Seeking Samadhi

Apparently therapists want the same things their patients do.  Tom and I are watching "In Treatment" again.  I love watching a series about a therapist doing therapy, even though there are things that would *never* actually happen.  At least, not legally or ethically.  Anyway - Paul, the therapist, is meeting with his therapist/supervisor/friend Gina and he's going around and around about something and she says, "What do you want from me?"  And he says, "I want you to tell me what to do."  How many times have I said that very thing to Wendy?  While I often think everyone's lives would be infinitely easier if only they let me run them, there are times I wish that I didn't have to figure my life out myself.  I'd like someone to tell me what to do so I can make sure I'm doing it right.  I have a hard time remembering that there is no right way to do it.  We're all just doing the best we can with what we have.

There are a couple of clients Paul has that I'm not too interested in, but the other two are going to be all sorts of button-pressing for me.  One is a boy whose parents are divorcing and he's torn between them.  The other is a woman in her twenties who has been diagnosed with lymphoma.  She storms out of session without making an appointment for the next session, then avoids Paul's calls.  It reminds me of a client I had who was suicidal.  I still have no idea what happened to her.  Sometimes being a therapist sucked.

Paul is burning out, and I see myself in him.  (Not now, but before - when I was still doing grief work).  On the one hand, it feels good to see that.  To know that I'm not the only one who has burned out.  But on the other hand, it seems that he's going to be working through it.   And sometimes I wonder whether I should have tried to do that instead of giving up.  It didn't mean that I was a bad therapist, either.  I'm still working through it, I guess.  And trying to figure out what I'm doing in my life.

Since my last writing workshop ended, I've been feeling the need to find a new community of writers to keep some level of motivation going.  Then I came across brigits_flame.  In order to play, we need to write an introduction post.  So, then, this is me.  (Or the closest I can come in words at the moment.  I reserve the right to change.  In fact, I hope to.)

I'm a 32 year old woman.  I live in San Francisco. I'm married to my high-school boyfriend, Tom (we've been together approximately forever).  I have one son, Tai. He's just 4.5 months old and I am crazy in love with him.  Being a mother is a whole new world, and it's both made me understand things in a whole new way and also caused me to spout cliches as though they were deep life truths.   

Labels:  Bisexual.  Polyamorous.  Spiritual seeker.  Feminist.  Burned out therapist.  Novelist (in theory).   Fangirl (write it, read it, live it.  Yeah.)

I read like books are going out of style (which they very well may be, depending on who you ask). I read fiction, non-fiction, magazines... whatever happens to speak to my obsession at the moment.  I watch too much TV.  I enjoy some movies - at the moment, Stranger than Fiction is a new favorite. 

I tend toward anxiety.  I have a special talent for anticipatory anxiety.  But when push comes to shove, I do what needs to be done.

I also tend toward shyness, but I love deeply and long.  I have few friends, but they are part of my family.

My wish for myself, and everyone else is to live life, no matter what.

The short answer:

A 30 year old woman from the East Coast, now living in San Francisco. I'm a therapist-in-training, a writer, a feminist, a polyamorous bisexual woman in a long term relationship with a man, a spiritual seeker.

The long answer:

I was born in a small town in Michigan. For the first few years of my life, I thought that town was the whole world. The few mile drive from my family's home to my grandparents' seemed to last forever. When my parents divorced, my mom, brother and I moved to Ann Arbor while my mom went to law school. Suddenly the world was much bigger than I had expected. And it's only gotten bigger. When mom graduated she went to a law firm in Washington DC and we moved to Maryland.

During high school I discovered the joys of alcohol, sex, pot, summer school, sleep deprivation, coffee, late-night games of Pictionary and strip-poker, and getting kicked out of my house. Most of this in my senior year, and most because of my boyfriend, Tom. (Who I am still with 13 years later. Scary.)

Despite all the shenanigans, I managed to graduate and get into college. Continuing with my string of 'M' states, I went to the University of Massachusetts, Amherst (aka Zoo Mass). Here I discovered my bisexuality, my feminism, my loathing of psychology statistics courses, my love of French Onion soup and the fact that rats make good dorm pets. I also learned that I can stand on my own two feet when Tom dumped me in my senior year. Though it was one of my hardest times, it was also a lesson I needed to learn. My world grew even wider.

After I graduated with my Bachelor's in English, I moved back to Maryland and discovered employers weren't exactly beating down my door. Since I had no clue what I wanted to be when I grew up, I chose to be an immigration paralegal in Virginia and moved there for 8 months, until Tom, who had since decided being without me was worse than being with me, graduated.

Finally we decided to move to San Francisco. Job-wise, it was best for him, since he's a computer geek. And I'd dreamed of moving to California ever since I read 'Tales of the City'. As a bisexual, hippie-wanna-be, writer, and all around freak, I figured San Francisco just might be the only city where I could actually fit in.

Fortunately that has been true. In my seven years here, I've had too many jobs, discovered what I want to be when I grow up (a novelist and therapist), marched topless in the dyke march, gotten a paddle broken over my ass at Folsom street fair, gotten a Master's degree in Psychology, gotten a corset, pierced my nipple, tattooed both breasts, read a million books, written not as much as I'd hoped, lost two rats, gained two more and lost them too, adopted two dogs, worked for two years as a grief counselor at a hospice, found truth in grief, healing from pain, found a good therapist and a bad one, found and lost friends, found and lost love, found and lost myself. I'm not ready to move, either.

The Truth:

I'm still discovering who I am. Sometimes I'm as sure of who I am as the sky is blue. Sometimes I'm as sure of who I am as the sky is when the fog rolls through. I hope to have an answer one day - but that would mean I'm stagnant, finished, and I don't want that.

The Reason:

I read for two reasons: To discover who I am and to know I'm not alone. I journal for the same reasons reflected out: So hopefully I can help someone else discover themselves and let them know they're not the only one "like that". After all, everyone is in this together.

The Warning:

If you know me, if you're family or friend, feel free to read this. But know you're only getting one side of me. One moment of my life. I may bitch and whine, or rant and scream, be happy, sad, whatever. I don't mean what I say here as a personal attack on anyone. I'm just being who I am in the second. And if you have something to say.. email me. Maybe I can clear it up for you.