August 5, 2015

In a new effort to Get Shit Done, I woke up early and started my day with A Plan.  This plan involved going to the gym early, since today is my busy day.  I feel guilty for cheating on Jake with food and I have decided tomorrow, I need to admit my edible affairs to him.  I’m not stupid, I know that 98 percent of my issue is food.  It was easy losing weight 6 years ago since I was temporarily with my soulmate.  Now my guilty pleasure comes from food, so I work with what I have, I s’ppose.

Working out was pretty ok.  No “red zone” HIIT parts, but I was listening to the book -  as psychologically mind-blowing as it is, I can’t “run” to this.  I need to stop these audio books.   

 

I headed to group, which was amazing.  We are the therapists in the trenches – with sexually abused kids, with unwanted, neglected children, drug babies, drug addicted/alcoholic parents, extreme poverty, amongst the people whose parenting skills are ones you wouldn’t want to use on your dog – because often that is what the parents were taught by their parents.  Or a horrible crime occurs and trauma is experienced.  These are the kids/families we see every day, and I wouldn’t change a minute of it.  Plus, where else will I go to work to find a “vagina” sticker on my desk?  Where else can I set up my Bobby Ewing altar?  This place is certainly unique.

Group was with 6 guys, most, if not all, former juvenile hall visitors, and naturally in classic form, I am wearing a skirt in which the slip keeps bunching up, the bra is squishing  all sorts of overgrown stuff together and then the water bottle keeps shooting out water, so it looks like I’m lactating.  Not my best moment, but hey – I am chilllllll……  Just act as if nothing is happening and carry on.  Right?

Home for quick dinner stuff (I’m recreating my love of PBJs) and then back for last group.  It was an interesting dynamic, and hearing the sorties of foster moms, of abused moms who live in shelters, of parents with little to no resources makes me so incredibly grateful – that yes, I left a job where I was paid more as a teacher’s aide as I worked on my master’s than I’ll actually be paid once I have the dual master’s, but really…I was making copies, versus helping these kids, these parents find new ways to cope with the truly shitty hand they have been dealt and come out stronger, more successful individuals.  Worth it?  You bet.

Picture:   In proper Texan form, I built a Bobby Ewing altar at work; Jen grants me my vagina sticker: a thistle from camping - or - honoring Eeyore.