Dad's Learning Volume 26: Resurrecting Rumination
Whoops, turns out I need this.
People tend to dwell more on negative things than on good things. So the mind then becomes obsessed with negative things, with judgments, guilt and anxiety produced by thoughts about the future and so on.
My Bad, Me
Well folks, I done goofed. A few months ago my therapist had to leave the service I was using and so I stopped going to therapy.
I could likely end the piece there and most would appear to be explained and fairly well, but I won’t. That’s not how I roll.
Additionally I’m not sure it would be accurate either. No, I do not think I have all the tools to easily continue on my own but I am confident I can live without a therapist and live well. This therapist was very good and lying to myself or her wasn’t acceptable.
It wasn’t acceptable to me and it wasn’t to her, either. Though she never directly called me out on it if it happened, which it did from time to time, but she did a good job leading my back around to being able to say I had and allow me to figure out why that was.
Those were interesting conversations.
Yet even ending that weekly occurrence I felt confident I had the tools to carry on and continue improving. I still feel that way. What I didn’t do was continue to UTILIZE them as I should, as I need to.
It was as though ending therapy released me from my obligations to myself and my family to do better. That’s rather dumb and I’m still unsure why it ended up that way.
One such tool that has helped me and, surprisingly, those around me in this journey had been these weekly public writings about what I may have learned about myself or my situations. Sure, some weeks I didn’t learn anything NEW, but every week I learned something even if it was simply that I wasn’t implementing and using the tools I had been given.
Okay, hopefully that’s the final long and rambling sentence for now. I am hopeful that made some sense.
Consider this: Imagine I lived in a plywood box that kept slowly falling apart at the seams due to the nails slowly being pulled out. In this scenario the culprit is “natural causes” and there are no readily available alternatives to continuing to hammer those loose nails back in as they come loose.
One day I get the courage to ask someone for help. They agree and ask me what’s wrong. I show them the issue and they have some answers and a few tools they’d like to give me if only I’m willing to help myself and do the work.
Over the next few weeks they show me, over and over, why the nail is there, why I have a hammer in my hand, and the proper way to smash the shit out of the nail to force it back into place.
Eventually they have to move on. This arrangement was always temporary. Yet the tool, the hammer, that was a gift. It turns out that hammer was mine all along and they made sure to tell me that too, but I still retain possession of the hammer, so it’s all good.
After they leave I take a look at my plywood box house with some pride. I can no longer see easily into the box from the seams, they’ve been hammered down well.
Over the next several weeks the box holds up well, things aren’t coming apart quickly, a blessing to be sure. However, they are coming apart. I don’t use that hammer to hit the nails weekly as I had been.
Over time the gaps widen, the friction from the nails dwindles because there’s less surface area directly touching the plywood. The deterioration happens with increasing rapidity and I look around in horror as things appear to be heading towards disaster.
My box is falling apart quite literally.
I start questioning how this could happen. Did I not fix the box? Shouldn’t I be good forever?
Well, no. That’s not how life works. I have to stay on top of things. I must use that hammer weekly, I must use those tools at my disposal to keep things proper and in shape. Keep those nails where they belong, young man, and it will take more than time to destroy everything around you.
My Bad, Ya’ll
That’s what this “Dad’s Learning” Series is for as I have come to understand.
This portion isn’t short because I care less about ya’ll than myself.
It’s short because I’m sad I haven’t been who, what, or how I should have been.
Self-pity, an endearing quality.
Shit, I do hate learning the hard way.
I’m sorry I’ve been distant lately, family.
I do love you.
I just forgot I had to pay attention and use the tools I have.
I forgot I had to care about myself to care about ya’ll.
With love,
Dad
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Dad