I probably use one or two band-aids a week. Pretty band-aid + Neosporin = quick way to feel better.
I was thinking the other day that the simple act of picking out a band-aid, pulling it out of it’s sleeve, slapping it on—almost a ceremony—leaves me feeling better. And there’s a knowing. I know if I have a cut on my finger that as soon as I put a band-aid on I will feel better. And sometimes I’ll go all day without one, but I’ll look at the little cut when it catches my attention, and wonder why I haven’t gone and put on a band-aid.
I have jealousy on my mind. What is it? Why do we feel it? What’s the message?
Jealousy, by definition, is the fear that someone else will take what you perceive to be yours—you feel jealous when an attractive (better), powerful (better), amazing (better) person is talking to your significant other.
I know the feeling. It sucks. It’s fear and anxiety. Anger, to try to fend off the fear and anxiety. There is certainly a feeling of crazy. Pain, hurt, doom, those come to mind as well. And physically I feel jealousy right in the pit of my stomach. Where it likes to punch me until I feel like even more of an idiot.
I told a story recently about yoga experience that involved a guided meditation. Quick summary: it involved talking to my baby boy, Liam, who passed away in 2005, and some crying. It was, very simply, a healing experience.
What I also mentioned back in that post, somewhat shamefully, is that I watch Grey’s Anatomy. But more importantly it’s that I cry—a lot—while watching Grey’s Anatomy. Over the last couple-few weeks it’s come into my awareness that maybe I count on this show to do this thing for me. Maybe. This is what’s really interesting, though, ever since my guided-meditation-yoga-experience (that’s a bunch of episodes) I haven’t cried during the show.
Lately, in response to this kid acting in very age-appropriate ways, I have found myself dictating open letters to him in my head. For example:
To the free-loading two year old living in my house:
I found the butter knife in the litter box.
Gross, dude. So, so gross. The level of grossness is so great that I think I have to go ahead and throw the knife away.
Stay out of the litter box, for the love.
This is my art process following my yoga process. Following all of that stuff that came together over the weekend.
Part One: Liam
Liam’s been on my mind a lot. I’m really aware of the ten year reunion of his life and really aware that it only lasts for nine months. And this awareness feels important. I’ve put out an intention to check whatever this is out; to be open to…anything.
Part Two: PTSD
On Friday I went to a training for an intervention (SBIRT) and at the very end we touched on PTSD. I was reminded that sometimes people who have been diagnosed with PTSD do not remember the trauma. Or if they do remember it, they don’t perceive it as such. It’s a coping mechanism, right, and it helps people—us—to get on with our lives. So, not remembering and/or not identifying with a trauma—that’s in my head all weekend.