Self-Care Daily Assessment

My therapist, Faith Gallup, is big on self-care.  When we started meeting over three years ago, I thought she was a little strange because of her therapy techniques.  Turns out I had to learn a new way to approach healing.

Faith has a lot of tools in her arsenal.  She whips out papers from inside her desk the moment a possible helpful exercise pops into her head.  I've been a grateful recipient of her insight and ability to present stuff I don't want to do.  She speaks softly to my scared inner child and tells me that I don't have to do it if I don't want to.  I usually do it because I know it will be good for me and I know God prompted her.  I'd be lying if I didn't say I've not always done it or done it but not enjoying it.

However, there are occasions when my mood is not sour or pushing back so hard.  Those times make it much easier to learn and apply what she is teaching me.

Self-Care?  Yes, now I get it.  I get it because she points out every time I am using great self-care in whatever is going on in my life.  It could be as simple as taking a shower or as complex as driving to the behavioral hospital and admitting myself.  Most of the time, I don't even know I'm changing from harmful-care to self-care or from others-care to self care.

Because I'm in the beginning stages of what I call "permanent self-care", I created a daily self-care assessment worksheet.  I'm big on charting because I have a tangible way to record my activity (or inactivity).  This has taken about 2 weeks (yes, while I've been sick my brain has still been active) to brainstorm what MY self-care looks like.  Feel free to download and tailor it for your use.  I used Microsoft Office Excel 2016.

Self-Care Daily Assessment Worksheet

You can add categories:

• Feelings I Had Today
• Number of Days Clean and Sober
• Relaxation Activities (Coloring, Play-Dough, etc)
• Anxiety and/or Panic levels
• Did I laugh today?
• What Risk Did I Take?  The Result?
• Did I give or receive my 8 required hugs for the day?

A wide variety of self-care items can be recorded and talked about in your therapy session especially if you have difficulty remembering the previous week like I sometimes do.

That's where I plan to use mine!!

Here's a song that tells us where our real help comes from, who really empowers and bestows wisdom into the ears and minds of our Christian therapists and who we need to allow to help us.  

Above all others....It's Jesus.

Longing to be Loved

For the last few weeks I've been having daily migraines with the exception of four days.  Since last week I've been nursing the cold of all colds.  My body is tired from fighting physical pain and drained from the fever and all other ailments related to a cold.

I've still been saying to God, "Here I am, still ready for Your whisper and still listening for the Holy Spirit to reveal what's next."

The answers I've been seeking led me to a place I did not expect to go.  My emotions, while being sick, have wanted a Mom to take care of me.  To sit with me, to rub my back, to sing to me and to bring me soup.  I have early memories of my mom doing all those things.  I have emotions of feeling loved by her.

As I grew more independent those special moments faded.  As the alcoholism in our home grew more violent, my needs were never more considered.  I wanted to be the child who felt loved and was taken care of properly.  Not abandoned or neglected or abused or abused because I protected my sisters and Mom from him.

No, I wanted what my friends seemed to have.

When I look at how my sisters and my friends take care of their children, I wish with all my heart that I could have had that love, protection and care.  But that wasn't the case.

To be a child who received what she needed means those who were in charge of my well being had to be the adults they should have been.  And in my home, eventually, no such person existed.

I am naturally drawn to women (my close friends) who are great moms.  I admire the way they care for their children, especially when their children are struggling or in denial about the truth.  Some of them have said, "Amy, I wish I would have been your mom."  I feel instantly guilty and embarrassed.  It catches me off guard so I ask, "Why?"

"I would have protected you," is the most common response.  There have been other responses but that's the one that sticks in my head.  They are very sincere and I know it's a tender moment between us.  Tender feelings make me want to runaway.  I'm afraid, at this stage in my life, to have women console my pain.

My mom is still here.  Our relationship has healed a lot.  Since I've been on my own so much, I don't think I can let those words ("I would have protected you") from others, even though I do not doubt their sincerity, enter into my heart.  I love and treasure my Mom.  We've forgiven each other.  We have a beautiful friendship and she's my hero.  It's not perfect but we've come a long way.

Yes, I long to be loved deeply but that kind of love comes from God and I still struggle with receiving His love.

I do not open up past friendships where wounds from others have been closed and remain a scar.

I don't know if it's God's will to heal this hurt on earth and I'm more afraid of making a mistake than I am of hearing Him say, "This friend's for you, too."  I don't know what to do with that because I don't want to make a mistake.

I hold my friendship with my mom and sisters closely.  I ease into new friendships cautiously.  I have two handfuls of friends whom I hold loosely yet trust them explicitly.  I ask questions to those who want to be my friend out of curiosity.  I allow women I feel safe with to touch my face (where my Dad would strike me), to touch my head (where my Dad would shove or slam me), to give me a hug or be near to me (where my Dad would beat me) and to hold my hands and draw me close (where my Dad would stare into my eyes challenging me to fight him).

The longing to be loved will always be a chasm.  I doubt I will fully believe God loves me until Jesus takes me home and God takes my chin, tilts up my head (because I'll be looking down), looks into my eyes and says so.

In the meantime, I be the gentle soul God kept safe inside me.
I talk my walk and share my walk with friends I've grown to love and trust.
Healthy friends and a healthy me who depends on far less than they ever give.

It's really that simple.

Growing up feeling unloved can leave a chasm in your soul.  God is the only one who can fill it completely so in the meantime, breathe in the love your friends give you.  Sometimes, they help you sustain life.

The Tarnished Ring

When I gave my sin and the control of the rest of my life to Jesus Christ in March of 1988, I wanted to wear something that symbolized the permanence and importance of that decision just for me. I saw people wearing a cross around their neck and yet I didn't know what that meant to them. Is it a piece of jewelry that is a cool thing to wear or is it a clear representation of a new life that has gotten a restart on the earth and heaven beyond?  

I wanted to make sure that what I had for myself was an unmistakable proclamation of the spiritual transformation that took place in my life.  I drove to a local Christian bookstore that had these kind of symbols. Since I was single, I decided a ring on my left ring finger would be perfect. I looked at the different types of rings and found the perfect one.

I wore that ring every day for many years until my weight had gotten so high that the ring no longer fit on my finger. I put it someplace safe and have taken it out from time to time to look at it.

It's a sterling silver ring. You may already know that silver is the softest metal and cannot be enlarged because it will break. I've had goals of losing weight just to be able to fit in that ring but those goals never worked out.  I never lost the weight and the ring was beginning to tarnish.

With all that's been going on in my crazy life, I decided to pull out my ring yesterday.   Even though it was tarnished I put it on my finger. It still doesn't fit. I still have to lose more weight. But I felt a sense to put it on my finger when I went to Bible study. During the worship, I was feeling something because I had my arms hugging myself.  As the music played I began to cry again. I don't know what happened but when I sat back down at our table and I glanced at my ring - the tarnish was gone!

The only way I can explain it is that God wiped it away. Maybe that's something he's trying to tell me. I don't have to be perfect and shining all the time. I can be tarnished with little chips and still have high value to Him.   

After bible study, I still took my ring into our local jeweler for a free cleaning.  When I took it off my hand and put it on the counter I could see that the lady was looking at it and wondering why it needed to be cleaned. At that moment God reminded me that when I ask Him for forgiveness and I still feel guilty about it and I keep going back to him asking for forgiveness again for the same thing, he's looking at me and saying,"What are you talking about?  I don't see this sin that you say you committed anymore. It's been washed away by the blood of Jesus Christ."

The tarnish or stronghold is not the definition of who I am. Underneath is who God created me to be. And I need to start remembering that in this life the enemy is going to bully me to such a degree that I can become paralyzed in reckless behavior. I don't want that.

Now I can look at my ring and see sanctification.

Dear Dad,

Today is the eight year anniversary of your death.  I've written about this day for many years.  I wonder what God will reveal to me this year.

Did you know you had good character traits that you passed onto me?  You told me how smart I am and to embrace my intelligence. You taught me how to have a hobby, fishing, one I can do by myself (or with you).  You gave me my first job by working alongside you, pulling a big hose to spray on houses that had bees. You taught me the value of a hot dog and a coke without unnecessary conversation.  You showed me how to cut grass evenly so that the lines would be straight.  You taught me how to drive and I've never been in an accident I caused.

You taught me to respect my elders by saying, "Mr. or Mrs.".
I understood the importance of becoming a respectable and responsible adult.  I learned to be a person of my word.  I even saw you cry.

There's no denying the abuse that you dealt to my body, mind and spirit changed me.  It damaged me emotionally and confused me. One minute you were my Dad and my friend.  The next minute I didn't recognize you and I feared you.  Unfortunately, the latter was sealed into the depth of my soul.  Being your daughter was no longer safe.  I was no longer desired by you and that truth cut deeply.

How many times had we been on again, off again in our relationship?  Too many to count.  It was hard on me, not knowing what to do and what not to do.  It seemed nothing I tried worked.  It was hard as a child and as an adult.  It's as though there were rules you placed upon our relationship but you never shared them.  Your inability to honestly communicate caused trouble in my life.  Trouble I'd like to keep to myself.

I am feeling a mixture of emotions.  Glad you can't hurt me anymore.  Sad I can't stop over for a Mug root beer and shoot the breeze.  Knowing the abuse and harm you did to my little body causes me to feel downcast - I did nothing, at any time in my early years, to deserve such physical destruction. Even though you told me how smart I was, I've never felt confident in my abilities.

Yesterday, I was invited to witness a young man's confirmation of his Catholic faith.  I'm still surprised when people want me to attend a special event in their lives.  I'm not sure I'll ever feel worthy of their friendship or support.  I think that's because I've lived life close to my chest - happy on the outside but angry and guarded on the inside.

I was told to wear what I was comfortable in.  I wore my usual:  jeans, Minions t-shirt, Judson University hoodie and black DC's.  I was going to sit in the back by myself but my friend spotted me (darn!) and she and another friend invited me to join them down front.  I stepped out of my comfort zone - the church was a full house.  As I was walking toward my seat I saw my friend's Dad.

I think I met him for the first time in May 2014 at the Memorial Day Parade.  As she introduced me, I prepared myself to reach out and shake his hand, make eye contact and hold a firm grip.  That's something else you taught me.  I wasn't sure he remembered who I was so as I was still standing and our eyes met, he stood up and I said, "Hi Mr. (name and we shook hands).  I'm not sure you remember me but my name is Amy and I'm a friend of (her name)."

You know what happened, Dad?  He smiled, released our handshake and then took his right hand and placed it on the back of my head then jostled my hair.  I almost started to cry.  I have a fear of certain men, especially men whose exterior looks tough.  Her Dad gave me some gifts that I'm sure he's not aware of:

1. God used him to show me that not all men strike girls when they reach out their hand.
2. God used him to show me that men can express tenderness to their daughter's friends.
3. God showed me that there's a little bit of you still here on the earth because that's exactly what you'd do to me often, especially when you were proud of me.

There's a thousand things I could say about that awful day I received the phone call about your death and the awful day after.  But I've already written those in past blogs.  Nothing I say today can take away the heartache I feel having been robbed of being able to say goodbye to you before you died.

You are gone.

I am here.

The truth will come out.

The truth will set me free (John 8:32).

I hope you are living in Heaven.

I'd like to see you as God created you to be.

No alcoholism.

No abuse.

Your loving daughter,

Amy

This is the song my Dad gave to us as an expression of his heart.  It was on a cassette.

The Chicken Story

I haven't self-injured since February 7th.  My mouth has not been absolved of the temptation.  I'm quick enough to catch it and more aware of when it's likely to happen.

This past week I've had a headache or a migraine every single day.  I'm going to call a neurologist but I'm not sure I want to jump into another ailment.  At the moment, I have enough going on without adding another pill regiment that could or could not interact with the medication I'm already taking.  Did you hear that?  I've already talked myself out of it for fear of making matters worse.  Not a great leap of faith.

I'm trying to lose weight which is the strongest stronghold I have.  I know I need to let God remove it because I am failing by trying to overcome it on my own.  I'd rather be stuck in a stadium packed with people than have this 100 pounds removed.  As an introvert, that's saying something.  So I lose weight, gain weight.  Then I get mad at myself.  I don't know why I do this but I do.  Actually, it's because I'm not ready to lose the padding that keeps me (here's the lie) safe from being hurt by the people I let into my crazy little world.

OF COURSE THEY CAN HURT ME!

By accident, not on purpose.  They take the same risk with me.  I'm sure I've said something that hurt someone.  Probably a skinny person.  :)

The chicken story.

Changing what and how much I eat is easy on some days and hard on others.  Depends on what kind of bull crap I'm believing in my head.  I have got to get my head thrown onto the throne of God's grace.

I thawed out a package of chicken.  It needed to be cooked.  Last night I prepared the pan, made sure the oven was at the right temperature and in went the chicken.  I have no timer on the oven and I just threw away the broken clock in the living room so I depended on my phone.  Rather than setting a timer (hint hint) I made a mental note (bad move) and laid down on the couch to watch tv.  I woke up at 12:30 a.m. with no memory of putting it into the oven.  Down to my bedroom I went and fell back to sleep.

I did not think about the chicken until I woke up this morning.  No, the working smoke alarms were not going off as much as my panic was running down the hallway.  When I caught up to it there was nothing.  No smoke.  No smell of anything burning.  Nothing.

I opened the oven door and the whiff of cooked chicken filled my nostrils.  I took it out, lifted off the aluminum foil I had covered it with and voila!  Perfectly cooked chicken with no sign of any harm.

Only God.

Maybe God is trying to tell me eating healthy is a good choice.
Maybe God is trying to show me that cooking for myself is not that hard.
Maybe God is whispering to me, "C'mon Amy.  Let's do your weight loss together.  You don't have to go it alone."

My oven could have caught on fire - God didn't let that pass through His hands.

Instead, He let me sleep and enjoy a perfectly delicious meal with His protection surrounding me.

He's nice like that!!