Seeing the evidence of her disdain in session, panicky eyes, scrunching face like she’d eaten something rotten, and the defensive tone she used, it was evident how much a client I see hates how their mom nitpicks their clothes choices.
But why, if the mom gets such a negative response from her daughter, does she do it?
So I lob the question out for us to wrestle with and gain some understanding on.
The ideas we find are satisfying; the expectations her mom’s mother and society set for her and how negative attention is still attention.
The latter idea was the client’s, and I praised her for the insight.
“Well, that’s because I’ve been in therapy for two years,” she said, making us laugh.
My writing partner’s comment on my writing exercise was particularly entertaining, “I never thought I’d read a story about the circus teaching panda to become proficient at the guitar using masturbation as their starting point, but here we are. Weirded out, but would read more.”
This line from Passionate Marriage, “We chose masturbation because it was something Carol was already doing,” is what my finger landed on after adhering to the writing exercise’s rules; open up a book to a page and drop your finger blindly and use it as a sentence starter.
I’m keeping seasonal affective disorder at bay by focusing on home improvements. Although small, tonight’s project was painting a four-inch strip of a wall I’d left undone two years ago. Why my past self left the fifteen-minute task unfinished was heavy on my mind with each easy-peasy stroke.
I picked up the Calico Critters from a person on Offerup today. Standing in the home’s foyer, the exchange between myself, the daughter, and the mother was much more than transactional. First, I waved hi to the five-year-boy carrying and looking for someone to read “I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas” to him. But Mom couldn’t; she was too busy showing me how the railing and ladder attached to the house. After that, she pulled out the littlest mouse, proud she’d found its clothing. “Oh,” she said, grabbing a plastic bag filled with accessories, “I was able to find the little pieces of toast for the toaster too.”
It was endearing watching this forty-something-year-old woman grieve the loss of her daughter’s childhood piece by piece. Knowing it was likely hard for her, I made an extra effort to show my appreciation and share what it will be like for Evelyn to receive it on Christmas. As for the woman’s daughter, she could not have cared less about any of it, simply took my money and sent me on my way.
Lastly, I put our foosball table up for sale on Facebook marketplace. One offer piqued my interest, “Play you 2 out of 3. If I win, it’s free. If you win, I’ll pay the asking price.” I initially said no, but then the gambler and competitor in me won out. Whenever he can get his butt over here from Yakima, it’s on!
Time for darts.
Have a nice night. Love, Jaclynn