Smile Therapy

 Plenty of stuff floating around in my head which I could write about...

I choose smile therapy...

~*~

I received some candid photos via text last week of me holding my 4-month-old granddaughter in mid-September. I was somewhat shocked. My face looked drawn, wearied, sad. 

This is not who I want to be.

You've been here before; remember? Some years back when you realized you weren't smiling because you were so seldom around people. 

Oh yeah; I remember that...

So, this week I've taken up what I call smile therapy. It's kind of like being aware of one's posture. When you note you aren't standing straight, you pull the imaginary string coming out of the crown of your head to straighten up. I do similar with smiling. When I notice I'm not smiling, I put on the smile. It seems to be helping. (I just web searched "smile therapy." It's a thing. :) Smile Therapy: Harnessing the Power of Grins for Mental and Physical Wellbeing)

My day kinda begins as follows...

I open my eyes in the morning and say, "Another day. I accept my fulltime job - being my own caregiver. It is not selfish; it serves my family. At this point in my life, it is what I have been called to do. This is simply my life." 

 

I tell my self: I am loved and supported. I trust in the healing power of time and self-compassion. I am grateful for all life brings to me.

 

I remind myself of my caregiver role: to direct me to act toward myself as I would toward another who lives with limited function and mobility. I wouldn't condemn them; I'd commend them.  I know how hard it is (physically and emotionally) to simply get out of bed each day; most of those days, alone.

I remind myself to remind myself to smile throughout the day and for my disability part to thank my caregiver part and for my caregiver part to commend and have empathy toward my disability part.

September was a hard month. I suffered multiple days in deep despair. I felt it and let the tears roll. At these times, the temptation to self-loathe visits with its harsh judgment of how little value I have because (for one) I'm not able to serve others like I once did and still want to. During these episodes I seldom reach out. 

Why not? Why do I not call upon folks when in this deep despair? 

• People live busy lives with problems of their own. 
• It's human nature (at least with good humans) to want to help which (too often) leads to someone giving unsolicited suggestions or advice, which leads to me explaining things I've tried and blah, blah, blah. And that's on me. Instead, I could respond, "Thanks. But right now, I'm not looking for suggestions; I just want to be seen." 
• Sometimes (often?) when one is in deep despair, it simply takes too much energy to try to communicate. 

I continually renew my commitment to this job that fell in my lap and one which I can't ignore -- being my own caregiver. Yes, Hubby helps, and without him I would need to hire assistance or move in someone. Hubby is also our breadwinner and is gone 12 hours a day on weekdays (which includes about a 3-hour round-trip commute in heavy interstate traffic), except that he has started working from home one day a week so that I'm not physically alone in the house Monday through Friday.  He usually texts me once and calls me two to three times a day. (He takes good care of me, and for that I am grateful.) Often, he is the only person I hear from through the week, other than spam and medical texts. A few times a month a friend or my children might call. Or I'll call them. 

But, like I stated above, I seldom call when I am in the depths of despair (though my children have invited me, even encouraged me, to do such). I admit, part of the reason for not calling my kids is pride. I want them to be proud of me, but anymore, I too often feel there is so little to be proud of. I have to remind myself of what I have accomplished in my life. The accomplishment I'm most proud of? My children; they are good people.

"Pride" brings to mind a scripture I have adapted to help break my checking-and-rechecking X-Twitter habit (which I don't like at all, but I also understand how and why online life can draw me in):

"All that is in the world, the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the pride of X, is not of the Father, but is of the world." 

I chuckled when I first saw that thought. 

Carol, regardless of what life brings with its sorrows and joys, keep smiling...
You have an abundance to be grateful for... 
And remember, wherever you go you are not alone; you always bring Mia Long...
And sing Ezra's lyrics: "...You're not alone, although you feel alone; you're just like everyone; you're holding on ..."
And remember AAA: Ask. Act. Accept...

~*~

Micheal Franti: Nobody Cries Alone

Crow and I...

 Friday September 13, 2024

I sit on the cushioned bamboo lounger on the screened-in back porch, my legs stretched out before me. Tears roll down my cheeks. Fatigue. Weakness. Pain. Monotony of the day-in, day-out regimen of self-care. And to what end? I feel I make no worthwhile contributions to life. I know that's not literally true, but it is how I feel. 

I've been here so many times before...

If all I do is take care of myself, it's like...

Why?  I'm just maintaining simply to keep maintaining a crippled body that can't shop, cook, clean, do laundry, change linens, garden, tend to our infant granddaughter, engage regularly in conversation, and on-and-on... 

This state of mind is often a result of fatigue -- this focus on my can'ts.  I know why children cry when they're exhausted. It's like an overload; the mind-body simply can't process anymore. The reserves are low or non-existent. 

It's a lovely North Carolina September day, but I have not the energy to take a walk and enjoy it. So, I sit witnessing the songbirds as they drink from the water dishes on the deck and eat the nuts and some of the millet I'd sprinkled earlier. And I cry, questioning my value. 

I get up, make my way to the storm door, and enter the kitchen. I retrieve a glass and fill it with filtered water. I look out the kitchen window from where I can see the deck. A lone crow is drinking from one of the water dishes on the deck floor. I'd filled it with fresh water about an hour earlier. 

As I cry, I counter this feeling of valuelessness with, You would never think this way in your care of another who suffers with a debilitating injury, disease, or disability. You would not think the person is valueless or that your care was in vain. You are your own caregiver, so be kind to yourself as you would another... 

The reminder helps some, but the feeling still lingers. 

As I gaze out the window, my (understandable) self-judgement is confronted, as I witness Crow stagger-walk to a different side of the dish. 

Oh no. He looks like he's injured. 

I witness as he attempts to jump onto the wooden bench built into the deck. Usually crows can hop-fly right up with no problem. But this guy/gal struggles. He eventually makes it to the bench.

He pauses like he has to take a rest. I continue watching through the window. He repeats the same struggle as he stagger-jumps up to the wooden rail where I sprinkle millet and nuts for the wildlife and birds. (It's a decent-sized deck. I usually sprinkle nine different small piles of millet spread out on the deck rails and scatter-place the walnuts and almonds atop the bench and rails. That way, multiple animals can eat without arguing over the feeding stations. Also, with the food spread far apart, it may help prevent the spread of viruses among wildlife.)

Then, Crow stagger-walks a few steps and sits on his belly and starts eating some millet. 

I've never seen a crow do this. They always stand to eat. I wonder if maybe one of his legs is broken or injured though he doesn't appear to be favoring a leg. I also wonder if Crow suffers from a neurological disorder. His stagger kind of reminds me of distemper. But I don't think crows can get rabies or distemper, can they? 

I go quietly back out onto the screen porch. Usually, any wildlife who are eating take off when a human visits the porch during their meals. If the human is already on the porch, the wildlife sticks around. 

But Crow just glances up at me and then returns to eating millet. I take a seat on the chair right beside the deck, still inside the screen. Crow glances up at me again and then returns to his meal. 

I speak to Crow, "Hey there. I'm sorry your injured. I know how it feels man. But we are here together. We are not alone." 

He finishes the pile of millet and then wobbles to the next pile. He doesn't finish it. He turns around and faces me. He then looks down and surveys the bench as he weakly stands. It looks like he wants to jump down, but three times he hesitates deciding the jump is too risky. 

He reminds me of me, the delicate and diligent concentration it takes to maneuver so that one doesn't fall or drop stuff. (When I start dropping things, I know I am trying to move too fast. I often say aloud to myself, "Slow down. I don't have to hurry. I can't hurry.")

I wonder if Crow wants some water., if that's why he was contemplating how to get down off the rail.  Hmmm, maybe I'll put the dish up on the bench later to make it easier for him to drink, if he visits again. 

Next, he stagger-walk-hops to a deck rail that is slightly lower. He pecks around like he's looking for some nuts which have already been eaten by other birds. 

I wonder if he'll stay there if I bring out some almonds?

I make my way back into the kitchen, open the almond jar, pour a few almonds into my hand, and make my way back out onto the porch. He doesn't flinch...until I open the screen door to take the almonds out to the deck. He then flies away with no problem, so I know his wings are okay. 

I guesstimate the whole scenario lasts about twelve minutes. 

Injured crow. 

Not with the flock for he can't keep up. 

Most times in nature, the flock doesn't have the luxury of caring for the injured. 

They have to keep moving; it's about survival.

I have to keep moving to survive.

My tears ceased, I thank Crow for his timed-just-right visit...

Nature has again provided me a companion in my pain and grief...

A companion to remind me I am not alone, even though I may feel alone...

Gold Rush Kid by George Ezra...

~*~

Later that day I place one of the water dishes up onto the bench, just in case my friend returns. Two crows visit, neither one injured. But one of them seems to be trying to pull the water dish from the bench down back onto the deck floor. I chuckle as I watch through the kitchen window. He doesn't succeed. The water bowls are glass pie plates which prove to be too precarious to try to move. I later place the dish back down onto the deck floor. 

I don't witness the injured crow again. I hope he's doing okay.

~*~

I later looked up bird flu. From what I read, crows don't typically get bird flu. But they can get West Nile virus. However, I've not seen in other birds with any symptoms. We clean the pie-plate watering dishes regularly.

~*~

10/26/13...

August 2024 

I reach into the pocket located on the back of the front passenger's seat in Edward the Explorer. I keep maps in that pocket, and a recorder (the flute kind), and a nature book or two. I felt something odd -- a small, glossy-coated, hard square. What is this? I wonder. I pull it out with curiosity.

"Wow..." I hold it up for Hubby to see. 

It's a small handmade (not by me) journal, about 3 inches by 3 inches square. A copy of a painted white peony graces the front cover. The artist's name is handwritten in the lower right corner, "Jean R. Reynolds." The cover is overlayed with clear contact paper giving the cardboard a glossy feel. 

I open it. My handwriting on the inside of the front cardboard cover reads: "Purchased 10/26/13. Art and Coffee Cafe near Massanutten Resort, VA."

"So, I last saw bears in 2013," I say to Hubby. "I was thinking it was 2012 that I took that Massanutten trip. But it was 2013. I guess this journal has been back here for almost 11 years. Wow..."

On that October 2013 visit, I'd seen a cub (or maybe it was 2 cubs) high up in a tree at dusk. I was in my vehicle. I didn't get out; I'm sure Momma Bear was close by. Not did I hang around; Momma Bear could get the best of me even in my vehicle. 

I've been wanting a bear sighting since that last sighting. I hear that this year (2024) there are a plenty of bear sightings in the mountains, but none for me...yet. 

There is only one entry in the journal. Interestingly (to me) it mentions politics. In the last coupleish months, I've found myself, yet again, navigating the poly-ticks (ha ha) of our time. I know I'm not alone. 

In October 2013, I had not yet begun the steroid lumbar epidurals. But I had been properly diagnosed with polyradiculitis in May 2013. (The onset had been the end of April 2011.) So, I was pretty sick with symptoms at the time. August 2013 is when I downsized my pet-sitting business from approximately 180 clients to maybe 20. (I slowly downsized more until I had to close completely around 2018.) The folks who worked for me inherited many of the clients I had to give up. 

Anyway, Poly Rad was the dominant force in my life at the time. And it has been relentless to this day. Some may advise, "Don't say it's the dominant force in your life." But that is my day-to-day reality. I've had to learn to embrace Poly, while at the same time continuing to find ways of relief and living with my limitations. It's probably better said that these "ways" find me. 

With most (any?) chronic illness or disability, isolation is part of the package. That isolation happens for different reasons -- limited mobility, limited energy to engage, folks not understanding the debilitating symptoms which is especially true with a rare disease, and other stuff. One has to learn to evolve from loneliness into solitude. I've made that transition for the most part. I rarely feel lonely anymore. This is simply my life...

So, below is the journal entry, mostly unedited...

I share with a little embarrassment, but it is what is and was what it was...

Maybe it will somehow help someone...

10/26/13

Yet another little journal. I used to be somewhat organized with my journals. Now my scribblings are spread around. 

I have become a loner. I think it is official. 

I'm, I can't think of the word, some "dis" word with Facebook. I don't want to pursue relationships. There was a time when relationships were important to me. But not anymore. The only time or thing I really feel passion about is nature. And I don't get in it that often. I just think about it. 

I feel again that I am unintelligent. 

How can I right my course? Then again, it's not like anyone pursues me. If they did, I'd put my arm up and say, "Back away." 

I desired this loner life, after the Knapp stuff. I now have it. I feel guilty and selfish. What am I contributing anywhere to anyone?

I'm not attached. Except to animals. 

What is the best thing about America? The air quality. Clean water. Roads. Trails. 

What are my thoughts on politics? Large scale, it overwhelms my mind. Like a huge corporation. Poly ticks. 

Politics is like a large debate. What does the word itself mean? "Poli" comes from polis = "affairs of the state." "Ics" = "matter relevant to." So, matters relating to the state or the nation. If I am alive, I am part of a family, community, city, state, nation, globe, solar system, universe. 

Politics itself is the various opinions in the system, the voicing of those opinions, debates to prove their opinions are right.

What is right?

~To deal honestly is right.

~Accountability is right.

~To think of the consequences or our actions is right. 

So, in order to vote I determine who is right. How can any of the people running be right when each has to spend bundles of $$? 

It's a mess.

Religion -- a person's belief system in action. 

I believe it is more important to give than to prove I'm right. 

I'm not a critic. It's something I don't do well -- criticize. 

I can be myself more when I am alone. When with others, my perceived expectations of things can inhibit me. It can even cause me to say things contrary to what I really believe. I get too concerned about another's opinion. 

This online life. It causes disorientation. How can I disentangle? 

I think I tire of talk and debate. I think I look at something and think, "Well, let's fix it." 

And I write some more. 

Well, another weird solo vacation. I guess it was okay. No art. No writing -- or very little. 

I am lost. I am alone, I guess I'll stay that way until I am not. 

~*~

A song came to mind while transcribing the 2013 journal entry. 

It's short (1 minute, 19 seconds) and funny.

Be sure sound is on; for me it comes up muted, and I have to click the unmute icon. 

Also, the captions that show up on Twitter, generated by AI (I reckon), aren't right. Lol.

Hansen is one of my favorite contemporary Chirstian authors... 

Click the link below to hear Brant Hansen sing...

"I'm Right About Everything..."

Below are the correct lyrics... 

By Brant Hansen...

Well, it's hard

Harder than people think

It's rough

Rougher than a kitchen sink

This burden I bear 

To be so unfair

Oh, it's hard to be right 

About everything

I'm right about everything

I'm right even when I sing

Every conclusion that I draw

Every bit of my dogma

Oh, it's a heavy thing

To be right about everything

You can sing along

If you just admit

You are wrong

Thank you for listening

To me being right 

About everything

~*~