The journey of healing from painful experiences is truly an “inside job”, yet one that is absolutely worth it, and this how a seasoned, 30 year veteran in the field of Mental Health was able to do this for themselves. This memoir and skill building guide is an honest, real-life story of an empath and healer of embarking upon this very journey, and how they have led countless others through theirs’. A funny, poignant and enjoyable story and a well-constructed guide to skills and tools to help people recover from trauma. A riveting read and a helpful road-map to evolving beyond one’s past hurts and traumatic experiences to pursue a life worth living.
The journey of healing from painful experiences is truly an “inside job”, yet one that is absolutely worth it, and this how a seasoned, 30 year veteran in the field of Mental Health was able to do this for themselves. This memoir and skill building guide is an honest, real-life story of an empath and healer of embarking upon this very journey, and how they have led countless others through theirs’. A funny, poignant and enjoyable story and a well-constructed guide to skills and tools to help people recover from trauma. A riveting read and a helpful road-map to evolving beyond one’s past hurts and traumatic experiences to pursue a life worth living.
Adventures in Emotional Alchemy (Stranger Than Fiction: You Can’t Even Make This $#!T Up)
FROM THE BEGINNINGS
I guess it makes sense to start at the very beginning. I am a female, the youngest of 2 children, born in the 1970’s in New York, to a couple who both had troubled childhoods, with various forms of neglect and abuse - having been raised by generations of grandparents from Eastern and Western European exoduses, escaping persecution and Eugenics - and parents who survived the Great Depression. I come from stalwart stock, indeed. My parents did their best to try to raise us, but they kinda got stuck in the 60’s with all its “better living through chemistry” flourishes, and in those times, children were to be “seen and not heard”. My household was one of extremes – either extreme silence and emotional neglect, or moments of physical discipline, fault finding, mixed messages and repetitive criticism. This was what my parents were given in their environment, and each generation did the best they could, with what they had in regard to knowledge and resources. Praise was a rare yet coveted occurrence in those times. And I understand better why that was the case now…
A fun fact about my lineage, which makes sense to share here, is that I eventually traced my “genogram” for my clinically minded readers, or “family map” back four generations. I had to do this as an academic exercise required in graduate school in my early 20’s…In the four generations I captured, I decide to “color code” my map, for members of my family who had gambling problems, drug or alcohol problems, legal problems, mental health problems, etc…This map looked like a twisted Christmas Tree, thus why I say, “you can’t make this $#!t up”! So, had I known way back when, what I know now, I wouldn’t have doubted for a moment that the path I am on was distinctly made for me…From a long line of “in-laws and outlaws” including bootleggers during the Era of Prohibition…From all this, World, here I am - the one to turn such adversities into victories!
One of my earliest memories is being at our doctor’s office at maybe 18-24 months of age and being bored in the waiting room. I decided to talk to people, putting my hands on people’s knees asking each person “Whacha name?” and waiting for them to tell me while smiling at them. I asked all of the people sitting, then I addressed the one man standing up by the door, asking “Whacha name?”…He looks down at me, says, “I don’t know”, so I glibly reply, “What tha’ fuck are you, an idiot?”… My mother was mortified that I spoke to our pediatrician that way, and I could feel afterwards that I had displeased and shocked my doctor, being so precocious and impetuous…Who to thank? My older brother since he knew I was a parrot of anything he said…I look up to him still, just differently now.
I feel it important to mention that my brother and I had an oddly supportive, yet competitive relationship in our childhoods…I idolized him, feared him and emulated him, since he was so smart, clever, funny and a Machiavellian mischief seeker, and a tad OCD about his room - rigged to alert him if anyone went into his space (scapegoat yet, also hero, such polarity)…I love him dearly, and even in moments we clashed, I felt the need to look out for him too…
Another funny story I remember, was when I was about 3, maybe 4 years old…Back in those days, many parents got “glamor shots” of their kids, professional photos with a camera with actual film in it, which parents would keep forever to remember how their kids were once small and cute…The day before I was going to pose for these pictures, my brother, possibly “salty” about the attention this brought me, took a pair of Crayola scissors and cut my hair in the front, diagonal fringe which looked absurd. My dad was going to “let him have it” with some kind of physical discipline, but I boldly stood in front of my brother and told Dad “Don’t hurt him!”…Always the mediator and peacekeeper, and the comic relief as the “mascot” of the family…I remember posing for the pictures with a large Kermit the Frog doll, but not how they disguised my goofy looking hair.
Another early memory I can conjure of my bold independent spirit, was the first and only time I earned a justified “slap in the face”, from my mom…It was the early 70’s and in the news was story after story of child abductions, but of course I didn’t know or understand that then. My family took a trip to Modell’s one day (a department store), I think to look for some piece of furniture…boring…I decided to wander off to the pet section of the store, and look at all the colorful fish in the fish-tanks…Eventually as I gazed at the fish, some older man approached and started to talk to me…My mom swooped in moments later, grabbed me by the hand, led me out of the store, and smacked me in the face saying “Don’t you ever walk off on me again!”…I know now she was terrified of what could have happened, and message received…I never walked off in stores from my parents again, and I never got hit ever again…
My mom and I have always had a complicated relationship. I know she loves me, yet wasn’t given the example to nurture in the ways she wasn’t, and that sometimes leads to an awkward dynamic…I also know that she expects me to be open, honest and vulnerable with her - to see things and do them her way, yet I’ve been independent for so long, and received so many mixed messages that I “chose and choose my own adventure”, whether others like that or not, which I think she would like to do more of, but she leads with fear a lot…And I now realize I can let her give effort to be more giving and nurturing to me, if I let her, without allowing any crossing of my necessary boundaries…I can listen, and respond, yet not cross ethical lines with regard to my current day profession. My clinical peeps, you know this drill, and what I’m saying…
We’re all required to chase approval or attention in order to survive as babies, then children, to some extent, because we cannot yet provide for our own needs…For my clinical peeps again, think Maslow…Hierarchies of needs: physiological, safety, love and belonging, esteem and self- actualization (Simply Psychology, 2024). When stuck (temporarily) in realities in which our needs depend upon others, we learn to “go along to get along”. Choose your proverbial “weapon” – fight, flight, freeze or fawn - to get the need met…Mom’s was fawn or fight, mine fight or flee then fawn, Brother’s was fight then flee, Dad’s flee or fight …I see that I was led to “take what I like and leave the rest” from her example. Being loving, giving, incisive and discerning, yet also more self-advocating for my boundaries…eventually.
Dad was away a lot working and other things, kinda self-focused, having had a very stern dad who would hit with a belt if either he or my uncle, a few years older than dad, got “out of line”. My brother used to get hit a bit when he was little, but Dad eventually laid off of that approach, and never did that to me…He would come get rid of spiders in the middle of the night from my wall if I asked him, usually terrified. He also used to be a short-order cook a long time ago, so he made the best “French Toasted Bagels” for breakfast sometimes. He occasionally showed some caring and interest in his own way…I know to some, this next recalled early life memory will be, like the title says, “Stranger Than Fiction”, but remember, I am in no place to judge anyone else, and I can’t control it, should you choose to judge me. I put that out there as a “you-issue, not a me-issue”, no more “shame in my game”…Here goes.
Anyway, I must have been about 2 years old, and I was sitting at the kitchen table with Dad…He was concentrating hard, working on carefully separating stuff on the table with his fingers - something green with little seeds that looked like beads, which I loved in jewelry, so I wanted to help him separate the little bead-like seeds from the other stuff…I watched for a brief moment then said, “Dad, can I help?”, and he smiled and said, “No Ronet, I got it”…Ronet was my nickname my parents called me…Another odd and connected story was, where the nickname came from. A song, “Blinded By The Light” by Manfredd Mann…There’s a verse repeated “revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night”…My folks had a lot of beady seedy stuff around, so this was a misheard offshoot…”Ronet in the night”, must’ve been good $#!t!
Dad’s being more aloof, my interpretation soon became, “I wasn't worthy” of his attention, so I looked to prove otherwise somehow, as I later blossomed into womanhood …I chased that approval through finding (usually) older men, who were also emotionally unavailable, in my late high school to graduate school days, mirroring this in relationships... The “fellowship of the dead-ringers”, if you will. I also was sure to put up my walls, by “flipping my internal script” to (not a direct quote): “Men are like Kleenex – soft, strong, and disposable” – any fans of the Movie “Clue” (Paramount Pictures, 1985), would know the reference…My knowing how to relate to men served me well, once I leveled up my true confidence beyond my outdated cockiness – all that energy and time spent, overcompensating for my painfully low self-esteem...
Flashing-back, my first brushes with curiosity about, and interest in boys, being a heterosexual, started around age 5 for me…While other kids felt the opposite sex had “cooties” I had my eyes on a boy in my class, Darryl, whose parents happened to have connections to my parents from their childhood neighborhoods…He had red hair, blue eyes, freckles and was really cute and athletic…I was dark haired and, like many others, “gentlemen prefer blondes”, and so I pined sort of silently… At the same time, there was another classmate, Damian, who I think in hindsight, had a crush on me, since he used to chase me around on the playground and made fun of me…I wasn’t sure why I didn’t give him a chance, but he didn’t interest me, and one day on the playground, when he was chasing me, in an instant, I decided to stop running, about face, then stick my fist out, and lo and behold, he ran right into me, getting socked in the face…He stopped chasing after that…I did apologize, then walked away…I often felt “less than”, amidst the teasing from my peers, and rejections from boys, which I see now as moments of “divine protection”, but back then, it just hurt…full stop.
I thought that I’d need a “gimmick” to look more mature, and a way to curb my appetite, so I started smoking cigarettes at age 12, initially sneakling them from my parents, then buying them with my allowance, until I got my first real job at 14, a grocery store called Waldmaum’s…Back then, there were no laws on the books that said I couldn’t. I still smoke to this day… it started 2 packs-a-day Marlboro Reds, then a pack-a-day Reds, then 2 packs-a-day Marlboro Lights, then a pack a day lights, then menthols, menthols, and more menthols…Kool, and Newports and Capri’s, now Pall Mall White 100’s – those Capri toothpicks cost more than the “fat cigarettes”…I could’ve bought a house and maybe a car too with all that dough… it’s helped keep my “boat afloat” along with coffee for decades…My grandma gave me my first “light and sweet” coffee, mostly milk and sugar when I was 5, ‘till I really got a taste for it.Now, I like mine sweet with Stevia, and light with unsweetened Coconut Silk. I finally got caught smoking at 14…
This “cut-away” is another funny anecdote…When I was 14, my parents and I went to Club Med at Paradise Island in the Bahamas, while my brother stayed home alone. I remember this trip quite fondly, as I got some time to myself with my parents, having a ball meeting people and enjoying the resort – especially the G.O’s “Gentle Organizers”, the staff, like “camp counselors”, there to give the guests a good time…Think, “Dirty Dancing” (Emile Ardolino,1987), which happened to come out the year before our trip…spoiler alert, it wasn’t all that, but it was delicious…
I had my eyes on one of the male GO’s, and he was a “looker” and a charmer…I’ll call him, ”M”…He had beautiful green eyes, thick eyelashes, and wavy, thick, light-brown hair and an athletic body…My heart skipped a beat when he danced with me one night at a “White Party” - I felt like the “belle of the ball”, as my parents let me “do my thing”, and I was hooked – line and sinker…We talked a few times before and after this…Later the next morning, I sat in the large breezeway area, at some tables by the bar area, which I drank a bit from other nights, with the all-inclusive bar-beads they gave all us “happy campers”, no drinking age, woohoo!
Well folks, that morning I was sitting with my “light and sweet coffee” - and my pack of Marlboro lights…I was enjoying listening to the staff BS amongst themselves and watching them, as there weren’t any G.M.’s or guests around, each of the G.O.’s more vibrant and attractive than us “G.M.’s”…Then all of the sudden, guess who walked in? Oh yes, it was M…that captivating older man, what can I say, I have a type. He sauntered over to me and asked if he could join me, and I happily welcomed him…I was invigorated, mesmerized and petrified all at the same time, with “butterflies” in my stomach…My hand was shaking as I put down my coffee cup, took out a cigarette and I fumbled with my matches. I knew he saw this, and I could tell he wanted me to feel at ease…M, being dashing and debonair as HELL, said to me in his deep voice “Can I help you with that?”, and as I lowered my eyes for a moment, he took my matches and confidently lit a match, and my cigarette…I was in heaven at that moment…Then I playfully French-inhaled and blew out a smoke ring or two…Just before we left, having to take a charter boat to the airport, M was at the docks, and he gave me a (closed-mouth, but wonderful) kiss goodbye…He knew I was underage…I was bit bolder, yet still not confident…
Flashing-forward 2 years later and beyond from the trip, came another source of overwhelming self-doubt, when I was a sophomore in high school and was infatuated with a freshman guy Derek (only one of two men I ever liked who were younger than me). We happened to have friends in common, I was friends with his sister, and I also thought his older brother was cute…Neither the freshman, nor his older brother had any interest in me, yet eventually my friendship with the freshman would get “complicated” when we lost our virginity to each other…a milestone I had built up in my mind and emotionally, since the days of Darryl, only for it to be anti-climactic physically, not to mention the emotional aftermath. Reason being, was the freshman denied to all having had that exchange with me altogether…talk about invalidation, and an emotional “gut punch”…
I also remember around that time having been bullied by a younger girl (yet another M) Marysue and her “minions”, who was infatuated with Derek...In my senior year, Marysue” had my car keyed by her minions, since she knew I had liked Derek, and she tried to intimidate me by threats of violence…One, day, feeling scared and fed up, I brought small knife to school, (a 3-inch non-serrated steak knife) tucked in my MC jacket pocket, which I brandished when her toadies bumped into me in the hallway and threatened me. I was later called into the Principal’s office, but since I was an honors student and he didn’t know me by face, the Principal believed my version of what happened, and that “I took umbrage at his implication that I would be accused of such a thing”…and Marysue and her minions backed off…
Back in those days, I also had a huge crush on one of my brother’s friends who lived in our neighborhood, and was older than my brother, who was by then, an alumni of our High School Choir… Mark was more cerebral, a brunette and a pianist (I love musicians, I guess). He was nice to me, but really not interested due to my age, and my brother being his friend…I scratched his initials into my skin, superficially, which is barely visible on my left wrist, but I know it was there…I also started writing poetry since middle school into high school, mostly about crushes, worries and woes…a lot of lack and scarcity thinking...Being on the cusp of 50 now, and having moved around a lot, I wonder where those books got to?
Before these “loss of innocence” moments there was another, a “near miss” sexual assault, by one of my older brother’s friends, I’ll also refer to him as “X”, I’m pretty sure I was 15. I was hanging around my brother’s friends, as I often would, despite my brother feeling I was “cramping his style”, and his friends were sleeping over in our den downstairs…I’m not sure why I went down there, but I did…X tried to force me to give him a BJ, by grabbing my hair after some quiet “making out”, and I had never done that before, and I wasn’t really “into” or attracted to him. The others down there were asleep, at least they acted like they were…When I had the chance, I stopped X in his tracks with some evasive action and ran upstairs…I was freaking out, scared, angry and embarrassed! The next morning, I told my brother what happened and he was more upset that I was “bugging” his friends than what I had just told him…WTF? I knew from that experience to be more situationally aware and not to depend on my brother to champion my battles for me…I got in a well-timed “below the belt punch” which let me evade a worse experience, and to this day, I do not let others touch my hair except a few hairstylists when my hair was short…I usually cut my own…
Flashing forward yet again, I will now share a little about each of the men I had hard relationships with: J1 – Was “left brained” and emotionally stunted “arm candy” without his glasses on, we skipped my Senior Prom together to go to a hotel – (yeah, that wouldn’t’ve aged well, I was 17, he was 24); L – Was a much older Jamaican man (31, I was 18) with charm, who looked like a member of the group De La Sol, funny and giving emotionally sometimes, but struggling financially…He let me go gracefully when I needed to; J2 – Was my sensitive, Sophomore, “metrosexual” friend (or so I thought, later same-sex oriented) that I was pining for in my freshman year of college, yet he was crushing on my roommate, who rebuffed him; B – Was more “brawn than brains”, and sweet at moments, yet also could be cruel emotionally...
So, it is here I introduce my therapeutic parable of “Thunderbolts vs. Drizzles”. When you first encounter a “Thunderbolt”, the initial reaction is an immediate and powerful attraction, like a tractor beam or “meat-hook” is pulling you from your core towards them…Why is this? They resonate with the “vibe” of whatever type of dysfunction that you experienced (abuse, neglect, abandonment etc.) - the ring of the “familiar”…What comes next is stormy, loud, frightening at times, and often short-lived. By contrast, the first time you encounter a “Drizzle”, Ehhh, you could take or leave them, not sure about them, not feeling led to give a second glance or the time of day…Why is that? No match in the resonance of their “vibe”, as they lack that kind of energy. When someone drawn to “Thunderbolts” heals, and finds a “Drizzle” when they’re ready to, what comes next is gradual, cleansing and gentle. We need to allow ourselves to get used to that calmer energy, so we can have healthy connections, both honoring the other’s needs and boundaries…
Hopefully that sheds some light on questions like, “Why do I keep dating people like my dad or mom (or other caregiver)?”…We go into that partnership with the delusion that people are like houses that we can “demo or reno” at will. We try to resolve the problem with our parent via that peer, who we think we can change by our actions, because we can “tell em’ what to do”, and couldn’t do that with our caregiver because we were dependent upon them…That rarely if ever works, because we’re built of different stuff than houses, and people have free will. We manifest into our reality what we are, not what we want or need… Are we victims, perpetrators, survivors, or victors? Being a victor, for my journey, required releasing any past resentments, and forgiving both my parents, and knowing their challenges were also my gifts, to help me heal all wounds, to overcome, racking up several needed “whip-stitches”...lessons at every step and stage…
Returning to my back-story, I also remember, being the only female grandchild on my mother’s side of our family, that I was my grandmother’s “favorite”…She found her grandsons boisterous, aggressive and loud, while I was into feminine, girly things like she was - jewelry, perfume, clothes and makeup… She smoked and loved coffee too…I miss her deeply since she passed in the mid 2000’s, and I know her energy hangs around me and guides me, and I know she is proud of me. I can still smell today the Jean Nate` perfume she wore…I remember watching Grandma cook in her galley kitchen, and how she was always serving, making sure we were all full and fed, hollering for us to come to the table, while she ran around like a “chicken with its’ head cut off”, rarely having a hot meal for herself…I love that about her, yet always wanted her to take a seat and eat with us…I learned from her that giving to others was desirable and valuable, yet I could tell, even as a child, that “filling our own cup” was also important to do, too…It took me time to learn how to strike that balance for myself, but I also knew that was necessary…Thank you, Grandma…I love you and miss you dearly.
My maternal grandfather was a character…hilarious, yet stern, deaf, loud and direct. He always joked around and kidded us, but would lay his “loud hammer” down if he disapproved of our behavior. He used to stir up arguments between my two male cousins, who I affectionately termed the “Banana Brothers”, then sit back and turn his hearing aids down, inevitably riling up my Aunt who was Bipolar, or Uncle who was psychotic and aggressive in temperment at times, watching the fireworks he lit, but not having to listen to it…I know he grew up quickly, living through the Depression, and starting his family young, which was hard for him…He loved Craps and betting on the “ponies” at the track, to get his kicks…and he loved Drambuie, Captain Black pipe tobacco, and cigars…Some say he looked a bit like Clark Gable…I can see that now….
I didn’t know much about my dad’s parents, as his mother died when I was maybe 2 years old…His dad didn’t talk to me much, and he died from Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s when I was about 12 years old…That was hard on my dad, who Grandpa didn’t recognize at the end stages of his life…My Uncle was another character, a jokester and fast talker, always ribbing us kids…His “shtick” with me was that he was going to put me in the “Shrinky Dink Machine”, AKA, a wall mounted oven that “shrunk the dinks”…He’d laugh, and though initially terrified, it later became the running joke whenever we made those as kids… He actually donned a colorful Beanie, complete with propeller on the top, to pair with his Tuxedo at his son’s wedding…My Aunt, another girly girl, who was sweet and kind, if you behaved…I do remember having more fun with my cousins on dad’s side, 1 girl, a year older than my brother, one boy a year older than me, and a girl 3 years younger than me…Lots of playing in the yard, going through the sprinklers, snacking, playing with their dog, and cookouts or special dinners at Ben’s…They have divine delicatessen fare I do miss dearly…Pastrami on Rye, with mustard, a square knish and Dr. Brown’s Cream Soda…mouth-watering Jewish soul food…such a gift!
One source I have always derived joy from throughout life, has been animals, more specifically cats. I have been fascinated with cats since early childhood, I even used to briefly “identify” as a cat, way before this was en vogue, and I once bit someone’s finger while being taunted on the school-bus. They “got what was comin’ to them” as we used to say back then…In second grade, I was a part of the “gifted” class, where we were tasked with creating a research project, with bibliography, and displays with illustrations and, of course, I chose cats as my topic. I aced that project, and knew one day I would have a cat of my own. Cats to this day are my favorite spirit animal…
In my life to date, I have formally been the “servant” for 4+ cats through the “cat distribution system”: Oliver, a white cat with “Groucho Marx” grey spots on his head, who joined our brood by jumping on my grandmother’s air conditioner, staring into the window at us when we gathered for Passover, I think, and he insisted we keep him. I lived with my dad at the time, while attending graduate school, and my dad kept him, once I moved out on my own;The next was Stealth, affectionately known as “Munchkin”, an all-black cat my husband and I adopted when we lived on Long Island before we married. As the “only child” he got all the attention and affection any cat could want. He moved with us back to my in-laws home, then an indoor-outdoor cat, complete with deck and doggie door. Munchkin was an alpha Tom who had his own “bitch”, Lucy, my in-laws’ dog, an older Shepherd-Akita mix, who watched over Munchkin as he marauded the neighborhood, fought other cats and brought us mice and birds. He lived with us 18 years, even after we relocated to the Midwest, before his health declined and he passed over “The Rainbow Bridge”. We laid him to rest in our yard by his favorite chair, and I’m sure his spirit still lingers at our home; My husband and I have been the servants for our latest 2 cats, for 5 years and counting: Mikey, a serious, skittish tabby “bossy socks” with a chocolate milk moustache and white socks; and Edgar, our chill, Zen-like, grey tabby “fancy pants”, who sits and sleeps on us. They are our children, our pride and joy. We have also had many a stray cat, sometimes whole families of strays, (but never all at the same time) who like our yard, our deck and vittles we are more than happy to leave out for them. We also get raccoons & opossum sometimes, they dig cat food too.
Being a Virgo, through-and-through, I always tried to find structure within the chaos, to self-reflect and analyze things when they felt insurmountable, daunting or overwhelming. This was required often during my school days, because kids back then were cruel, unfiltered and rude in their comments towards me being short and overweight, yet those same kids were always more than happy to cheat off of me during test time. This was also not a time where “safe spaces” existed, you could either, “lead, follow or get out the way”… I eventually figured out that I could rapidly put some wrong answers on one copy of the test by erasing on and ripping the paper, then ask the teacher for another copy, cover my paper and finish that one correctly…My motto became “if you can’t beat ‘em, confuse ‘em”… That also translated to using “25 cent SAT words” to respond to those who called me names…they’d think I paid them a complement after they insulted me, as I walked away smirking, while they were none the wiser that I just threw “shade” back at them.
My teachers were mostly leery of me at first, and seemed to have a “chip on their shoulders” when they saw me coming. This unjustified phenomenon was due to my brilliant older brother, yet again - who was a low-key mastermind and rebellious “Class Clown”, with pranks some would term “epic”…Teachers assumed I would be a “hell-raiser” like him. Once, he stole our choir teacher’s vanity license plates “SATB”, regarded a legend by some…Eventually, some of my teachers would come around to see me as the inquisitive, creative, respectful, and “mostly compliant” student I was hell-bent to be. It felt like I had to try extra hard to please them, and thankfully my intelligence and ability to read their emotions served me well in that regard. I was by no means a “teacher’s pet”, I just sought to avoid discrimination. Thankfully a few teachers saw my light, and took time to cultivate my curiosity - one was an English Teacher, one a Psychology teacher…Woah!Lightbulb moment… It’s clear to me now that those were the two mentors needed to shape my path.... I made it my business to establish myself as different than my brother, yet I often felt I was standing in his shadow…He’s a hard act to follow…I challenged the guilt-by-association to complete that “whip-stitch” somehow…to forge forth beyond that shadow, and reveal my own light…
When I was in middle and high school, in the 80’s to 90’s, I tried to find positive social connection, and a way to enhance my creativity, by trying out for and acting in school plays, and singing in chorus, choir and A Capella groups. Looking back, I think the adults in the drama club realized I was an “old soul”, as they would cast me in roles of mature women, funny, sarcastic and witty, never the lead but a strong supporting role each time. One role was Merriweather Fairy in Sleeping Beauty – she was the “brains of the fairy operation” for Princess Aurora. The other, was Vera Charles – a lush, and a self-proclaimed famous actress, often mistaken for other more famous female actresses, and the best friend of Mame. I always found it off-putting to hear the accolades from the adults on how well I acted in the plays, especially chestnuts like “You did great! You’d be a knockout if you lost 20 pounds!”…Was that supposed to be a complement? Of note, I also dealt with the mixed messages to “clean my plate” as a kid, only to then be told “I ate too much”...damned if I did or didn’t…SMH…
Singing has always been an avocational passion of mine, and it brings me joy to do it, to this day. It was amazing, in hindsight, to see the others on the “Island of Misfit Toys” drawn to choir, and how fantastic we sounded, under the strict guidance and direction of the illustrious Mr. Ronald Cohen – the only person in this story that I will not change the name of…To honor and commemorate his tireless efforts to shape us young’uns into elegant, robust singers…The movie Mr. Holland’s Opus was actually loosely based on his life story (Universal Pictures, 1995)…Mind-blowing…We were all shamelessly picked-on and teased by non-musical peers for being “Choir Fags”…I guess they were envious of our talents. Mr. Cohen’s choir groups won ACDA Nationals, All-State and All-County over four decades. To this day, I still sing when I drive, which I own being talented at. I used to do Karaoke, especially when my brilliant brother used to be a Karaoke DJ, or “KJ”. Anyone who knows Ron Cohen from that High School, would possibly know my identity, and my brother’s, and I expect you all to keep that knowledge to yourselves…I will not tolerate any breaches of MY confidentiality, unless I decide that and reveal my true identity. This author insists upon a pseudonym. You’ll catch on later as to why I guard my privacy like a sacred relic…
All that being said, I took it upon myself in my later high school years to start fighting back…not physically, per se, but mentally… At baseline, my rating for my self-esteem was a 3/10 - pretty damn low... I decided one day to tell myself 3 things that were positive about myself, to myself in the mirror, “mirror mantras”, twice a day, when I would put on or take off my makeup. I started with the things that came easier to me, about my internal attributes of intelligence, sense of humor, creativity, a good singing-voice and my way with words… only later challenging myself to add to the list my external attributes, which were a bit harder for me to list at first - like having pretty green eyes, thick eyelashes and “a nice rack”…By the time I finished high-school then entered my second year at undergrad studies, my self-esteem rating skyrocketed to a 10/10…It’s been decades now that I haven’t needed to say those things to myself in the mirror, and I’m still a 10/10…no matter what my dress size may be, and I’ve never looked back…You don’t like my fat ass, quit starin’ at it and step off!… It was another “whip-stitch” completed, my boundlessness self-worth was mine all along to claim, when I casted off the opinions of others, whether negative or positive – to shape my future more confidently....
Back in those high school days, I did have a few friends, but I was regarded by most as a “nonconformist”, “nerd” or “a Goth”, which was far from the truth…I only wore black a lot because it was slimming, I never drank another person’s blood once…not my vibe. Musically, I liked “Alternative Music”, or “Old Wave”, which used to be “New Wave”, as it sung the words of my inner angst and turmoil, wanting to belong, but being on the outside looking in…”looking pale and tragic” (“Clue” reference again)… REM, INXS, OMD, Squeeze, The Cure, Psychedelic Furs, Depeche Mode, Ministry, Midnight Oil and countless others, 60’s-90’s rock and also Old School Rap and Hip-Hop… East Coast “represent”! I like most types of music except country. I mean no offense to those who dig this genre, it’s just not my flavor…if you know the tunes, you know…
I am still friends with only 3 of the people I met in High School now, having outgrown and detached from the others. Maggie, Terri, and Allen, (1 a fellow Choir Alum)…Maggie is an assertive, gregarious Graphic Designing “go-getter”, blunt and loving, and for that I dearly love her…She is a mother of 2 kids after a struggle she had to go through, and I never take personally when she is too busy to reach out to me – I know that’s about her path, not my worth. Terri, even blunter than Maggie, a clever and no-nonsense Chiropractor, also a mother of 2. Same grace given to her as Maggie. Then there’s Allen, my male friend who likes other males, is also creative and a “social butterfly”, more available than my ladies, and we have a blast when we catch up with each other…
One thing I learned from being amongst that group of people in school, is that I am a good listener, and people feel drawn to me. They feel comfortable talking to me in order to help them solve their problems. Being an empath from early on was harder for me, since I didn’t know how to wield and control it yet, so sometimes the woes of others got drawn into me like a “sponge”…I’m grateful that I figured out since then, how to “flip my switch off and on when needed”, for self-care. From around age 12, I knew my calling was to be a Therapist, initially I thought to “save addicts”, but that took quite an unexpected turn, I will expand upon later…Life works like a series of “whip-stitches” moving slightly forward to then step back, before advancing yet again…
How this journey really started to take shape requires sharing a funny story from my past, “flashing back” yet again. When I was 12, my dad went away to a rehab to get sober from drugs and alcohol. A couple of years after he came home from rehab, it was the 4th of July, and my brother, then 17 I think, threw a party with beer and wine coolers at our house. I’ve always hated the smell and taste of beer, and they had finished all of the wine coolers, so I found the one thing that had a palatable taste…Scope mouthwash. I drank almost half the bottle, later returning it to the toilet, but before then, my mom found out. My friends also had come over, and Mom wasn’t going to let me go to the park to see the fireworks with everyone there that I wanted to see them with, and I defied her and went anyway…
Within a month of that day, my mom brought me to a therapist she was talking to, Marylin, and my dad talked to her husband. I went through the preliminaries of answering Marylin's questions, but what intrigued me more, was what she did for a living. I made it my business to spend our sessions “picking her brain” to find out the simplest route to do what she did, a mentor and a beacon…I think Marylin picked up on the fact quite quickly that I wasn’t a “skid row alcoholic” at 14, much to my mom’s surprise, and obliged my questions…This is when I discovered the field of Social Work existed, my path to my present day calling and “what I do for a living”, thus why anonymity is required, unless I eventually choose to “go more public”. It was definitely a “whip-stitch” completed there…a moment of darkness that brought me to the light.
The book is divided into two parts. The first recounts the author’s childhood, largely dysfunctional, and how it guided her toward the mental health field. The second focuses on psychological theory and guided imagery techniques to deal with various anxiety and other disorders. The book is written anonymously with no identifying names used.
The author was the second of two children born in the 1970’s to parents who struggled to process their own childhood neglect. This led the author to the mental health field and in the late 1990’s she graduated with a Master’s of Science in Social Work, Clinical Track, with a Concentration in Mental Health and Substance Abuse. Her career began by working with the intellectually and developmentally disabled. From there she held a succession of positions as a treatment coordinator, therapist at psychological and substance abuse facilities, and practicing general therapy.
The narrative takes an unexpected turn into a detailed discussion about online Tarot readings. There are also spiritual references. Although spiritual resources are certainly key to some patients’ recovery, it’s a non-scientific approach in a book which purports to be based in clinical studies.
Part II is more resource based.
So now, I’d like to present the sequence - the “cracked code” of how I present the tools I have come across, to clients I work with now, along the span of my career – which is covering almost three decades now…In the middle stages of my work, after I had been trained in DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) 10 years ago, I realized that all along I had been “piecing together patches from the quilt” of this method, with sprinklings of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, that I had been given in grad school and internships…
This section focuses on defining psychological challenges and disorders such as our “fight or flight” reaction and lists physical “antidotes” which often follow acronyms:
“STOP is the skill tailored for when you are intensely emotional due to talking with someone else.”
“TIPP skills are designed to get us out quickly from high intensity emotions quickly…”
“IMPROVE the Moment, follows the same track of the other ‘menus’, to handle intense emotions safely without making things around us worse.”
A similar section follows on Emotional Regulation tactics. Then Interpersonal Effectiveness skill sets. These too are presented with mnemonic acronyms.
The concluding message is acceptance of your life’s path once processed through the discussed psychological tools:
What are we meant to bring forth to our world with our various gifts from our challenges? How can I take the “lemons” from my past and “make ‘em into a big batch of lemonade”? The answer there is the “game changer”, Radical Acceptance – to grieve and let go of the hurts of the past, since we can’t erase them anyway, and we can’t change other people. Then, find what was gained from surviving it - the lesson, message or connection, and using those strengths as your assets, to then live lighter in NOW, informed by, yet detangled from our past.
It's clear the author seeks to help others process psychological and emotional wounds using the discussed methods in order to come out the other side stronger and whole. Yet the book fails to hit that target. The language often spins to a conversational tone that doesn’t feel balanced with the subject matter. Although they try to make concepts “accessible” it ends up feeling confusing. As an example, “For my clinical peeps again, think Maslow…Hierarchies of needs: physiological, safety, love and belonging, esteem.” The lack of narrative organization combined with poor formatting and a writing style that is full of ellipses and run-on sentences rather than appropriate punctuation results in a flawed book. An appendix contains virtually unreadable excerpts from texts and workbooks which were scanned crooked and with poor resolution. They don’t add value.
There are a multitude of texts in this field written more professionally and which are easier to digest and therefore implement the suggested methodologies in your personal life. This self-help book is one to skip.