6 Things I Learned from My Shrink

• May
• 18

The Friday Files continue …

YES VIRGINIA, even Christians sometimes need to see a shrink.

Technically, I saw a psychologist rather than a psychiatrist which is the real meaning of the term a “shrink” … but near enough is good enough today, and that is just one of the lessons I learned from my shrink (see #2)!

I’ve sought counselling in the past to deal with some of the issues that I knew were festering inside me from my abusive childhood. Plus, I was diagnosed with depression at age 32, so last year after I found out Mum died, I thought it would be wise to again seek professional help.

I’m glad I did. It was great to be able to talk through the various emotions and reactions, and then identify and look at correcting  some false and unhelpful behaviour and thought patterns I learnt way back when I was a child.

So without further ado, here are 6 things I learnt in my sessions last year with my shrink:

1. I could NEVER have pleased my Mum. I felt guilty for being estranged, for not trying harder. But my psychologist helped me to see that even if I’d given over my entire life to please my Mum, she still would have criticised, found fault and exploded at the drop of a hat. It helped me realise that at least by cutting ties, I’d made sure ONE of us was happy!
2. I don’t have to be perfect. I’d tried so desperately to please mum, to go “under the radar” or maybe even score some praise, that I felt that I had to be “perfect” at everything. My house had to be perfect. My outfit had to be perfect. My hair had to be perfect. My children had to be perfect. I was setting myself up for disappointment with standards like that. Guess what I learnt? Near enough really is good enough!
3. I don’t really hate the phone! What I hate (or am remembering) is the bad stuff the phone used to trigger in my life … my mum hated the phone. She hated it when people rang and “disturbed” her, and would rant and rave at us for  hours. She made me ring my father and act as the “go between” for their numerous bitter arguments. No wonder I developed an aversion to the phone! But the phone was innocent in all this. It was actually my mother I feared. But she was also the person I depended upon for my very survival, so I transferred my fear to an inanimate object.
4. It’s okay to take my time to grieve and process everything. It’s now about 9 months since I found out about Mum, and I still haven’t been to see the niche where her ashes are kept. And that’s okay. I’ll get there one day, when I’m ready… or not.
5. My childhood WAS bad. My psychologist validated my experience. I was used to justifying to myself, that it wasn’t really that bad. But guess what, it was.
6. Everybody has a hissy fit from time to time! Because mum had them all the time, I thought they were completely wrong. I’ve kept a very tight lid on my emotions for years and rarely fly off the handle. On the extremely rare occasion that I do, I feel terrible for it. But guess what, sometimes the situation demands it. And funnily enough, the squeaky wheel is the one that gets the grease. There are times when you just have to have a hissy fit. The challenge for me is to express my anger and displeasure without becoming abusive, violent, obscene or in other damaging ways. But other than that? Yes, I really can raise my voice. Yes, I can get angry. Even Jesus did that when he tossed over the tables that the money changers had set up in his Father’s house!

I’m sure there were plenty more valuable things that I learnt from my shrink, but these are the ones that I feel have really made a difference in my life. How about you? Have you been to a shrink? What have you learned?

If you live in the Brisbane area and would like to find a Christian psychologist, I recommend the team at http://christiancounsellorbrisbane.com/.

What do prayer AND brushing our teeth have in common?!

• May
• 15

Maybe I’m borderline OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), but there is no such thing as a quick brush of the teeth in my book. If you’re going to do a job, you may as well do it properly!

It’s a habit that has served me well, as I’ve only needed two fillings since high school (nearly 30 years ago now). As I was brushing my teeth this morning, I was careful to follow my dentist’s advice to brush my gums and tongue, not just my teeth. It’s funny when you think about it, we say we’re brushing our teeth, but in actual fact if we are doing it correctly, we should call it a whole mouth brushing, just like the ad says!

We need to brush our gums so that they stay strong and healthy to hold our teeth in place, and clean our tongues to get rid of bacteria and other nasties that cause bad breath or even decay. So brushing our teeth is so much more than … brushing our teeth!

It’s funny how God can use the mundane things in life to show us something. As I brushed my teeth (whole mouth!), He showed me that prayer is kinda like that too. When I think about praying, an image instantly comes to mind of somebody kneeling, with their eyes closed.

But this is just one part of it. Praying is so much more, and just like brushing our gums and tongue are an essential (but usually unspoken) part of brushing our teeth for optimum oral health, expanding our view and our habit of prayer is essential for our spiritual health!

You can pray while brushing your teeth! You can pray in the shower. You can pray while walking. You can write a prayer letter to God. You can pray with somebody over email. You can look like you’re working hard at your office or school desk, or even be talking to somebody on the phone, when in fact you have just sent a prayer winging its way towards heaven!

As the old saying goes: “Certain thoughts are prayers. There are moments when, whatever be the attitude of the body, the soul is on its knees.”

So I challenge you, allow God to expand your prayer horizons and become all it was meant to be!

Pray without ceasing … 1 Thessalonians 5:17 NKJV

Mother’s Day Misery

• May
• 11

The Friday Files continued …

Holidays can be extra painful for children of parents with a mental illness. I’ve previously shared why I came to dread Christmas.

Mother’s Day was also ghastly. It’s supposed to be a time to celebrate and shower mothers with gifts and affection for all that they are, and all that they do for their children.  But as I got older, it felt fake and became more forced.  Mum made our lives hell, and although I still loved her with a child’s innocent trust, I realised from an early age that a fuss on Mother’s Day was “expected” and woe betide those who did not produce!

It seemed ironic when she “couldn’t be bothered” to make Christmas special for us, her children.

There was only one thing worse than Mother’s Day, and that was Father’s Day, because that would lead to Mum ranting and raving about the lack of a father and husband in our lives. She expected us to treat her on Father’s Day as well, because she said she was doing the job of both parents.

That wasn’t strictly true.  I was doing the job of one parent, despite my youth. Most of the time I felt like her mother, not the other way around!  (Not that this was ever acknowledged.) So not only did I take on that mothering role with my three siblings, but also with my own mother.

Even after we no longer had contact, Mother’s Days were painful.  How do you explain to others – and yourself – that yes, you have a mother who is alive – but that it is best for all concerned that there is no contact?! I felt I was judged, without a trial (which you can read about here).

So as Mother’s Day approaches once again, I am grateful that in the family my husband and I have created, it is a totally different occasion. I don’t expect anything – but my husband and children always manage to make me feel special and shower me with love. What a contrast to Mother’s Days in my family of origin!

To my darling hubster and two teens – I love you more than words can say. Just having you in my life makes every day special. Who needs Mother’s Day?!

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

• May
• 9

Just in case you didn’t already know – I am also the editor of Footprints magazine (which I started back in 1998).  So if you’ve been enjoying my blog, why not check out the magazine?!

Yummy Mummy or Motherly Mother?!

• May
• 8

The glossy magazines are full of photos and stories of “Yummy Mummies” – celebrities who have given birth but have bounced back to their pre-baby (often anorexic) shape, smart outfits, stylish hair and makeup, glamourous social life on the red carpet – a child (or six in the case of Angelina Jolie) is not going to cramp their style! They remain dedicated to being as gorgeous as they were before they had children.

And it’s true, many of us regular women may have at one time or another coveted or even aspired to be a yummy mummy. We all like to look our best after all, and there is nothing wrong with that.

However I’d like to think that there is an even more worthy goal that we could be aspiring to: being a motherly mother.

What is a motherly mother you ask? She is a person whose heart is full of love. Someone who is motherly knows how to listen and show interest in others, and how to really care. She has a ready smile, and a welcoming and approachable demeanour.  She is a source of comfort to her loved ones and she gives the best hugs! She may be slender, but it’s more likely that she tends towards a cuddly shape, especially as she ages (all the better to hug you, my dear!).

She may work inside or outside the home. She might wear makeup every day – or she may not. Her style may be corporate suits and high heels, or trackie dackies and fuzzy slippers (guess what I’m wearing as I write this?!). But whatever it is, she makes the most of what she has without going overboard and spending money she doesn’t have, and is always appropriate (she doesn’t go grocery shopping in an evening gown!).

Her home is welcoming, whether it’s a caravan, a rented unit, a house in suburbia, or a palace, and provides a shelter from the storms of life. All who enter know that they will leave feeling more rested, uplifted, and refreshed.

A motherly mother is responsible, hard-working, pays her bills on time, and is an upstanding citizen. She is a woman of wisdom, and is willing to share of her life and hard-won experiences with others, to help them on their way. She doesn’t judge others but accepts them as they are. She is a woman of integrity and keeps her word – those who know her trust her and sing her praises. I wonder … was the Proverbs 31 woman a yummy mummy, or a motherly mother?

She is slow to take offense, quick to forgive, and always expects the best in others. A motherly mother is patient and kind (now I’m reminded of the “Love Chapter”, 1 Corinthians 13!).

Finally, she may have ten children or she may even have none – because being a motherly mother is about what’s INSIDE. The Yummy Mummy on the other hand, is dedicated to her EXTERNAL appearance.

When it comes to the crunch, who would YOU rather have as your mum, your sister, your friend – a yummy mummy, or a motherly mother? And who would you rather BE?

But I Just Didn’t Know …

• May
• 4

The Friday Files continue …

In August I found out that my mother had passed away.

And now I want to say, I’m sorry.

Sorry: to all the people I have known who have lost a loved one. Because I just didn’t know.

I didn’t know what it was like. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. So because I was so worried about hurting people who were already grieving, I usually chose to do … nothing.

And now I know that’s probably the worst thing to do (or not do).

Because when I was in the depths of my grief, in those dark early days, I desperately needed to know that I was loved. That people knew, and that they cared that my world had been turned upside down.

I appreciated every email and Facebook message and hearing that people were praying for me.

But what I really loved, what really helped, was the people who had the courage to step out and do something more tangible.

The phone calls and texts were a lifeline, especially those brave souls who were willing to just listen. Because I needed to tell the story. Over and over again. As if in the telling somehow even I would begin to believe it.

The flowers that arrived (thanks Mel, Pauline, and Jeanie) were a balm to my wounded soul. A casserole was delivered with love (such a blessing as I couldn’t bring myself to cook for two weeks). Half a dozen cards with heartfelt messages arrived in the mail. And one very switched-on friend dropped in a box of chocolates! (She knew one of my favourite sayings: “chocolate fixes everything!”).

On the other hand, there were some folks that I was sure would be there for me in my time of sorrow. But they were nowhere to be seen. Ouch! It hurt. It really hurt! I struggled with bitterness and anger. I’m still disappointed.

In my gracious moments, I am able to excuse them, because I realise they’ve probably never experienced this grief. They’ve never lost a parent or other family member. So they don’t know any better. They didn’t want to do something and risk hurting me, when I was already in pain. So they did nothing. And I shouldn’t judge, because only weeks ago, *I* was in their number.

Can I be frank: doing nothing hurts the grieving person more?

If there is one positive that has come out of my mother’s death, it is the lessons I have learned through this experience. In future, I will know how to support others when they are mourning, and be able to show them love in practical ways, not just thinking of them.

During this difficult time, I cling close to Jesus, and especially when I am feeling hurt, I remind myself that He too knew what it was like to feel rejected, neglected, abandoned and ignored in His time of need. And His response?

“… Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing …” Luke 23:34

Not Exactly Parent of the Year …

• May
• 1

I’M THE FIRST to admit that I’m not a perfect parent (just check out this post!). I yell sometimes. I lose my temper. Some nights I can’t be bothered to cook dinner, and let the family fend for themselves (we call them D-I-Y nights!).

Like most parents I’ve done my best. I tried to breastfeed (that’s a whole story in itself), and used cloth nappies rather than disposable whenever possible. I lovingly cooked and pureed my own baby food, kept the house tidy, sewed shorts for my son, and included plenty of educational experiences and outings into our days. I read to my children often. And do you know, my kids don’t remember ANY of these things?!

However there are a couple of moments in my parenting journey that are so outstandingly bad, my kids still take much delight in reminding me about them!

When Mr almost-18 was much smaller, he played soccer for a couple of seasons. He was so little back then, and being the good mum that I was I often froze my butt off on the sidelines while cheering him on. Over time I got chatting with some of the other parents and that, alas, was the problem. The one time my son actually scored a goal, I was so busy talking to another parent that I missed it. Yep, months of faithfully racing home from work to attend each game, rugging up against the cold wind, encouraging my son to keep trying and … in his moment of triumph I didn’t even notice. Instant parenting fail!

Miss 15 has always loved craft and making things. When she was about 8 or 9 she learnt how to make pom poms at school. That night she came to me with a newly started pom pom and said, “Mum, be honest with me, do you think this is really good or really lame?”

I must have been a bit distracted because I told her it was really lame – what I *really* meant was that as she had just started it, there really wasn’t much for me to judge it on, but of course it would be great by the time she finished it. Unfortunately it didn’t come out that way and understandably she was shocked by my rather  blunt comeback! But that little incident has become famous in our family history and still makes us chuckle … to this day I can still get a rise out of her if I mention that something is “really lame”!

How often do WE forget all the good things (or things for our own good) that our Father has done for us – and only remember the times when things haven’t gone our way?

Unlike me, God doesn’t take His eye off the game for a minute! And no matter what we do, He thinks we’re just great! Sometimes we need to be reminded of that … I’m in that headspace myself just at the moment. How about you?

Linking up with Jess from Diary of a SAHM for IBOT (I Blog On Tuesdays).

Acknowledging Abuse

• April
• 27

The Friday Files continue …

 “But if a mother has an unhealthy need to dominate her children – which she demonstrates by bullying, terrifying, neglecting, suffocating, indulging, humiliating, overprotecting, or abusing them – those children must come to the recognition that such treatment is wrong in order to begin the long process or recovery and ultimate understanding.”  Victoria Secunda, from her book When you and your mother can’t be friends.

I would have been about thirty years old, and a mother myself, before I realised that what I had endured as a child was actually “abuse”.

It was just how life was, and even after I escaped at age 19, I felt it was exaggerating or over-reacting to call it abuse. Abuse was something that happened to “other people”!

Now – I’m horrified I didn’t realise earlier. That OTHER people (eg teachers) didn’t realise earlier – and didn’t do something about it!

Because it is NOT normal to be beaten for your misdemeanours when you are 16. Or being belted until you have bruises all over, or a split lip or a black eye. Or needing to go to the doctor for stitches after being attacked by your own parent.

Nor is it normal to be accused of seducing your own stepfather when you are all of 13. Of being constantly told you are a stupid girl, a ditz, and a millstone around your mother’s neck – that she could actually have a life if you weren’t around. That everything is all your fault. Of being constantly embarassed and unable to tell anybody what is really happening at home.

It is not normal to be such a basket of nerves you have trouble sleeping at night, because you never know when your mother the monster is going to burst in and vent her rage on you.

It is not normal to be exposed to porn regularly before you have even hit your teen years.

How could I not have realised?

“We forget in order to survive our childhoods, when we are totally dependent on our parents’ goodwill; but to recover from such childhoods, we must begin by remembering – the bad and the good.”  Victoria Secunda.

I can’t remember when I actually accepted the term “abuse” as being appropriate for my situation, it was a gradual realisation. But when I did, it helped me to realise that it was no wonder I was diagnosed with depression, and why I had so much turmoil inside of me.

It was no wonder that for years after I escaped, I literally shivered compulsively in fear whenever the conversation turned to the subject of my mother.

As I struggled to come to terms with everything, I mentioned the “A” word (abuse) to my younger sister. I was flabbergasted by her response at the time: ”I don’t think it was as bad as what you’re making out”. What the??!!! Had we grown up in the same house? Was I going mad??!

Actually, she had been a little too successful in blocking out the pain of the past – something that was necessary for her at that point as she was still trying to have some kind of relationship with our mother, although by that time I had broken ties.

Nowadays my sister remembers only too clearly. But if Victoria Secunda is right, that is a good thing. Because it is only in the acknowledging that we can begin to heal.

“The first step toward recovery, then is recollection . . . the second step is to allow the feelings of loss to surface rather than . . . bubble up in other relationships.  When we can recognise that we are . . . entitled to feel anger (but not to act on it – awareness is not a license to kill), then we are able to let go of that anger and not be controlled by it.”  Victoria Secunda.

 Joining up with www.wheresmyglow.com for Flog Yo Blog Friday!

Should Christians read The Shack?

• April
• 24

ANYTIME THERE’S A HUGE BUZZ about a book (or whatever) in Christian circles, I avoid it like the plague (not sure what that says about me!). So it took me a while to pick up and read The Prayer of Jabez for instance, or the Five Love Languages (when I did I was sorry I waited so long!).

It was no different when I first heard about The Shack by William P Young. I really wasn’t interested.

Then somebody submitted an article for Footprints (the magazine that I run), warning Christians against it. To give it proper consideration, I had to read The Shack for myself.

I found it an interesting little story. It didn’t rock my world; but I enjoyed reading it.

I could see why some people might find it hard to accept the personas that God adopted in the book. A large motherly African American woman????! Yep, I can see why that might raise some eyebrows!

I have to say it didn’t bother me. Hey, if God wants to present Himself as a four-armed, turquoise, friendly alien, that’s fine by me too. We know that our Lord did not think it beneath Himself to take upon the form of a human, and to humble Himself as a servant (Philippians 2) – all to reach out to us. If you think about it, in our racist world, some would say you couldn’t get much lowlier or humbler than a large older African American woman!

At times the book made me want to weep; but most of all I was reminded again and again of God’s enormous love for us, on each and every page.

I can see how it would be a book that brings comfort to many. I know several people personally, who have been through the loss of a child or similar (to the main character in The Shack), and have been hugely comforted or blessed by it. Who am I to say they can’t have that?!

So should Christians read The Shack? I’ll answer your question with a question: Who am I to tell you whether you should, or you shouldn’t? Does anybody really have that right or role in your life? If you’re really that worried about it, ask GOD what He thinks is right for you. Not your neighbour. Not your church. Not your sister. Not some pastor on the internet. God Himself.

And what did I do about the article submission? I ended up not accepting it, on the grounds that our mission at Footprints magazine is to focus on the 90% that unites us as Christians, not the 10% that divides.

When we DO print articles on controversial issues, it is as reportage (report style) – that is, we let the reader see various angles and let THEM make the decision for themselves.  (Would love to see more articles of this nature – check out our Writer’s Guidelines!)

Sheridan Voysey, former host of Open House, takes a similar approach. His interview with William P Young, author of The Shack, is worth checking out, along with the comments that follow. You can find it here: http://sheridanvoysey.com/the-shack-interview-part-1/.

If you’ve read The Shack - what did you think about it?

This post was inspired by my mate Jo Hilder’s post.

Linking up with Jess from Diary of a SAHM for IBOT (I Blog On Tuesdays).

Oh and by the way – I looooooove comments!

I wish I’d had more kids

• April
• 20

The Friday Files continue …

I NEVER thought that I would say this, but lately I’ve been thinking that I wish we’d had more children.

Perhaps this is one of the side effects of being raised by a mad mother. I watched her have four children (I’m the eldest) and gradually lose the plot. Whereas she was relatively “normal” in my early years, by the time my youngest brother arrived she was a totally different woman, and my youngest siblings suffered for it.

I determined that when I had children, I would make sure to have only as many as I could handle.

Some even say that this is this true meaning of the biblical term of “quiverfull” – a quiverfull is only as many arrows as the archer can handle! (Psalm 127: 4-5 NIV Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth.  Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. They will not be put to shame  when they contend with their opponents in court.)

Without a supportive mum / family network by my side (which was something my own mother DID have) – my Mum for obvious reasons, my husband’s family living far away –  my husband and I realised that we were pretty much on our own. As I came to terms with my own diagnosis of depression (which I now know was a direct fallout from all that I had been through), I realised that two little ones would probably be about our limit in a practical “hands-on” sense (not even touching on the financial aspect).

Now however, our two children have turned into such wonderful young people I really wish that Lawrence and I had taken the plunge and had more!

Perhaps it would have been “do-able” if we’d left a bit of a gap between any future children, to make things a bit easier when they are tiny and oh-so-dependent.

My two little ones are now Mr-18-next-month and Miss 15, and naturally enough developing their own lives. Good ol’ Mum and Dad are being left behind, which makes us a bit on the sad side!

What I think we miss most is the company of our children – nowadays, even when our teens are home you’d hardly know it, because they’re usually closeted in their rooms. It feels like the only time they emerge is to eat or shower!

I miss their cuddles (although it must be said, despite their age, both are still up for lots of hugs from their folks – in private anyway!). I miss being the one they turn to when something is happening in their lives. Their Dad does too.

There is just so much love in our home, it seems kind of a shame that we didn’t share this with more children. And let’s face it, we have beautiful children – surely the world would be a better place if we’d had a few more?! (I mean, how CUTE are they?!)

Maybe if we’d had more kids we would be so busy we wouldn’t notice this gradual untying of the apron strings so much!

Does anybody else wish they’d had more kids? Or am I just weird?!