Oct. 1, 2012

I was at my internship today and talking to my supervisor when I realized: I don’t know how to talk about my feelings. My supervisor kept asking me to describe my feelings during group meetings at my agency and I continued struggling. She even gave me a long list of common feelings and synonyms for them based on situation and intensity. I told her, “I was looking at the list and thinking, nothing on this list describes what I’m feeling. Then I realize…I don’t know what I’m feeling!”

Why do I have such trouble with this? I do some soul-searching and I realize that I never cultivated the ability to articulate my emotions. My parents never asked me how I was feeling, not unless I was crying and they wanted to figure out why. They never asked about my feelings for any other situation, not when I was misbehaving, or acting out…nothing. That’s when I think, there are four-year-olds out there who can express their feelings better than me, mostly because their caretakers prompt them. “What are you feeling?” or “How does that make you feel?” or “Do you know of any reason why you might be feeling this way? Use your words.” Things like that. No one did that to me when I was growing up, not my family, not my teachers, no one. I grew up learning plenty of other things. From the scientific method, I learned how to exercise my powers of observation. From psychology class, I learned to be analytical. From anthropology, I learned to think, what else, why else? But I never learned how to talk about my feelings. I suppose if I’m going to become a social worker someday, now would be a good time to start. Better late than dead, I say.

Sept. 30, 2012

I was reading an article by John Bowlby, psychologist, and a section of the article mentioned how anxious mothers may make a child take care of her instead of the other way around, making the child anxious, guilty, and phobic. To me, this sounds like a sort of mother-child attachment inversion. Here are some excerpts: “Thus, a mother who, due to adverse experiences during childhood, grows up to be anxiously attached is prone to seek care from her own child, and thereby lead the child to become anxious, guilty, and perhaps phobic” (Bowlby, 1982, p.675).

“Some young children (especially those who are dispositionally fearful or inhibited) are prone to anxiety-related disorders, especially when their temperamental vulnerability is coupled with anxious or hostile attachment to their caregivers.”

 

“Young children who are abused or neglected by their caregivers can experience significant emotional and psychosocial problems, including the display of intense, maladaptive emotions, difficulties in understanding emotion in others, and social incompetence.”

All this makes me wonder if my mother had any anxious or guilty tendencies and transferred them to me somehow. Now I make these speculations with reservation since I’m wary of placing too much emphasis on early childhood attachment, especially on forming lifelong neuroses, but I do think it’s an interesting idea. I do have problems understanding emotions in others and exhibit maladaptive emotions, but I think I should explore this more before I make any conclusions. This also sparks an idea in me to talk to my mom about her childhood experiences, just to see if anything might have happened. I do have to be careful about confirmation bias and just looking for things to confirm my hypothesis. I know first-hand how people often just hear what they expect to hear or see what they want to see. Let me approach this with caution and we’ll see what happens.

Sept. 29, 2012

I was in the grocery store with Matt and we happened to have a very happy cashier. She was all cheery and smiley and kept saying, “God bless you.” As Matt and I left the grocery store, he commented on how nice she was, and I said, “She’s the first person I’ve met here that actually seemed happy with her life.”

Matt laughed, but it’s true. I’ve never met anyone at this grocery store who seemed even half satisfied with their life. They all seem so despondent and glum. Now I know that working at a grocery store may not be anyone’s dream job, but they acted as if they were stuck this way, as if life was never going to get any better. Then I felt bad all of a sudden because I realized that for some people, life wasn’t going to get any better. There wasn’t very much hope of moving up, moving out, or moving away. Their job paralleled their life—they weren’t going anywhere else in their job, and they weren’t going anywhere else in their life. This made me sad.

After I dropped off Matt at the airport today, I drove home to find myself feeling partner loneliness, that kind of loneliness that comes from missing a significant other. It doesn't matter what else goes on in life: I could have plenty of hobbies and activities. I could have a healthy social life. I could have meaning and fulfillment in my life, but somehow, these things did not equal my Matthew. 

Now I know what people mean by “Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone.” I always thought that those forlorn love songs were exaggerating, but now I know exactly what they mean. Then I thought of people who have lost their significant other and it made me even sadder. I remembered something Maggie Smith said about her deceased husband, “I still miss him so much it's ridiculous. People say it gets better but it doesn't. It just gets different, that's all. Even in my dream I kept saying to him, 'You are dead. You can't be here.'" By the way, for those who don’t know, Maggie Smith is the actress who played Professor McGonagall in the Harry Potter films.

Matthew, if you’re out there, know that I love you and miss you, in this life and beyond.

Sept. 23, 2012

I was reading an online article that said, “Successful people don't need to describe themselves using hyperbolic adjectives like passionate, innovative, driven, etc. They can just describe, hopefully in a humble way, what they've done.” ~Jeff Haden, Inc.com

That’s when I thought that I, too, often describe myself in adjectives, but not in accomplishments. I often list that I’m patient, understanding, creative…but what have I really done with my life? Well, let's see... 

• I’ve finished a bachelor’s degree. 
• I’ve gotten into grad school and survived my first month of it. 
• I’ve done most of my homework for this weekend. 
• I’ve developed a morning stretching routine that combines things I’ve learned from dance lessons, martial arts classes, and yoga. 
• I’ve moved 700 miles away from my hometown, and have thrived here. Not just lived here. Thrived. 
• I’ve obtained my driver’s license and have driven for six years without ever getting into a major accident or having points taken off for traffic violations (although see previous blog post about driving anxieties...)
• I’ve learned to bake, sew, wrap gifts, assemble furniture, and dress myself well. 
• I’ve worked on my personality and have become more outgoing, reflective, and empathetic. 
• I’ve started a journal and kept it up, writing in it almost every day. 

 Wow.

I’ve done a lot. What have YOU done?

Sept. 22, 2012--Part III

On the plus side, I made black bean burgers today! They were so good! That's when I realized that my dad was right about cooking all along: It's gotta have flavor. It's gotta have taste. And today, I figured out the secret ingredient to infusing flavor in food: spices. I've always underestimated the power of spices. I only used them when a recipe called for them, and didn't really experiment with adding spices into food. I experimented flavoring food with sauces and marinating, but not with spices. Now that I have a new tool in my arsenal, I can learn to test out different flavors.

And the black bean burgers were delicious! So full of flavor, thanks to the cumin spice. I'm going to make these all the time now. They're inexpensive, easy to prepare, and they make for a great vegetarian meal packed with protein. Man, I sound like an advertisement. "Black bean burgers! Get them while they're here! Get them while they're hot!"

Next time, I'm trying refried beans in a corn tortilla. Wish me luck!

P.S. While I was at the grocery store today, I met some men who were endorsing a drive to support our troops. I bought some razors and shaving cream for them, but I walked away feeling unsure of myself, especially since I'm ambivalent about the military...

Sept. 22, 2012--Part II: Crazy Drivers

I came home shaking today and holding back tears. The drivers here scare me. They're aggressive and impatient and seem to be a bit self-centered. The incident: I was driving in my neighborhood, cruising down a small neighborhood road at fives miles ABOVE the speed limit when the large black SUV behind me becomes impatient, shoots into the opposite lane of traffic, and passes me.

What was that all about? I thought to myself.  I wasn't driving that slow. After that, I'm so jarred that I have to slow down. This causes another car behind me to honk and I just become even more panicked. So I turn into a driveway just to get myself off the road and away from these people. At this point, I'm so shaken that I can't drive much anymore. I manage to make it home but then I collapse into the couch, uncontrollably shaking. I've already hated driving for years, and driving in this area just makes me all the more anxious. I call Matthew and he tries to calm my fears.

"I think I'm just anxious," I say. "Maybe I should take some medication for it."
"Sweetheart, I want you to go to a counselor," he told me.
"I don't know, Matt," I hesitate. I wasn't exactly rich and counselors weren't exactly cheap.
Matt keeps reassuring me, telling me that he also hates driving up where I live. "It's irritates me. You remember the ambulance?"

When Matt and I were driving around, we witnessed several cars continuing to drive along the road, preventing an ambulance from making a left turn. "It's an ambulance!" Matt growled in frustration. I understood his frustration; drivers around here seemed too wrapped-up in their own silly little lives to even let an ambulance through.

It's strange because I get the feeling that these people are actually nice whenever you meet them in public. It's just when they start driving that they become these impatient, aggressive road rage machines. It's scary. However, I do think part of the problem is just me, that I'm overly anxious about driving and their "assertive" attitudes don't do well for my already high levels of nervousness.