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matrilA few months ago, we bought a swing set for our backyard - a first, since we've never had a yard to put one in before. Luke loves swinging, so we made sure to find a really big sturdy set that wasn't intended for only 80 pound kids and under. We found a great one (not cheap, but that's why we have funding for Luke) and put it together during a single long afternoon after Mark got home from work. The kids love it.
As it happens, so do I. Swinging is one of my favorite soothing, relaxing activities. I suspect that adults who have abandoned it, considering it a childish pursuit, are really missing out. However bad my mood, after a few minutes of swinging everything feels better.
Where am I headed with this? Well, one of the unexpected side effects of my new hobby is noticing the state of our backyard a little more keenly. Before now, I hadn't had much reason to spend a lot of time out there. But now I started seeing that there really were an awful lot of weeds growing everywhere. I've never had to maintain a yard before, and since we moved in last August I've hesitated to do anything, assuming I'd probably pull out some delicate plant while thinking it was a weed.
Then I started to realize (embarrassing that it took this long; apparently I'm a slow learner) that this is my yard, and I can pull out any plants I want, officially weeds or not. Obvious, but for me it was quite an epiphany. If I think it's ugly and want it out, I just pull it, and no one's going to yell at me for it. So once I had a good pair of garden gloves and some clippers, I set to work.
I pulled a lot of weeds. I think I filled about four or five trash barrels full of them, and there's still plenty more. (It would probably be even worse if it weren't for a drought making everything grow a lot less vigorously this summer.) I didn't scrutinize the state of the weeds when we first moved in, so I don't know if this is the accumulation of a year's growth, or even more than that. In any case, there were a lot of very large, ivy-type weeds with enormous roots systems. Often I'd tug on a branch and then follow it a long way to finally find the end of it. And there was something intensely satisfying about yanking the whole thing out and getting rid of it. If I only pulled a branch out, I knew the remaining root would sprout again. So I always tried to get to the bottom of everything.
Hard work, but after a while I could step back and really see a difference. And if I keep at it, the growth will stay under control, making everything easier. Which leads me to a rather tortured metaphor. This summer, I started another kind of weeding. I had my first visit with a therapist.
It's interesting that it's taken me this long to start, because I've always known I would benefit from it. I'm a big proponent of therapy and mental health care in general, in the abstract "it's good for everyone" sense. But doing it myself was a huge hurdle.
The irony is, a lot of the issues that therapy could help me with are also things that kept me from getting there. Here are a few of my anxieties: making phone calls. Making appointments, especially with new doctors. Going to appointments with new doctors. Talking to people. Prolonged social interaction. You can see how this would be quite a challenge for me.
But now, with considerable prodding and help from others, I am finally seeing a therapist. I've only had two visits so far, but so far so good. What about the weeding thing? I figure all these years of dealing with my various stresses - parenthood, autism, the general issues of being an adult - have resulted in a lot of nasty unwanted mental/emotional weeds. They're choking out the good stuff and making me miserable. But they've grown so big, it's going to take a lot of work to dig down to the roots and finally get them out. It'll probably be hard to see the reward right away. Once I start making real progress, though, it'll be a lot easier to root out problems early on rather then letting them grow wildly out of control.
That's the goal, anyway. Maybe I'll have to change the metaphor once I realize what it's really like. In any case, I'm glad I'm doing it even if I'm still currently an anxious bundle of neuroses. And I'm talking about it here because needing therapy is still far too stigmatized, and I want to express openly that I'm really glad to be doing it and not ashamed that I need it. Okay, I know my tiny blog will hardly impact millions, but every little bit helps, right?
(One final note - in the real world of weeding, I managed to acquire just a bit of a poison ivy rash, even after taking every precaution of watching for three-leaved plants, wearing gloves and washing my skin thoroughly afterwards. I'm not sure how that fits into the metaphor of therapy as weeding, but I hope I can avoid the mental/emotional equivalent of poison ivy. It's ridiculously, obnoxiously itchy.)
As it happens, so do I. Swinging is one of my favorite soothing, relaxing activities. I suspect that adults who have abandoned it, considering it a childish pursuit, are really missing out. However bad my mood, after a few minutes of swinging everything feels better.
Where am I headed with this? Well, one of the unexpected side effects of my new hobby is noticing the state of our backyard a little more keenly. Before now, I hadn't had much reason to spend a lot of time out there. But now I started seeing that there really were an awful lot of weeds growing everywhere. I've never had to maintain a yard before, and since we moved in last August I've hesitated to do anything, assuming I'd probably pull out some delicate plant while thinking it was a weed.
Then I started to realize (embarrassing that it took this long; apparently I'm a slow learner) that this is my yard, and I can pull out any plants I want, officially weeds or not. Obvious, but for me it was quite an epiphany. If I think it's ugly and want it out, I just pull it, and no one's going to yell at me for it. So once I had a good pair of garden gloves and some clippers, I set to work.
I pulled a lot of weeds. I think I filled about four or five trash barrels full of them, and there's still plenty more. (It would probably be even worse if it weren't for a drought making everything grow a lot less vigorously this summer.) I didn't scrutinize the state of the weeds when we first moved in, so I don't know if this is the accumulation of a year's growth, or even more than that. In any case, there were a lot of very large, ivy-type weeds with enormous roots systems. Often I'd tug on a branch and then follow it a long way to finally find the end of it. And there was something intensely satisfying about yanking the whole thing out and getting rid of it. If I only pulled a branch out, I knew the remaining root would sprout again. So I always tried to get to the bottom of everything.
Hard work, but after a while I could step back and really see a difference. And if I keep at it, the growth will stay under control, making everything easier. Which leads me to a rather tortured metaphor. This summer, I started another kind of weeding. I had my first visit with a therapist.
It's interesting that it's taken me this long to start, because I've always known I would benefit from it. I'm a big proponent of therapy and mental health care in general, in the abstract "it's good for everyone" sense. But doing it myself was a huge hurdle.
The irony is, a lot of the issues that therapy could help me with are also things that kept me from getting there. Here are a few of my anxieties: making phone calls. Making appointments, especially with new doctors. Going to appointments with new doctors. Talking to people. Prolonged social interaction. You can see how this would be quite a challenge for me.
But now, with considerable prodding and help from others, I am finally seeing a therapist. I've only had two visits so far, but so far so good. What about the weeding thing? I figure all these years of dealing with my various stresses - parenthood, autism, the general issues of being an adult - have resulted in a lot of nasty unwanted mental/emotional weeds. They're choking out the good stuff and making me miserable. But they've grown so big, it's going to take a lot of work to dig down to the roots and finally get them out. It'll probably be hard to see the reward right away. Once I start making real progress, though, it'll be a lot easier to root out problems early on rather then letting them grow wildly out of control.
That's the goal, anyway. Maybe I'll have to change the metaphor once I realize what it's really like. In any case, I'm glad I'm doing it even if I'm still currently an anxious bundle of neuroses. And I'm talking about it here because needing therapy is still far too stigmatized, and I want to express openly that I'm really glad to be doing it and not ashamed that I need it. Okay, I know my tiny blog will hardly impact millions, but every little bit helps, right?
(One final note - in the real world of weeding, I managed to acquire just a bit of a poison ivy rash, even after taking every precaution of watching for three-leaved plants, wearing gloves and washing my skin thoroughly afterwards. I'm not sure how that fits into the metaphor of therapy as weeding, but I hope I can avoid the mental/emotional equivalent of poison ivy. It's ridiculously, obnoxiously itchy.)
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no subject
Date: 2016-08-02 08:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-08-02 09:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-08-03 06:45 am (UTC)This is the first house we've owned, and our old house had a yard which was a total blasted heath because there was a gigantic tree which sucked up everything from the soil, so I've been getting gradually accustomed to remembering to pull the weeds on a regular basis and so forth. Vines drive me crazy because they grow so fast (at least the morning glories invading from the next yard do) but pulling up gigantic dandelions is immensely satisfying. Are you going to plant anything? My kids like low-key things like potatoes and carrots because it's fun to pull them up in the fall and see what's under the soil. Although this year the raised bed we inherited from the previous owners has been taken over by a pumpkin plant which Veronica grew in first grade and brought home as a couple of leaves in a tiny plastic cup. The thing is now an absolute monster with about 15 feet of vine snaking across the end of the yard.
no subject
Date: 2016-08-03 12:31 pm (UTC)