Thursday, March 14, 2024

  Thursday, March 14, 2024

 

I had a good night's sleep but felt lousy for most of the day. I thought I had a sinus headache, or was it a mild stroke. I had several days of feeling lousy in the morning, perking up in the afternoon and evening. What was going on? I had bouts of mild nausea, which moving made worse. This had been going on for at least a week. I finally checked if there were any negative side effects to creatine. I started using it on the advice of Huberman of Huberman podcasts. He said it was the one must in his life. I took it without question. It's for building muscle mass for bodybuilders. Huh?

   I scheduled three activities for nine am: The 80s Club Zoom meeting, a tutoring session with 26-year-old S, and a session with Shelly. I had written 3/9 next to Shelly's name, meaning three o'clock her time/nine o'clock mine. However, I had put her name in the ten a.m. slot. In the name of caution, I canceled my participation in the Club meeting and asked S if she could make it at 11:15. It all worked out, except that I continued to feel lousy.

   My appointment with Shelly was at ten a.m., not nine. I was somewhat concerned when she didn't call at nine. I always think something bad happened.

   The work I did today was important. Earlier in the week, I felt I could sit with a personal attack without becoming defensive and combative. I have never had enough control of my fear to conceive of doing that. This reactivity is the sole reason I have stayed in therapy for my whole life.   My reactivity was the reason I decided at 18 never to have children. I had lived with my mother's reactivity and never wanted to subject a helpless child to that experience; the abuse would stop here. As an adult, I realized I also spared myself. Who would want to be that person? I didn't. Although it never seemed to bother my mom. She thought it was a good way to be. When she lived with me for the last eighteen years of her life, she once wondered if being less combative was a good thing. Oh, boy!'

    I worked with a few images with some surprising results. First, I thought of the Gokhale instructor I had for the individual online sessions at a mere $200 an hour. She worked strictly from a script. She was incapable of making adaptations. How was this a personal session? It was a private viewing of a public presentation. I've seen teachers of whole classrooms make more adaptations to their audience. I considered reporting the service. (I stopped the private sessions and used the balance of the money to sign up for in-person group classes. The teacher of these group classes was as good as the other was bad.)  my response when thinking of this failed teacher was sadness. I felt so bad about needing to reject her. I prefer being a loving, accepting person. I like people. I find everyone interesting. I find anyone who enjoys my presence a delight to be with. I'm out of there when I find people don't like me. I love working out differences; I learn more about others and myself. It's so enriching.  

   At any rate, I felt sad I couldn't be a loving, accepting person with the teacher of the individual classes. I struggled for several sessions about how to get out of the situation. I finally realized I could call the Gokhale customer service agent and cancel. I didn't have to shove it in the instructor's face. It still made me feel so sad. I  prefer being accommodating. I think I'm enriched by it, not lessened. But this situation, like others in my life, was too much. I was spending $200 an hour caring for someone who was supposed to help me. I still struggle with it.

   Next, I had a therapist who was a real doofus. She had me all wrong. I don't mean her judgment of me was wrong, even though I thought it was. I mean, she had the facts wrong. However, she believed she could divine everything. She certainly thought I wasn't a good source of information about myself. I knew why I continued with her; she didn't. But I still chafe when I think of her. I envision running into her. It's not a comfortable interaction.

     I look forward to the point where I can be genuinely neutral. I want to achieve equanimity before I die. It's a life goal.

   Then I thought of my mom, my poor mom, with all her life traumas. 

I felt so sad I wasn't able to be what she needed. Her needs were contained for the last 18 years of her life, and I was balanced; we could be good enough with each other to make a joyful situation.

    During our session, I wasn't at my best with twenty–six–year–old S. I had her reread the first-grade story she read on Tuesday. I emailed it to her after our session. She had actually asked me to. Her sister only printed it out yesterday. She had only reread it once. I proposed she work on it for Monday. I hope she will prepare the story to read to her three-year-old daughter. The story is in a published book with pictures. When she reads the story with me, it's just the words. I proposed formatting my printed version of the book so she could illustrate it with her daughter. She said the three-year-old couldn't draw. I said, "She could tell you what to draw." She thought it might be fun to do. Great!

   When I checked my updates the other day, I had lost six days work. They mysteriously disappeared along with entries for February I had already run through Grammarly and emailed. I had mixed feelings about the loss. One feeling was, "Yay! Less work!" Today, they all reappeared. Oh, dear. Now, I was way behind.