Lackadaisical Me?

If you are doing therapy “right,” the work of it doesn’t solely happen in the fifty minutes you sit in an armchair and spill your guts. To encourage forward momentum, some practitioners assign homework. Mine has not taken this step, yet I seem to be an entity that once in motion continues.

The reason I sought out a professional was my utter unhappiness with my life, specifically the lack of emotional intimacy, the absence of a collection of people who support me through the rough patches and resilience within myself to make it through hard times. I felt alone, drained and completely unable to figure out how to fix it. I lay the blame for the first to on the doorstep of a society that perpetuates untrue beliefs about disability that form the burier between me and other people. I sought a professional to help me decide if I had to accept that or if I could change it. Somehow. I wasn’t optimistic.

Slightly over two weeks ago, I had a painful conversation with a friend that resulted in a mutual decision to be less in each other’s lives. It left me with one local friend who I can count upon no matter what. I thought I’d be crushed by this fact, but I’ve been oddly curious. I want to know what happens next.

It also appears to be contributing to my growing feeling that I must clear out my life in order to move forward. Anything that isn’t working is vulnerable to being eighty-sixed from my universe. And when I follow that urge, I feel good about the consequences.

At least the immediate consequences. I have serious concerns that I will resolve what I need to in therapy and look up to find my life is gone making me more alone and isolated.

But if therapy works, won’t I have replaced the things that aren’t serving me well with things that are? This clearing of the decks is a way to make the space and free up the energy to build something better, stronger and fulfilling, right? Right?

The weirdest thing has happened. I no longer can even write a sentence about all this that contemplates failure. “When trying to build something better fails” literally feels like a lie. I don’t think it’s a healthy, optimistic perspective so much as faith in a non-disabled, never-treated-a-disabled-person therapist I’ve found. That’s just unfathomable. And possibly a very bad idea. Oh well.

And that’s even stranger. I actually don’t care if I’m making a mistake because it doesn’t feel like a mistake. It feels like I’m a combination of an adventurer and mad scientist. “Let’s see the consequences of these actions and what adventures they bring.”

What is going on with me? Anyone?

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About Jen

After acquiring a degree from Vassar College in psychology, I moved to Western Mass where I ran a peer mentoring network for disabled college students as well as activism and organizing around disability issues. I also conducted research on disabled women’s body image. An Upstate New York native, I eventually followed my heliotropic nature to the sun of Southern California. I divide my time between writing (disability fiction and essays) along with moderating San Diego Bisexual Forum which is one of the oldest groups of its kind in the country. In my off hours I can often be found in my neighborhood live music venue enjoying our local talent.

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