“Everything has a moral, if only you can find it.” -the Queen of Hearts
I do lots of awkward things on a pretty day-to-day basis. I unknowingly make weird and creepy facial expressions until someone points it out in bold and embarrassing ways. I sing passionately and do the "upper-body-dance" at the steering wheel until I notice the passengers in the car next to me joyfully laughing at the preppy chick belting out Sir Mix-A-Lot's Baby Got Back on the highway. My lips move silently along with TV characters as I sit in front of the tube (I have no idea why, and it creeps A LOT of people out). I lose my balance. I always hit my funny bone. I have recently began snorting when I laugh. As awkward as I am on a daily basis, there is one awkward secret that I have kept forever. Not many people notice it, and the people that do are extremely astute indeed. I walk on my tip-toes.
This plagued Claire when I was learning to walk. She brought me to my pediatrician, always with the same complaints, always fearing the worst: Were my leg muscles not growing correctly? Was I on the Autism spectrum? (Gee, thanks mom.) Would I need surgery to correct this obscene deficiency in my development? No, no, no. I just wanted to walk on my tippy-toes, damnit. Sheesh, can't a girl get a little support as she's learning how to teeter her chubby little behind around her playpen? Well, Claire finally let it go. She assumed I'd grow out of it. She assumed wrong.
To be honest, I didn't realize until college that this wasn't the way everyone walked. Someone noticed my mismatched, sock-wearing tippy-toes as I was walking to the lounge, and called my ass out on it. What the F? Sheesh, can't a girl get a little support as she walks to the lounge to scope out hotties? After this interaction, I called Claire up and told her to fill me in. Sure enough, I had been walking on my tiptoes for my entire walking-existence. Now things made sense. My insanely toned calf muscles were not just gifts from the heavens, unknowingly bestowed upon a gal who would rather call a cab for a 30 second walk than actually exert any energy. My staggering ability to wear KILLER high heels for upwards of 6 hours at a stretch without so much as flinching wasn't a talent I abruptly acquired when my addiction to ridiculous shoes manifested itself at age 17. My near-constant ankle/knee injuries made a little more sense now; I was simply putting the wrong emPHASis on the wrong sylLABle. Or rather, the wrong emphasis on the wrong muscle group that the normal person does when they walk. Innnnneresting.
This blog was born as much from Austin's pleas that the ridiculous happenings in my life be publically recorded as it was for my need to stop censoring myself. Lately, I've been struggling with doing and saying things in ways that conform to an image that I portray. Through an intensely beneficial conversation with Allie (another leading character in my life), I have realized that not even I can live up to the near-impossible standards I set out for myself. Perfection is boring, and plus, the idea of it gives me a stomachache.
When I was dabbling with the idea of blogging, I promised myself that I would let this be a platform for what I was going through at the moment that I sat down to write. When I was unloading groceries an hour ago, I was standing in front of the fridge, and noticed that I was standing on my tippy-toes as I was sorting through the bland produce that I've promised myself I'm going to eat this week. Of course I was standing like that, I always do. But in this instance, I saw my usual walk as a metaphor for something bigger than just an awkward way to get from point A to point B. How can I be surprised that I've literally tiptoed my way through life, when I have figuratively been tiptoe-ing through life as well?
My inability to express negative emotions has always gotten me into trouble. I don't like confrontation. I don't like hurting people's feelings. I don't like letting people down. But, what happens when my feelings are hurt and I'm let down? Usually, I swallow it, suppress it, ignore it until I forget about it. And I'm going to be a therapist? Yikes. But alas, this has been my choice for many years, and it has led to many frustrating lessons. Lessons that I probably would have learned much quicker and much less painfully if I had learned that it was okay to express crappy feelings in a healthy way.
This is what I mean when I say signs and symbols and guidance can be found in the oddest of places. Who would have thought walking on my tiptoes could have given me any insight into my present struggle that I'm trying to overcome? So this brings me to the promise I'm making myself to become more assertive. No more tip-toeing through life.
Figuratively, of course.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind.
I find it coincidental* that my last post was about my bad temper, and today at my internship I spent 5 hours with my students comforting them about a dear friend that was shot and killed this past Friday night due to USELESS VIOLENCE. Anger is one letter short of Danger. Lessons learned today.
*I don't believe in coincidences.
*I don't believe in coincidences.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Never go to bed mad. Stay up and fight.
“I warn you dear child, if I lose my temper, you lose your head. Understand?”
–the Queen of Hearts
My mother tried in vain to raise my sisters and I to grow into delicate, proper young women. Her attempts, through lists of forbidden television shows, movies, words, behaviors and even friends, went entirely ignored and overlooked. Poor Claire. When I was younger, it seemed like everything posed a threat to my mom’s difficult job of keeping us sheltered, over-protected and literally in the dark to any of life’s harsh realities. Now that I’m older, and my mom has entirely given up on her dream of proper young women, I’ve realized how hard this job was. And how hard we made it for her. In our defense, my mom should have taken a good look at the three disheveled, loud and sassy chicks she had eating fruit loops at the breakfast table with her, and given up then.
But give up, she did not. I remember vividly my childhood attempts of getting my mom to break out of her blazer-clad, pearl-wearing shell. The first attempt, when I was six, went something like this:
Me: “Mommy, what’s the difference between a boy and a girl?”
Mommy (looking shocked, disgusted and appalled): “Caitlin, don’t be crude, you know that answer.”
A couple years later, my attempts were getting bolder:
Me: “Mom, what’s a hooker?”
Mom: “A lady of the night! Keep walking!”
These colorful memories are the things we belly laugh about together around the dining room table now. I’ve asked my mom many times if she realized that for a large part of my childhood, every time she took my sisters and I out at night, I thought the four of us were hookers?
I can’t blame my mom for trying her hardest to shelter us from reality. Just like she can’t blame us for growing into opinionated, strong-willed, vivacious girls. And why would she? It’s probably the happiest mistake of her life. Unfortunately, there is one tiny aspect that I don’t think either of my parent’s banked on when raising us: our tempers. More specifically, our crappy tempers.
My mom is a fiery redhead. There are only a couple things in life she will lose it about. These include someone leaving an almost-empty container of chocolate ice cream in the freezer, messy bedrooms and anyone fucking with her kids. Just one of these assaults on my mom’s world is enough for the air in the room to turn chilly, and make you run for your cardigan sweater. (Just don’t fuck with one of her kids, while eating the majority of her chocolate ice cream, in the middle of a messy bedroom.)
Otherwise, Claire is one calm, cool and collected chick. In fact, she loses her cool so rarely that I only consider her fiery because of her gorgeous red hair and the deep love she has for the people in her life.
So this leaves me wondering, where the FUCK did I get my temper?
Gee, thanks Dad.
–the Queen of Hearts
My mother tried in vain to raise my sisters and I to grow into delicate, proper young women. Her attempts, through lists of forbidden television shows, movies, words, behaviors and even friends, went entirely ignored and overlooked. Poor Claire. When I was younger, it seemed like everything posed a threat to my mom’s difficult job of keeping us sheltered, over-protected and literally in the dark to any of life’s harsh realities. Now that I’m older, and my mom has entirely given up on her dream of proper young women, I’ve realized how hard this job was. And how hard we made it for her. In our defense, my mom should have taken a good look at the three disheveled, loud and sassy chicks she had eating fruit loops at the breakfast table with her, and given up then.
But give up, she did not. I remember vividly my childhood attempts of getting my mom to break out of her blazer-clad, pearl-wearing shell. The first attempt, when I was six, went something like this:
Me: “Mommy, what’s the difference between a boy and a girl?”
Mommy (looking shocked, disgusted and appalled): “Caitlin, don’t be crude, you know that answer.”
A couple years later, my attempts were getting bolder:
Me: “Mom, what’s a hooker?”
Mom: “A lady of the night! Keep walking!”
These colorful memories are the things we belly laugh about together around the dining room table now. I’ve asked my mom many times if she realized that for a large part of my childhood, every time she took my sisters and I out at night, I thought the four of us were hookers?
I can’t blame my mom for trying her hardest to shelter us from reality. Just like she can’t blame us for growing into opinionated, strong-willed, vivacious girls. And why would she? It’s probably the happiest mistake of her life. Unfortunately, there is one tiny aspect that I don’t think either of my parent’s banked on when raising us: our tempers. More specifically, our crappy tempers.
My mom is a fiery redhead. There are only a couple things in life she will lose it about. These include someone leaving an almost-empty container of chocolate ice cream in the freezer, messy bedrooms and anyone fucking with her kids. Just one of these assaults on my mom’s world is enough for the air in the room to turn chilly, and make you run for your cardigan sweater. (Just don’t fuck with one of her kids, while eating the majority of her chocolate ice cream, in the middle of a messy bedroom.)
Otherwise, Claire is one calm, cool and collected chick. In fact, she loses her cool so rarely that I only consider her fiery because of her gorgeous red hair and the deep love she has for the people in her life.
So this leaves me wondering, where the FUCK did I get my temper?
Gee, thanks Dad.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
"There's no use in trying; one can't believe impossible things." -Alice
After many years of thinking, "I'd love to try it," one year ago I found myself in a predicament that led me to one of the best decisions I've ever made. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, I found myself getting advice from every direction in my life. Finally I decided to stop listening to everyone else, and started listening to myself. So, I finally made my long-wished for appointment with a psychic named Kathrine.
So many signs led me to finally saying F it, and booking my appointment. I had plans to visit my friend Marissa (Riss) that weekend, and she had had her own incredible experience with Kathrine, (I even came up in her reading!) so I decided to give Kathrine's shop a call. Not expecting much, because in typical me-fashion, I was calling with a ridiculous request to possibly be seen the very next day (I am an asshole who has poor time management skills). Who would have guessed, she certainly had an hour available the next day, and would be happy to see me! Oh, shit. This is when panic sunk in. What if she tells me I'm going to die in an hour? What if she tells me my life will be a hopeless mess, so give up trying? What if she tells me I'll never be the size 2 that I'm convinced will make all of my problems go away? Like I said, OH, SHIT.
When Riss and I finally got to the shop, "Oh, shit" had morphed into sheer terror at the prospect of my future. My present sitch was so grim, the idea of Kathrine telling me anything remotely negative was enough for me to second guess my decision to book an appointment in the first place. Riss graciously let me go in for my session first (another apt had opened in the slot following mine, and she jumped at the opportunity to talk to Kathrine again) and so began my awesome psychic rollercoaster ride.
Now, as scared as I was, I also told myself I was not going to be duped. I can be very naive and impressionable at times (some of my shittiest qualities, thank you very much) and I forced myself to be cautious. As I sat down in the chair, words immediately began flying out of my mouth that went something like this: "Hi! I'm so excited to be here, oh my god, I can't believe I'm actually here, and doing this and it's actually happening, oh my god, it's just so great! Ahh, I can't believe it, ok but you can't tell me anything bad, oh my gosh, nothing bad at all, I really am not the kind of person that can hear anything bad, oh my god, I'm so excited to be here, this is great, oh my gosh, so great, but nothing bad!!!" She answered with a blank stare. Great start.
I get a lot of questions when I tell people I've been to a psychic and that I was lucky enough to go to one that was too legit to quit. For the record, all she knew was my first name. Caitlin. That's all she asked for over the phone. Unless she had some high-tech caller ID service where she got my number, took my first name, hacked into my cingular family plan, and talked to my mom for 4 hours that morning, there is no possible way she could have known all of the personal stuff she offered to me as proof of her abilities. So, she sold me on my past. I figured the present would be the easiest for her to tell me about. I totally had that post-breakup, perma-scowl on my face. You didn't need to read fortunes to be able to tell that someone had fucked with me bad. Sure enough, in 5 seconds flat she had rationalized any fear/guilt/anxiety/sadness I had about the messy situation. Phew!
This was the part I had been waiting for. My Future. What would it hold? My decision to make an appointment with Kathrine had been made because I was starting over in so many different ways, and wanted to know how it would all turn out. She began by telling me exactly what I was applying to school for, the "healing arts" as she said, that I would be accepted in March of 2009 (bingo-March 26th), and that I would be in school for three long years (wahhhh). It's been so fun having kind of an "in" with the universe this past year. When Kathrine's predictions first began coming true, I tried to be realistic and think, wow, what a coincidence. But how many coincidences can really happen before you realize, okeedokee, there's something goin on here? (And like I said, I don't believe in coincidences!) It's also been fun knowing when things are going to happen. Realistically, I don't have a timeline written down in my room or anything. Kathrine left a lot of mystery so I can still enjoy the little things, but it's very fun to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride.
She also explained that the rest of 2009 would be a year of healing and growth for me, and that the following year would be the best year that I would be able to remember. Which brings me to the question, which came first, the chicken or the egg? Would I be just as happy if a psychic had not told me I would be? Or am I happy just because I am? Do I care? Nope.
PS. If anyone has ever been inclined to go to a psychic...GO. (Let this be YOUR sign!)
After many years of thinking, "I'd love to try it," one year ago I found myself in a predicament that led me to one of the best decisions I've ever made. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, I found myself getting advice from every direction in my life. Finally I decided to stop listening to everyone else, and started listening to myself. So, I finally made my long-wished for appointment with a psychic named Kathrine.
So many signs led me to finally saying F it, and booking my appointment. I had plans to visit my friend Marissa (Riss) that weekend, and she had had her own incredible experience with Kathrine, (I even came up in her reading!) so I decided to give Kathrine's shop a call. Not expecting much, because in typical me-fashion, I was calling with a ridiculous request to possibly be seen the very next day (I am an asshole who has poor time management skills). Who would have guessed, she certainly had an hour available the next day, and would be happy to see me! Oh, shit. This is when panic sunk in. What if she tells me I'm going to die in an hour? What if she tells me my life will be a hopeless mess, so give up trying? What if she tells me I'll never be the size 2 that I'm convinced will make all of my problems go away? Like I said, OH, SHIT.
When Riss and I finally got to the shop, "Oh, shit" had morphed into sheer terror at the prospect of my future. My present sitch was so grim, the idea of Kathrine telling me anything remotely negative was enough for me to second guess my decision to book an appointment in the first place. Riss graciously let me go in for my session first (another apt had opened in the slot following mine, and she jumped at the opportunity to talk to Kathrine again) and so began my awesome psychic rollercoaster ride.
Now, as scared as I was, I also told myself I was not going to be duped. I can be very naive and impressionable at times (some of my shittiest qualities, thank you very much) and I forced myself to be cautious. As I sat down in the chair, words immediately began flying out of my mouth that went something like this: "Hi! I'm so excited to be here, oh my god, I can't believe I'm actually here, and doing this and it's actually happening, oh my god, it's just so great! Ahh, I can't believe it, ok but you can't tell me anything bad, oh my gosh, nothing bad at all, I really am not the kind of person that can hear anything bad, oh my god, I'm so excited to be here, this is great, oh my gosh, so great, but nothing bad!!!" She answered with a blank stare. Great start.
I get a lot of questions when I tell people I've been to a psychic and that I was lucky enough to go to one that was too legit to quit. For the record, all she knew was my first name. Caitlin. That's all she asked for over the phone. Unless she had some high-tech caller ID service where she got my number, took my first name, hacked into my cingular family plan, and talked to my mom for 4 hours that morning, there is no possible way she could have known all of the personal stuff she offered to me as proof of her abilities. So, she sold me on my past. I figured the present would be the easiest for her to tell me about. I totally had that post-breakup, perma-scowl on my face. You didn't need to read fortunes to be able to tell that someone had fucked with me bad. Sure enough, in 5 seconds flat she had rationalized any fear/guilt/anxiety/sadness I had about the messy situation. Phew!
This was the part I had been waiting for. My Future. What would it hold? My decision to make an appointment with Kathrine had been made because I was starting over in so many different ways, and wanted to know how it would all turn out. She began by telling me exactly what I was applying to school for, the "healing arts" as she said, that I would be accepted in March of 2009 (bingo-March 26th), and that I would be in school for three long years (wahhhh). It's been so fun having kind of an "in" with the universe this past year. When Kathrine's predictions first began coming true, I tried to be realistic and think, wow, what a coincidence. But how many coincidences can really happen before you realize, okeedokee, there's something goin on here? (And like I said, I don't believe in coincidences!) It's also been fun knowing when things are going to happen. Realistically, I don't have a timeline written down in my room or anything. Kathrine left a lot of mystery so I can still enjoy the little things, but it's very fun to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride.
She also explained that the rest of 2009 would be a year of healing and growth for me, and that the following year would be the best year that I would be able to remember. Which brings me to the question, which came first, the chicken or the egg? Would I be just as happy if a psychic had not told me I would be? Or am I happy just because I am? Do I care? Nope.
PS. If anyone has ever been inclined to go to a psychic...GO. (Let this be YOUR sign!)
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
"We're all mad here."
"We're all mad here." -The Cheshire Cat
Hilsy (my sister): "Mom, have you seen Caitlin's new blog? It's all about her wild sexcapades!"
Mom: "Yeah right! Maybe in her dreams!"
Hahaha, not sure life could get more awkward than that right there folks.
Hilsy (my sister): "Mom, have you seen Caitlin's new blog? It's all about her wild sexcapades!"
Mom: "Yeah right! Maybe in her dreams!"
Hahaha, not sure life could get more awkward than that right there folks.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Shadows
"If you drink much from a bottle marked 'poison' it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later." -Alice
I've always been preoccupied with my destination. I've been reminded of the quote, "It's not the destination, but the journey that counts", and thought that the person who said it obviously had nowhere important to go. But January 1st of this year came and went, and like every other person, I racked my brain for a resolution. After bypassing the obvious ones, (get into shape-too unoriginal, and quit smoking-too hard) I came to the conclusion that I needed to relax and "enjoy the ride". Ugh. Typing it makes me realize what a cliche I've become. Oh well.
First, a little background. Since graduating from Fairfield (womp, womp) I've been living at home, first taking pre-reqs needed to apply to grad school. I was accepted into a program 6 minutes away from my parent's house. (The only art therapy program in CT was located THIS close to my house--and people ask me how I could believe in signs? Ha!) So, most of the time I'm fine with living at home while I'm going to school. In fact, a lot of times I really, really love it. I've grown closer to my parents, and right now moving would be unreasonable and silly for me. But of course there are times when my inner voice starts whispering in my ear, "you're going to be 24 and living at home...25..26 yrs old.....?" And as the age gets higher, and as the end of grad school seems farther away by the day, I have to remind myself that I'm not insane, I'm not hearing voices, I'm not psychotic or schizophrenic, and I need to take a fucking chill pill.
My resolution hit me on the cusp of one of these mental freak-outs that yours truly had at the beginning of this new semester. Sweet and all-knowing Claire (my mom-she'll be coming up a lot on my blog because she's brilliant) sat my ass down and gave it to me straight damnit! In the way that only a Mom can do, she simultaneously verbally bitch-slapped me back to reality while remaining sensitive to my anxiety that I will quite possibly be living at home until I am FUCKING FORTY and have a herd of cats trailing behind me. (She rationally told me that this would never be the case, because she hates cats and would never let me bring even one into the house, let alone a herd of them- like I said, she's brilliant.) So, long story short (I'm sure I'll say this a lot too, and just for clarity's sake, my stories are never short) for the first time in my life, I have made a resolution that stuck. And, it's made my life better. And easier. And calmer. And happier. Wow, who woulda thought? I guess that guy who had nowhere important to go, huh?
So, since school began again, instead of wrestling with nonsensical brain garbage, I've been focusing my energy into things that will help me be a better student, therapist, daughter, friend, PERSON. One of the cooler things I've been reading about is archetypes. An archetype, in the simplest terms, is a symbol universally recognized by all. In psychology, an archetype is a model of a person, personality, or behavior (thanks to wikipedia for that quick and painless definition!) There are so many archetypes in existence, and they are also said to be present in artwork, fairy tales, folklore and literature since, well, forever! If you think hard enough, you can find recurring archetypes in your own life through personal experiences, dreams and other topics you are interested in. They can even take the form of an animal (mine are eagles and elephants). Maybe now the theme of my blog is making a little more sense? Thanks to Lewis Carol for making Alice an archetype that almost every 20-something gal can relate to, ya dig?
The archetype I've found the most fascinating so far is the Shadow. It is everything in us that is unconscious, repressed, undeveloped and denied. These are the dark and rejected aspects of our being (there is also lightness in there too, don't worry!) Everyone has a shadow. Hey you don't need to go to school to recognize that there are some parts of yourself that even you don't like!
A confrontation is happening with your 'shadow self' when you feel irrational, angry, uncomfortable, annoyed and even pissed off (as well as other negative feelings) by something or someone. Acknowledging this confrontation is where self-awareness begins. Because we reject and ignore our shadow selves, we often attract this confrontation through the mirrors of other people. Essentially what I'm getting to is, do you ever notice that the same 'life lessons' keep popping up all over the place? Time and time again, it can seem like you're getting burned for the same situation that just showed up at your door in a different costume than the last time. Once again you'll find yourself thinking, THIS AGAIN?? SERIOUSLY, UNIVERSE? COME ON. Well, we've all felt like the universe has played a trick or two on us before, when in reality, we could just be tricking ourselves. Yikes. Deep. Heavy.
I'm a girl that appreciates darkness. That sounds crazy, let me rephrase. I'm a girl that can now say she appreciates when someone can be honest about their true, nitty-gritty feelings. This has not always been the case, dear friends! I remember my own discomfort not too long ago when someone would say something true and harsh and honest, and I would close up tighter than a clam. I would think in my head, "How could they just say that about [themselves, school, life, religion, etc. the list goes on...]?" Finally being able to acknowledge my own discomfort with other people's lack of personal censors made me realize how highly censored I had become. Now please, don't get me wrong. It's not as if I walk around now saying whatever the hell I want whenever I want. But in all honesty, just having acknowledged this small part of me that I never recognized before has helped me to release it. I'm trying to apply the shadow archetype to other aspects of my life too.
I know this idea is hard to grasp. In fact, it totally and completely blew my mind when I first started learning about it. We're taught that what makes us feel shitty is wrong and bad. But imagine how different your life could be if instead of looking at the negative things as just crappy happenings, you started looking at the negatives as doorways that could lead you to a happier you?
I've always been preoccupied with my destination. I've been reminded of the quote, "It's not the destination, but the journey that counts", and thought that the person who said it obviously had nowhere important to go. But January 1st of this year came and went, and like every other person, I racked my brain for a resolution. After bypassing the obvious ones, (get into shape-too unoriginal, and quit smoking-too hard) I came to the conclusion that I needed to relax and "enjoy the ride". Ugh. Typing it makes me realize what a cliche I've become. Oh well.
First, a little background. Since graduating from Fairfield (womp, womp) I've been living at home, first taking pre-reqs needed to apply to grad school. I was accepted into a program 6 minutes away from my parent's house. (The only art therapy program in CT was located THIS close to my house--and people ask me how I could believe in signs? Ha!) So, most of the time I'm fine with living at home while I'm going to school. In fact, a lot of times I really, really love it. I've grown closer to my parents, and right now moving would be unreasonable and silly for me. But of course there are times when my inner voice starts whispering in my ear, "you're going to be 24 and living at home...25..26 yrs old.....?" And as the age gets higher, and as the end of grad school seems farther away by the day, I have to remind myself that I'm not insane, I'm not hearing voices, I'm not psychotic or schizophrenic, and I need to take a fucking chill pill.
My resolution hit me on the cusp of one of these mental freak-outs that yours truly had at the beginning of this new semester. Sweet and all-knowing Claire (my mom-she'll be coming up a lot on my blog because she's brilliant) sat my ass down and gave it to me straight damnit! In the way that only a Mom can do, she simultaneously verbally bitch-slapped me back to reality while remaining sensitive to my anxiety that I will quite possibly be living at home until I am FUCKING FORTY and have a herd of cats trailing behind me. (She rationally told me that this would never be the case, because she hates cats and would never let me bring even one into the house, let alone a herd of them- like I said, she's brilliant.) So, long story short (I'm sure I'll say this a lot too, and just for clarity's sake, my stories are never short) for the first time in my life, I have made a resolution that stuck. And, it's made my life better. And easier. And calmer. And happier. Wow, who woulda thought? I guess that guy who had nowhere important to go, huh?
So, since school began again, instead of wrestling with nonsensical brain garbage, I've been focusing my energy into things that will help me be a better student, therapist, daughter, friend, PERSON. One of the cooler things I've been reading about is archetypes. An archetype, in the simplest terms, is a symbol universally recognized by all. In psychology, an archetype is a model of a person, personality, or behavior (thanks to wikipedia for that quick and painless definition!) There are so many archetypes in existence, and they are also said to be present in artwork, fairy tales, folklore and literature since, well, forever! If you think hard enough, you can find recurring archetypes in your own life through personal experiences, dreams and other topics you are interested in. They can even take the form of an animal (mine are eagles and elephants). Maybe now the theme of my blog is making a little more sense? Thanks to Lewis Carol for making Alice an archetype that almost every 20-something gal can relate to, ya dig?
The archetype I've found the most fascinating so far is the Shadow. It is everything in us that is unconscious, repressed, undeveloped and denied. These are the dark and rejected aspects of our being (there is also lightness in there too, don't worry!) Everyone has a shadow. Hey you don't need to go to school to recognize that there are some parts of yourself that even you don't like!
A confrontation is happening with your 'shadow self' when you feel irrational, angry, uncomfortable, annoyed and even pissed off (as well as other negative feelings) by something or someone. Acknowledging this confrontation is where self-awareness begins. Because we reject and ignore our shadow selves, we often attract this confrontation through the mirrors of other people. Essentially what I'm getting to is, do you ever notice that the same 'life lessons' keep popping up all over the place? Time and time again, it can seem like you're getting burned for the same situation that just showed up at your door in a different costume than the last time. Once again you'll find yourself thinking, THIS AGAIN?? SERIOUSLY, UNIVERSE? COME ON. Well, we've all felt like the universe has played a trick or two on us before, when in reality, we could just be tricking ourselves. Yikes. Deep. Heavy.
I'm a girl that appreciates darkness. That sounds crazy, let me rephrase. I'm a girl that can now say she appreciates when someone can be honest about their true, nitty-gritty feelings. This has not always been the case, dear friends! I remember my own discomfort not too long ago when someone would say something true and harsh and honest, and I would close up tighter than a clam. I would think in my head, "How could they just say that about [themselves, school, life, religion, etc. the list goes on...]?" Finally being able to acknowledge my own discomfort with other people's lack of personal censors made me realize how highly censored I had become. Now please, don't get me wrong. It's not as if I walk around now saying whatever the hell I want whenever I want. But in all honesty, just having acknowledged this small part of me that I never recognized before has helped me to release it. I'm trying to apply the shadow archetype to other aspects of my life too.
I know this idea is hard to grasp. In fact, it totally and completely blew my mind when I first started learning about it. We're taught that what makes us feel shitty is wrong and bad. But imagine how different your life could be if instead of looking at the negative things as just crappy happenings, you started looking at the negatives as doorways that could lead you to a happier you?
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Welcome
"I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think; was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is, 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!" -Alice
How do you introduce yourself to the internet? Hi, I'm so-and-so and I love to read, like to cook, nap entirely too much, and hate, but continuously wear uncomfortable shoes? I guess I should begin with a disclaimer. This blog was the brainchild of a Ms. Austin, because she has been saying for years that the awkwardness of my life desperately deserves a platform for others to enjoy. Thanks, Austin. Because many of my stories are A. humiliating, and B. ragingly inappropriate, this is your disclaimer. SCRAM. If you are somehow related to me and have continued reading this, SCRAM!!! Okay, you're not leaving? Fine, just don't tell my mom. Or Nana. Thanks.
Let me just say right off the bat, I'm not a creepy Disney-fanatic. No, quite the opposite actually. Last April when my family and I took our "Last Hoorah" family VK to Disney, I spent more time searching for the 'designated smoking areas' than I did taking in the psychotic-manic dream world that old Walt dreamt up in his quest for immortality. (FYI: The designated areas are SUPER hard to find, and Disney vacationers are exceptionally judgmental of smokers. I'll never go back without Nicorette, and an extremely practiced and believable "I-don't-care-if-you're-judging-me" scowl.) But back to what I was saying...
I'm not obsessed with Disney, but I am obsessed with symbols and signs, and have been my whole life. I'm lucky to have found myself right where I am at the moment, which is going to school to become an art therapist. Art therapists are skilled in picking up nonverbal symbols that can be expressed through the creative process. I'm very passionate about people, and how they tick. I firmly believe that had I not been open to the signs along my personal journey, I would not be as happy and healthy as I am today.
So why did I choose an Alice's Adventures in Wonderland themed blog? Because I don't believe in coincidence, I believe in fate. Because signs are not just found in brush strokes and crayon drawings. Signs and symbols and guidance can be found in the everyday monotony of our lives. They can even be hidden in a children's story that you haven't read, watched or thought about in years, when suddenly, BOOM! You, yourself fall down the rabbit-hole, and realize that the journey you're on needs to be shared.
So, welcome. Welcome, welcome, welcome! Please excuse rambling, poor spelling and grammar, and my filthy fucking mouth.
How do you introduce yourself to the internet? Hi, I'm so-and-so and I love to read, like to cook, nap entirely too much, and hate, but continuously wear uncomfortable shoes? I guess I should begin with a disclaimer. This blog was the brainchild of a Ms. Austin, because she has been saying for years that the awkwardness of my life desperately deserves a platform for others to enjoy. Thanks, Austin. Because many of my stories are A. humiliating, and B. ragingly inappropriate, this is your disclaimer. SCRAM. If you are somehow related to me and have continued reading this, SCRAM!!! Okay, you're not leaving? Fine, just don't tell my mom. Or Nana. Thanks.
Let me just say right off the bat, I'm not a creepy Disney-fanatic. No, quite the opposite actually. Last April when my family and I took our "Last Hoorah" family VK to Disney, I spent more time searching for the 'designated smoking areas' than I did taking in the psychotic-manic dream world that old Walt dreamt up in his quest for immortality. (FYI: The designated areas are SUPER hard to find, and Disney vacationers are exceptionally judgmental of smokers. I'll never go back without Nicorette, and an extremely practiced and believable "I-don't-care-if-you're-judging-me" scowl.) But back to what I was saying...
I'm not obsessed with Disney, but I am obsessed with symbols and signs, and have been my whole life. I'm lucky to have found myself right where I am at the moment, which is going to school to become an art therapist. Art therapists are skilled in picking up nonverbal symbols that can be expressed through the creative process. I'm very passionate about people, and how they tick. I firmly believe that had I not been open to the signs along my personal journey, I would not be as happy and healthy as I am today.
So why did I choose an Alice's Adventures in Wonderland themed blog? Because I don't believe in coincidence, I believe in fate. Because signs are not just found in brush strokes and crayon drawings. Signs and symbols and guidance can be found in the everyday monotony of our lives. They can even be hidden in a children's story that you haven't read, watched or thought about in years, when suddenly, BOOM! You, yourself fall down the rabbit-hole, and realize that the journey you're on needs to be shared.
So, welcome. Welcome, welcome, welcome! Please excuse rambling, poor spelling and grammar, and my filthy fucking mouth.
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