So I've been on my own for more than a week. I couldn't find a spare moment to blog in all that time. More accurately, I couldn't muster the motivation. I've spent all my free time playing guitar and watching re-runs of "Are you being served?"
I find it odd that I am supposed to have much more free time then I did in grad school, and yet, in grad school it seemed as if I had endless opportunities to blog. I believe the reality of it lies in the fact that there were many more things I COULD avoid doing by blogging. In fact, the only reason I finally found time to blog was because I am avoiding my clinical notes RIGHT now!
The past week has been unusually stressful and the hopes that this week would be less so have already been shattered. Added to that stress is my husband being in New York for ten days. Without his comforting presence, I have taken to sleeping to cope with the stress. While that may seem like a one way ride to depression town, I have found that short naps are healthy coping mechanism. The alternatives being eating, drugs, alcohol or mental breakdowns, sleeping appears to the lesser of all evils. Granted, there is always exercise. There are certainly times when I go that route. But exercise in itself is stressful. There's the putting on of special clothing I would never wear at any other time. The actual GOING to the YMCA. If I decide to walk around my neighborhood there's the clothes changing and the showering when I return. Added to that is the guilt I always feel for not taking my dog with me. He's not good on long walks because he's so slow and has to pee on and smell everything. Then there is the inevitable verbal altercation with the other neighborhood dogs. That is not peaceful. So I leave him behind but experience significant guilt because we both know where I'm going and what I am doing. He never mentions it when I get back, but it's there. To appease my guilt I feed him treats. He already has a weight problem. So at that point treating my stress is leading my dog to senior obesity. So naps seem like the best alternatives. Short moments in bed, or on the couch, or on the porch swing that revive me and grant me a fresh perspective when I awake.
Of course prayer and reflection are also essential for resisting the swelling tide of life's circumstances. This past week there has been one thing that has brought me an overwhelming amount of peace. A friend and college suggested an activity for assisting children in identifying areas of their life they may feel are out of control. The activity involves requesting the child to draw a picture of the ocean and a picture of a boat in that ocean. The therapist then asks the child to write everything they have control of on the boat and everything they don't have control of in the ocean.
So this past week I asked one of my child clients to participate in this activity, She surprised me by drawing a picture of herself in the boat. On boat, she wrote, "I only have control of myself" and in the ocean she wrote " I can not control other people." Pretty impressive! For some reason this stuck with me all week. Whatever happened, whatever went wrong or whatever seemed insurmountable, I thought about that picture. It was a great reminder that I have no control whatsoever of the circumstances surrounding me. If clients cancel appointments at the last minute, if life's circumstances seem to be getting out of control, I can only control my own attitude and behavior. I can only accomplish the tasks in front of me. Even if I'm great, if I'm 100%, the actions of others can steer my little boat the wrong way. But at the end of the day, I am left with the peace that I have done all that is in my power to do, and not deceived myself into thinking I can do anymore.
And the greater peace of that is that whatever is mine to control I can turn over to God. In that is the greatest peace! I can only control myself (which trust me is A Lot to control!!!) but God can control me and everything else.
"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship."- Louisa May Alcott
Monday, November 14, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
Writing my thesis- Effective Means of Reducing Prejudice
Of all the challenges I've faced in the past few years, writing my thesis was perhaps the most difficult. There was a time when it felt as if my life was literally defined by the status of my thesis, I was either working on it, avoiding it, waiting for it to be sent back to me, writing a song about procrastinating working on it (check out my FB for that video!), proposing it, researching it or defending it. I can picture myself a few short months ago, working on my thesis at 3am, eating copious amounts of candy and watching reruns on TVLAND. I would procrastinate for weeks (months a couple of times) and then spend three crash-n-burn 12 hour days in a row researching, writing and editing. I amused my fellow cohort members with stories of how I was avoiding it, I suffered innumerable mental breakdowns because of it and came to see it as the very bane of my existence,
The Result? 93 scholarly pages addressing a very important problem in American society.
___________________________________________________________________________
"Contact Theory: A Multi-Model Comparison of Effectiveness in Reducing Prejudice Among White Professionals in a Single Interaction."
Scholars and researchers have expressed alarm over the under utilization of mental health services by Blacks. Scholars speculate that one reason for this under utilization may be the expectation of prejudice from White mental health workers. The most widely studied method for reducing prejudice is Contact Theory. This study compared models of Contact Theory to determine which model would be most effective at reducing prejudice using White professionals. Results of the study indicated that none of the models effectively reduced prejudice and none of the models was more effective than any other. That was the unfortunate outcome. The fortunate outcome of this study was a stellar historical account of Blacks in the field of psychology from 1700's to the present, a detailed look at the holes in the current literature regarding Black underutilization, a massive amount of suggestions for future research. Most importantly, the discussion portion of this study explored how society has changed since Contact Theory was first proposed and proposed methods for reducing prejudice by addressing the evolution of expressing prejudice in America.
The very last thing written in my thesis:
"Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass away, and that in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty." (MLK jr., 1963)
___________________________________________________
The bound copy of my thesis arrived this week. At first, it just sat there and I thought "All that time and money and that's it?" But today, I realized how proud I should be of the work I accomplished. I read 120 studies, I designed a true experiment, I ran stats and wrote 93 pages of intelligent words. I reflect on all of this to remind myself, as I always tell my clients, that we MUST take time to celebrate what we have done. Big or small. Whether we paid our bills this month, or finished the laundry or wrote a thesis, we should CELEBRATE that accomplishment. There are plenty of people who chose not to fulfill their responsibilities, who chose not to love their kids or their spouse, who chose not to use the gifts that God has given them to their fullest extent. Let's not take being a responsible person for granted. Celebrate what you've done well and celebrate the ONE who enables us to do it! Whatever we have done alone, he has done it with us.
Colossians 3v23 "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men"
The Result? 93 scholarly pages addressing a very important problem in American society.
___________________________________________________________________________
"Contact Theory: A Multi-Model Comparison of Effectiveness in Reducing Prejudice Among White Professionals in a Single Interaction."
Scholars and researchers have expressed alarm over the under utilization of mental health services by Blacks. Scholars speculate that one reason for this under utilization may be the expectation of prejudice from White mental health workers. The most widely studied method for reducing prejudice is Contact Theory. This study compared models of Contact Theory to determine which model would be most effective at reducing prejudice using White professionals. Results of the study indicated that none of the models effectively reduced prejudice and none of the models was more effective than any other. That was the unfortunate outcome. The fortunate outcome of this study was a stellar historical account of Blacks in the field of psychology from 1700's to the present, a detailed look at the holes in the current literature regarding Black underutilization, a massive amount of suggestions for future research. Most importantly, the discussion portion of this study explored how society has changed since Contact Theory was first proposed and proposed methods for reducing prejudice by addressing the evolution of expressing prejudice in America.
The very last thing written in my thesis:
"Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass away, and that in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty." (MLK jr., 1963)
___________________________________________________
The bound copy of my thesis arrived this week. At first, it just sat there and I thought "All that time and money and that's it?" But today, I realized how proud I should be of the work I accomplished. I read 120 studies, I designed a true experiment, I ran stats and wrote 93 pages of intelligent words. I reflect on all of this to remind myself, as I always tell my clients, that we MUST take time to celebrate what we have done. Big or small. Whether we paid our bills this month, or finished the laundry or wrote a thesis, we should CELEBRATE that accomplishment. There are plenty of people who chose not to fulfill their responsibilities, who chose not to love their kids or their spouse, who chose not to use the gifts that God has given them to their fullest extent. Let's not take being a responsible person for granted. Celebrate what you've done well and celebrate the ONE who enables us to do it! Whatever we have done alone, he has done it with us.
Colossians 3v23 "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men"
Thursday, September 8, 2011
I Feel Very..... Young
It pains me to admit my husband was out of town for a whole week and I failed to blog a single adventure. Perhaps its for the best, after overcoming the shock of grad school I am enjoying the calm of "normal" life. I considered if infact any adventures have been had. Adventures while alone that is.
I am not sorry to say my most recent adventures have been full of the people I love. A pleasant thought.
However, I am finding that there are things you must do, as an adult, alone:
1. Interviews.
Can you say stressful? It's worse when you are a mental health professional, trained in the art of reading body language. You spend half the time wondering what the side glance 5 minutes in meant followed by the short response at 7 minutes and 20 seconds. At some point you realize you have no idea what they just said because you are trying to analyze why they placed their coffee cup on the left side of the table instead of the right.
Then, of course, you reach the inevitable "Do you have any questions for me?"
Questions? Uh, yes. "How many employees have been murdered on the job in the past year?" What can I say? He covered everything else.
There I was, FRESH out of grad school, trying to look and be professional and all I felt was very....young.
2. Working
This is probably unique to my profession. I am required to be alone in a room with anywhere from 1 to 25 clients at a time. It is my sole responsibility not to make the worse than they were when they came in and to conduct "therapy" skillfully and ethically. While it may not seem like it, that is a tremendous amount of pressure. Nothing is worse than being in the middle of a session about fiscal responsibility and, out of no where, a client says "When I was 4 I witnessed Mr. Rogers murdering my dog with the family Bible." (*not an actual incident).
What do I do next? I follow the therapist's protocol.
-nod my head like I am really taking it in
- repeat it back, just to make sure I got it right in a less traumatic way "So you saw your dog being harmed by someone you cared about."
-State the obvious "That must have been very difficult for you"
Hopefully, by this time, you have stalled enough to consider where to go from here. There are many times my knee-jerk response is to want to say "I'm not qualified to do this." Then I would leave. (I'm not going to go into a long tirade about why I actually am qualified, the truth is I'm a brand-new therapist). I don't leave, instead I allow the client time to work through their trauma and some how leave the session with the client thanking me for helping them through it. The role of the therapist is one that is solitary. You don't have responsibilities like that when you are younger. There's always a bigger person to lend a hand. At any rate, there is SOMEONE around to help.
3. Selling yourself.
It feels like there is no end to this representing yourself to the world stuff. Whether its a job, a client, a PHD program, submitting writing or trying to propose at a conference. I have never cared to sell anything and I hope to never have a job where that's required of me. All I want to say is "Look, do you want this or not?" But no, it feels as if there is an endless stream of people and situations I'm required to convince that I have the skills, knowledge, training , talent, personality etc. they are looking for. I must precariously balance the fine line between humility and narcissism. I feel I never find the balance. I'm either saying "I guess I'm ok but I'm sure you could do better (in my best Eeyore voice)." or "I'm so awesome you're a fool if you bother considering anyone else! Revere me!"
I long for the good old days when all chick-fila wanted to know is if I was 14 and knew how to mop floors.
It feels like I've been thrust into a world I'm not ready for. Although growing is something we do within the company of others, it is also a very solitary journey. The challenge for me is to accept that perhaps it is not that I can't do these things, it's that I don't want to do them because the doing feels like a message to the world that I feel old enough to be all I'm needed to be. But I don't feel that way at all.
I feel very young.
I am not sorry to say my most recent adventures have been full of the people I love. A pleasant thought.
However, I am finding that there are things you must do, as an adult, alone:
1. Interviews.
Can you say stressful? It's worse when you are a mental health professional, trained in the art of reading body language. You spend half the time wondering what the side glance 5 minutes in meant followed by the short response at 7 minutes and 20 seconds. At some point you realize you have no idea what they just said because you are trying to analyze why they placed their coffee cup on the left side of the table instead of the right.
Then, of course, you reach the inevitable "Do you have any questions for me?"
Questions? Uh, yes. "How many employees have been murdered on the job in the past year?" What can I say? He covered everything else.
There I was, FRESH out of grad school, trying to look and be professional and all I felt was very....young.
2. Working
This is probably unique to my profession. I am required to be alone in a room with anywhere from 1 to 25 clients at a time. It is my sole responsibility not to make the worse than they were when they came in and to conduct "therapy" skillfully and ethically. While it may not seem like it, that is a tremendous amount of pressure. Nothing is worse than being in the middle of a session about fiscal responsibility and, out of no where, a client says "When I was 4 I witnessed Mr. Rogers murdering my dog with the family Bible." (*not an actual incident).
What do I do next? I follow the therapist's protocol.
-nod my head like I am really taking it in
- repeat it back, just to make sure I got it right in a less traumatic way "So you saw your dog being harmed by someone you cared about."
-State the obvious "That must have been very difficult for you"
Hopefully, by this time, you have stalled enough to consider where to go from here. There are many times my knee-jerk response is to want to say "I'm not qualified to do this." Then I would leave. (I'm not going to go into a long tirade about why I actually am qualified, the truth is I'm a brand-new therapist). I don't leave, instead I allow the client time to work through their trauma and some how leave the session with the client thanking me for helping them through it. The role of the therapist is one that is solitary. You don't have responsibilities like that when you are younger. There's always a bigger person to lend a hand. At any rate, there is SOMEONE around to help.
3. Selling yourself.
It feels like there is no end to this representing yourself to the world stuff. Whether its a job, a client, a PHD program, submitting writing or trying to propose at a conference. I have never cared to sell anything and I hope to never have a job where that's required of me. All I want to say is "Look, do you want this or not?" But no, it feels as if there is an endless stream of people and situations I'm required to convince that I have the skills, knowledge, training , talent, personality etc. they are looking for. I must precariously balance the fine line between humility and narcissism. I feel I never find the balance. I'm either saying "I guess I'm ok but I'm sure you could do better (in my best Eeyore voice)." or "I'm so awesome you're a fool if you bother considering anyone else! Revere me!"
I long for the good old days when all chick-fila wanted to know is if I was 14 and knew how to mop floors.
It feels like I've been thrust into a world I'm not ready for. Although growing is something we do within the company of others, it is also a very solitary journey. The challenge for me is to accept that perhaps it is not that I can't do these things, it's that I don't want to do them because the doing feels like a message to the world that I feel old enough to be all I'm needed to be. But I don't feel that way at all.
I feel very young.
Friday, July 8, 2011
New York, New York
The china and crystal clinked harmoniously. The restaurant was filled to capacity. I was seated at the mahogany bar lined with linen napkins and distinguished looking old men. I placed my napkin in my lap and pulled out "The Picture of Dorian Grey." Books make a most suitable lunch date. There is something inherently refined about dining in an art museum. I was dining in the Metropolitan Museum of Art no less. I ordered a desperately needed cup of peppermint tea to revive myself. Seeing the entirety of the MET in one day is no small feat. I ordered a significantly over priced, though ridiculously delicious as it turned out, salad and pursued Dorian Grey as I waited for it to arrive. I stole a few glances back at central park and breathed in the minty fragrance of my tea. Yes, THIS was the life. The older couple beside me began to shuffle around, preparing to go. They looked so sophisticated, dressed as if going to a much finer restaurant than the one we were in. His British accent added to the effect.
The waiter placed my roll on the bar in front of me, with butter. Lovely butter. I cut the role in half and began to butter it.Three swipes of the knife in I lost control of the roll and it fell to the ground. Sadly, I was seated in pub chair that, at the moment, appeared significant higher than your run-of-the-mill bar stool. I climbed my way down to locate the rogue roll. I couldn't find it. The roll had literally disappeared. "It's of no consequence" I thought to myself. "I'll just sit down and pretend it didn't happen, I'm sure no one noticed anyway." At that moment, a British voice from behind said "I believe its rolled under the counter." Well, what choice did I have at the point but to get down on my hands and knees and dig the buttered roll out from under the counter. My British friend let out a chuckle of triumph, paid his bill and departed. I was left with half a dirty roll and sting of confirming to the English,once again,that American don't belong in fine dining establishments.
Alas. FAIL.
The waiter placed my roll on the bar in front of me, with butter. Lovely butter. I cut the role in half and began to butter it.Three swipes of the knife in I lost control of the roll and it fell to the ground. Sadly, I was seated in pub chair that, at the moment, appeared significant higher than your run-of-the-mill bar stool. I climbed my way down to locate the rogue roll. I couldn't find it. The roll had literally disappeared. "It's of no consequence" I thought to myself. "I'll just sit down and pretend it didn't happen, I'm sure no one noticed anyway." At that moment, a British voice from behind said "I believe its rolled under the counter." Well, what choice did I have at the point but to get down on my hands and knees and dig the buttered roll out from under the counter. My British friend let out a chuckle of triumph, paid his bill and departed. I was left with half a dirty roll and sting of confirming to the English,once again,that American don't belong in fine dining establishments.
Alas. FAIL.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
In the closet
Ok so I know last week I said that was my last post but I ended up having to stay here for this one last week.I wasn't even going to post agian but I am sitting the closet eating a hot pocket in my Sponge Bob pajamas and it dawned on me that this is most definitely an adventure.
So I am wondering why, when I moved into this 1,000 year old building, they didn't inform me about things like, I don't know, emergency evacuation. The sirens are going off telling me that there is a tornado warning (I am terrified of Tornados, did I mention that?) and the only viable options for shelter are my closet or I can risk going into the basement of this building where there are stray Ferrell cats, kudzu growing out of the window and probably snakes or rats. Plus there are probably the lost souls of graduate students who never finished their thesis wandering around mumbling things like "Empirical data" and "The research states...".
Every time the air conditioning comes on or a train goes by I have a mini-stroke.It's times like these you think you could use a drink but, I don't drink. All I have is this non-alcoholic sangria. I already drank all of it and no significant effect was found. Ken Cook is causing me to panic and Im wondering if I should take anything into the closet with me. I grabbed my laptop and cell phone but I left my thesis notes out, hopeful that if anything goes down, that will be the first to go.
I am really thirsty and debating if I can go to the fridge and get water and make it back ok. I don't want to risk it all for water. It's like that time I went camping (legally) and we almost ran off the road when we were trying to find the guys who had all of the lunch meat in the back of their car. My best friend gasps and says "I don't want to die for lunch meat!" Profound.
There is no way I can go to sleep until all of this abates. I guess I'll hang in the closet and watch 16 and pregnant until it passes. This is most definitely my LAST night here as I will be handing in my key tomorrow. Kind of glad my last night wasn't last week's slipping into a medication induced sleep ( I was probably drooling) at 10pm but not thrilled I'm spending the last night in a closet.
Alas.
So I am wondering why, when I moved into this 1,000 year old building, they didn't inform me about things like, I don't know, emergency evacuation. The sirens are going off telling me that there is a tornado warning (I am terrified of Tornados, did I mention that?) and the only viable options for shelter are my closet or I can risk going into the basement of this building where there are stray Ferrell cats, kudzu growing out of the window and probably snakes or rats. Plus there are probably the lost souls of graduate students who never finished their thesis wandering around mumbling things like "Empirical data" and "The research states...".
Every time the air conditioning comes on or a train goes by I have a mini-stroke.It's times like these you think you could use a drink but, I don't drink. All I have is this non-alcoholic sangria. I already drank all of it and no significant effect was found. Ken Cook is causing me to panic and Im wondering if I should take anything into the closet with me. I grabbed my laptop and cell phone but I left my thesis notes out, hopeful that if anything goes down, that will be the first to go.
I am really thirsty and debating if I can go to the fridge and get water and make it back ok. I don't want to risk it all for water. It's like that time I went camping (legally) and we almost ran off the road when we were trying to find the guys who had all of the lunch meat in the back of their car. My best friend gasps and says "I don't want to die for lunch meat!" Profound.
There is no way I can go to sleep until all of this abates. I guess I'll hang in the closet and watch 16 and pregnant until it passes. This is most definitely my LAST night here as I will be handing in my key tomorrow. Kind of glad my last night wasn't last week's slipping into a medication induced sleep ( I was probably drooling) at 10pm but not thrilled I'm spending the last night in a closet.
Alas.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Goodbye
I woke up early this morning (early for me that is) wondering if the thunderstorms from last night were real or if I dreamed them, hmm maybe I just heard them on TV.
So last night was my last night staying here. I was going to say it's a bittersweet good-bye but not really. It will be nice to spend EVERY night at home in my own bed. I already know the transition back to "normal" is going to take a little while getting used to. I'm already finding it difficult to accept there is nothing due the next week and if I am just sitting having a quiet moment I get anxiety thinking I should be working on something. Must learn to calm down.
If leaving this apartment isn't bitter-sweet, leaving graduate school is. For the first time since I started school way back in Kindergarten, I am going to be DONE with school. Done. At 25 years old. School is kind of like this never-never land where you just sort of hang on to your young adulthood because you haven't yet begun your "grown-up" job. I reflect on peter pan saying "I want always to be a little boy and have fun."
In a way, I want to always stay in school and have my job be only learning. But, that's not reality. It's time to let go of these days of my youth and embrace the on-rushing adulthood.
I am going to miss some things about graduate school.As hard as it has been, I have thoroughly enjoyed it. I will miss my friends and teaching and learning. I won't miss the deadlines or the inane requirements or the stress (Gaa the stress).
And my blog, I will miss that too. I may revive it should there be a night alone in the future.
For now, my last night in this apartment was anti-climatic. Having the flu lends itself only to the adventures induced by large doses of nyquil. (Those can be fun!). I'd like to say something fun and amazing happened last night but, alas, I fell asleep watching re-runs of home improvement.
Thanks to being sick I never enacted my plan of practicing my Spanish late at night by driving around to all the drive-through Mexican restaurants in town. Anyway, since I left my debit card at home that wouldn't have worked out because then I would have had to order and drive off. There would have been a rash of order and drive offs alerting the Mexican restaurant community to some new form of criminal. Eventually they would have found me out and I would have been black listed from Mexican food forever.
It's not worth the risk.
So for now, fare well. These nights alone have been a nice, small adventure.
But, "To live will be an awfully big adventure."
L'Chaim!
So last night was my last night staying here. I was going to say it's a bittersweet good-bye but not really. It will be nice to spend EVERY night at home in my own bed. I already know the transition back to "normal" is going to take a little while getting used to. I'm already finding it difficult to accept there is nothing due the next week and if I am just sitting having a quiet moment I get anxiety thinking I should be working on something. Must learn to calm down.
If leaving this apartment isn't bitter-sweet, leaving graduate school is. For the first time since I started school way back in Kindergarten, I am going to be DONE with school. Done. At 25 years old. School is kind of like this never-never land where you just sort of hang on to your young adulthood because you haven't yet begun your "grown-up" job. I reflect on peter pan saying "I want always to be a little boy and have fun."
In a way, I want to always stay in school and have my job be only learning. But, that's not reality. It's time to let go of these days of my youth and embrace the on-rushing adulthood.
I am going to miss some things about graduate school.As hard as it has been, I have thoroughly enjoyed it. I will miss my friends and teaching and learning. I won't miss the deadlines or the inane requirements or the stress (Gaa the stress).
And my blog, I will miss that too. I may revive it should there be a night alone in the future.
For now, my last night in this apartment was anti-climatic. Having the flu lends itself only to the adventures induced by large doses of nyquil. (Those can be fun!). I'd like to say something fun and amazing happened last night but, alas, I fell asleep watching re-runs of home improvement.
Thanks to being sick I never enacted my plan of practicing my Spanish late at night by driving around to all the drive-through Mexican restaurants in town. Anyway, since I left my debit card at home that wouldn't have worked out because then I would have had to order and drive off. There would have been a rash of order and drive offs alerting the Mexican restaurant community to some new form of criminal. Eventually they would have found me out and I would have been black listed from Mexican food forever.
It's not worth the risk.
So for now, fare well. These nights alone have been a nice, small adventure.
But, "To live will be an awfully big adventure."
L'Chaim!
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