Call me shallow. Go ahead; it’s true on some level and I won’t bite you for saying it.

I got my hair done yesterday. Not only does the fully glossy almost black locks pull my mood up and make me feel, oh, about 20 years younger, but I’m extra jazzed because the hairdresser pulled through my hair section by section and said, ‘Let’s see…Do you have any grey? Not really’. Let me say that again: not really. I’ve been having the heebie jeebies every time I catch a glint of something silvery in my hair: Oh, goddess, it’s the grey. It’s here. I’m old. But my fair lady yesterday was looking down directly at the top of my head. ‘No, that’s the natural shine off your hair. It isn’t grey.’ Shoot the messenger? I wanted to bloody kiss her.

This morning in my room sits a brand new clothes hamper. Prior to this a couple of plastic bags have been acting as my clothes hamper (and doing a lousy impression of one). Most of the time my clothes have been ending up on the floor – a sad visual reminder of me not caring about myself. Not anymore. Lift the top, in they go, neat as you like. Weird to get so happy about something like that. Then again, YOU live without it for a year and a half and then see how happy you feel when you finally get a clothes hamper.

Yes! I spent money on myself. Did a little something just for me (my hair) and then did a little something for the house and my general mood (clothes hamper). I didn’t overspend or come home with three other things that weren’t on my list – even tho I was tempted. I’m LIKING this give a little, get a little routine with myself. It’s upping my mood faster than any exercise or mantra or comedy watching could do.

George, George, George. He must be the most intelligent duck on the planet. I know I’m biased in his favor; who couldn’t be after seeing those liquid black eyes look up at them with such longing, humor, and understanding? So here’s what I’ve observed in George now: he’s absolutely 100% aware of who I am compared to other people. Not only does George (and now all the other ducks) come waddling up as soon as he sees me, but when other people stop to watch us, he peels off and refuses to do his trick. Yep. A young teenaged girl stopped to watch us. I didn’t notice at first, but George did. He turned around as he was coming towards me for some bread and plumped his butt on the ground. I was completely confused until I looked up and saw the girl. She then tried to tell me something; my lousy Dutch only caught half of it which was something about getting the duck to eat out of my hand. Either she was telling me not to do it, or that I couldn’t do it because the ducks were wild. I apologized for my ignorance and she moved on. As soon as she was out of the immediate space, George was right back at my foot, jumping away for bread. Genius. Pure genius. What else can you say about a duck that understands human social complexity better than I do?

Today I see Heike. My brother refuses to call her Heike and keeps saying ‘Haiku’ to make me laugh. That’s good; helps to take the anxiety out of it. I honestly haven’t given the appointment any thought for a few days, just like I haven’t given my smoking any thought for a few days. And I’ve been much happier. Hmm. Coincidence? If I mention it to her, she’ll claim my mood elevation is entirely due to the fact that my system is getting its normal THC level, and that’s why I’ve been falsely happy (you KNOW she’ll slide something like that in there). I suppose it’s all the way I put it. I can say ‘I’ve been really up lately, everything’s great, great, great!’ OR I can say ‘I’ve been practicing a new method, asking myself to do something hard and then doing something for myself and it’s been really empowering’. Yeah. The second one uses terminology she’ll appreciate. Feels like I’m snowing her. Like I’m manipulating her a bit. And I guess I am. It’s not untrue, it’s just couched in her language. That’s the shit see seems to like: my mirroring back her quasi-hippy wording. Say it MY way and she’ll mention a time out again.

Without the immediate emotional backlash of seeing her, I recognize that as an issue. A big one. I should be able to talk to my therapist using my words. This is not Pavlov’s lab, and I’m not a dog. I will not be trained to salivate at certain words. Nor will I be shoved into some pre-fabbed mould marked ‘normal’ for human behavior. This is what I need to talk to Yoda about.

Like it or not, my defenses are up. She tripped ’em; she’s got to deal with ’em. Gonna do my best to minimize the effects. There’s lots to talk about besides replacing her as my therapist. Plenty to fill my allotted time. And if I snow her a bit right now, so be it. I’ll bring along a carrot to shove into her face as a nose. Part of this process is learning how to protect and take care of myself. This is what I’m choosing to do right now. It’s not a set back nor a failure. It’s me being kind to me. If I’m not feeling safe enough to be absolutely honest – and that’s what’s REALLY going on with me right now – then I’ll get through it with my guard up and spill all to wise Yoda ASAP.

I DESERVED getting my hair done yesterday. I DESERVE a therapist I can really open up to. I think I’ve accepted that.


8 thoughts on “Acceptance

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