Saturday, February 19, 2022

 Saturday, February 19, 2022   

    B called again last night, right before I went to bed, to tell me he was in for the night. I'm sure it helped me sleep well. Then I was wide awake a 4 am. I had no particular worries; I just couldn't fall back to sleep.  

    On my morning walk, nothing hurt. Wow! This is good. At the end of the day, I wasn't as lucky. My left foot hurt as I walked. It was my tight calf and thigh muscles. 

     I had a session with the M & W sisters at nine am. There was no response. This was most unusual. M was usually at the computer, ready whenever the invitation went through. At 10 after 9, I texted the mom to say I assumed something had gone amiss; I hoped they were okay. She texted back an apology. The girls were on Oahu with their grandmother.

       I planned to go to Judy and Paulette's to get more Kangen water and drop off my weed whacker, which resides with them, the fruit that Darby had given me, and two BPA-free plastic quart bottles to store their Kangen water in. 

    Paulette took care of the water while I unloaded the other stuff. She asked me to join her on the lanai while drinking her coffee. Their lanai is a special piece of heaven. I wish I had the words to explain why. Ah, maybe because it sits high off the ground and has some of the effects of an infinity pool. But there's more. It's a large pergola with curtains on three sides. It reminds me of scenes from movies about the 18th century. For some reason, open-air dining has always appealed to me, particularly around a table. Anything open-air appeals to me. 

   When I connected with first-grade M; she wanted to play a game. I don't do games, per se. I asked her to suggest something. She proposed a game that was pretty close to Phase I. I love it; she considers Phase I a game. This is what I hope will happen. We did Phase I on high first-grade work. She reread the passage we had read before. She did some excellent decoding and correctly identified the letters.

     With fifth grade W, we started editing her latest story. The others were good right off the bat as she dictated them. There were minor changes that could be made. This story was rough. It was both repetitious and missing information.   I guided her to combine the first two sentences, eliminating one set of repeated information. I could feel the heaviness coming from W. It was like a weight had been hung from her heart. I asked her if I was reading her right. Yes, she hated working on language. Given that she had at least seven more years of school, it would be a good idea to change her feelings. I turned my attention to making it less of a burden for her.   

    While I wanted to help her, nothing came to mind. Yes, there were protocols I knew I could use, but nothing felt right. I wait until I get a clear signal to use an approach with someone. It means I sometimes sit there and do nothing. I've learned doing that has an impact. I'm not quite sure why. I want to think it's because the student sees I won't race in to do anything to fix it but am willing to sit, not knowing what to do rather than doing just anything. I hope it makes them feel seen, heard, and cared about. 

   Using EFT, the tapping method finally came to mind. I composed the setup: even though I am very uncomfortable working with words, I choose to know it's safe. While W didn't object, I don't think she had a clear sense of whether this would be meaningful for her or not. She is not very self-aware. All students learn this from me, whether it suits them or not. I used Pat Carrington's tapping procedure. In the end, I asked her if she felt more relaxed. She said no, not really. This left me not knowing what was going on. Sometimes, just introducing the idea that change is possible is enough. Sometimes the student does it on their own.

    After the session was over, I felt weak. I needed to take the day off. I did nothing for the rest of the day except binge-watch Netflix's, Inventing Anna. Holy cow! How does someone even think of doing something like that? The intelligence, the gall to do something like that, impressive.

  I'm back in a conflicted situation with a therapist. Disagreement about the human condition and the function of therapy. I don't believe this therapist will conclude I have a personality disorder because I disagree with her as the others have. We'll see. If she's not comfortable with my approach, that's reasonable. She has a right to her own opinion and set her limits. My feeling of shakiness was a good sign. I thought I'd let go of something. It's the weakness that comes from releasing a grip.

________-   __________-  __________- ____________- ___________-____________

Belonging

   There are two types of belonging: companionship and identity. They're both important. You can have companionship without identity and identity without companionship. 

    Identity, group identity, without companionship, can be experienced in sport's fan-ship. Someone can identify with a team and be invested in their wins and losses with zero companionship. 

     On the other hand, you can have companionship without identity. I have companionship with Elsa, yet my identity as her human is not a significant factor in my identity.

   My identity as a member of my family of origin was huge. Partly that was forced because I wasn't allowed any other social identity. We weren't even allowed to join the Girl Scouts. I wasn't allowed to hang out with the kids who lived in my building except peripherally when I encountered them in the street. How do I know this was an issue?  

  I did have one good friend. I went to her house to play, and she came to mine. While our parents didn't socialize, we occasionally did things together when the kids were involved. I have no idea why. My best friend from childhood, Mary, told me that my antisocial behavior was weird. I didn't hang out with the other kids, only her. I didn't go into the other kids' homes. 

     They only came into mine once. That was a disaster. They bullied me. Or maybe it was just Sharon. I ran into Sharon as an adult. She told me she was fifteen when she got into her last street fight. Her father was abusive and would come home a beat everyone. 

    The above point reveals that I had no other group identity except for my family of origin. There was companionship there, but it was fraught with tension. However, it wasn't without love and pride. A weird combination.

     With Mike, my relationship was primarily companionship. We provided loving support. We could come home and be appreciated and affirmed. I had some identity as Mike's wife, but it wasn't essential to our relationship. I don't feel the loss of identity. I feel the loss of his affirming love.