

Quote: “Oh I could drink a case of you, darling,
And I would still be on my feet.
Oh I would still be on my feet.”
- from “A Case of you” by Joni Mitchell

Religion: No thank you. Raised Atheist.

Siblings: I wish. No.

Time I wake up: Your guess is a good as mine. I set my alarm for 7:30 but sometimes it’s earlier and sometimes it’s later.

Unusual talent or skill: Can read people’s minds. It’s a trait not uncommon for those of us with Borderline Personality Disorder. Can also tell when a TV is on from 100’ away with no sound on. I’m a very good driver too.

Vegetable I refuse to eat: CELERY!

Worst habit: picking at my hands, face, ect. Not washing hands my enough.

X-rays: normal? I don’t get the question.

Yummy foods I make: Cake, burritos, hummus, smoothies, curries.

Zodiac sign: every inch of a Capricorn

How about you?

blocks available at: http://www.craftefamily.com

Sunday Book Review

I had to tutor all afternoon today so consequently, I’m too tired to delve into a lengthy review of a psychological text. So I decided to suggest instead my all-time favorite book:


My Side of the Mountain
By Jean Craighead George
Published by Puffin in 2001 (first published in 1959)
Awards: Newberry Honor Book, ALA Notable Book, Hans Christian Andersen Award Honor Book

Note: my 1970's version had a much cooler cover...


This book tells the story of a young boy who runs away to upstate New York’s Catskill Mountains. Once he arrives he sets up house in a hollowed-out tree and learns to survive off the land. In the process he befriends a falcon and a weasel and braves a blizzard, hunters, lonliness, and even the press. Using only his wits and his knowledge of the outdoors (he occasionally sneaks down to a local library) he manages to live independently for almost a year.

I should probably admit that I was a complete sucker for this book. I grew up in the middle of a state forest in New England. Here’s a satellite picture of my “neighborhood.” (I love Google maps)


Did I mention that I used to lead confidence-building seminars?
On a high ropes course in the middle of a hemlock forest?
At a sleep away camp for kids 8-15 years old?

Yeah. So I’m a bit biased. Read the book anyway.

Postscript:
Right after I decided to write about this book, I sat down to read the New York Times Magazine. In it, I found an article that seemed somehow related. It reviews a new book “The Blessing of a Skinned Knee: Using Jewish Teachings to Raise Self-Reliant Children,” by Los Angeles clinical psychologist, Wendy Mogel. In her book, Mogel argues that parents’ overprotective tendencies can rob their children of the self-confidence and independence they need later in life. She uses parables and examples from the Torah and Jewish law to make her point.

The article references another good new book, “What Price, Privilege?” by Madeline Levine, a psychologist in Marin, CA. Just this summer, I read an interesting review of this book in the San Francisco Chronicle Sunday Magazine. Levine believes that an overinvolved parenting style has created a generation of kids with an impaired sense of self.

I'm not saying that kids have to run away from home to gain this independence, but for me, it frequently seemed like a good idea. Some (ok, almost ALL) of my happy memories from childhood involved climbing exploring vast stretches of wilderness. Because my family life was so… unlivable, I retreated into the woods on a daily basis. To this day, when I’m in the woods, I’m happy. For me, it’s the equivalent of home.