I don’t consider myself a particularly deep person, but as my life events are quite challenging these days, I am finding that I need to use a pickaxe to dig into my substratum to find strength, stamina and wisdom to navigate this time of loss and difficulty. I liked a quote I found:

“Eventually, everyone will be dropped into the depth of life. It may happen because of some life-threatening illness or a sudden loss or from being loved unconditionally for the first time or by the sudden beauty of grace. But once broken open, the deeper, relational journey begins by which we truly know that we are alive.” (Mark Nepo)

So I’m making some choices that are uncomfortable but essential — to strengthen my faith. I can’t describe what I believe in exactly. But I have spiritual roots that sustain me. So now I strip back more dead foliage and burrow deeper, trusting that I will be OK. I’ll find a good car. I’ll have the strength to lose my brother (and to support him while he fades). I will get the support I need to walk through the shadows of family dysfunction and mental illness and loss. That’s today’s statement, and I’ll keep you posted.

But I want to give a bit of an update to the previous post. My insightful, loving therapist provided me with much understanding which I want to talk about. Last weekend I was deeply, darkly depressed. It sideswiped me and left me gasping. Thankfully I had already had a therapy appointment scheduled, and, Voila! Light. Lucy helped me understand that my dear, goofy brother’s unconscious and sometimes careless comments to me fishhook me back into my painful childhood. My bro was born in 1943 in a time when white men were gods. He was oldest, followed by three sisters. James was the king. We girls were considered useless, less-than, and not much more than a drain on dad’s wallet; we were to grow up and get married and get out of dad’s hair, while older-brother’s lauded education would earn mom and dad parenting points. James unknowingly can sometimes channel dad, expressing the attitude that his opinions/experiences/views hold more weight than mine. At times I have to elbow my way in, in a conversation with him, to get equal time. He has no idea, and he is a kind and loving brother who appreciates me. But this big blind spot can spiral me downward into that place of being a girl who has no value, who is never noticed or supported, and whose dreams aren’t worth mentioning. This was such an Aha moment that Lucy gave me. So I went back to the model that serves me well, which is to be my own loving mother. I told little Em, I SEE YOU. I comforted her and told her how valuable she was in this world. It worked.

Now, back to car shopping…

7″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, acrylic on paper =$90