Keeping a journal has never been my strong suit. Though I know without a shadow of a doubt, that journaling is just about essential. Why? There are several reasons. It's fun to later look back and remember the fun things, the discovering, the lessons, the challenges overcome, the friends, the loves, the thoughts, the opinions that have changed, the opinions that have stayed the same, and more.
Paramount to my need is a sentiment a successful therapist told me. He said, "A ten cent notebook is the most effective therapist around". You know why? Partly because you cannot argue with what you, yourself, have written. You can't say: I didn't mean that, I didn't SAY that, I didn't DO that, because, you KNOW what it all meant, it's there internally and undeniably. You can see for yourself the steps you've taken or not taken. You know the emotions, feelings, and circumstances around all those words you published in your journal. You are safe with yourself and share it all right there for your eyes to see and your heart to feel. When you go back later, you are still connected to the feelings and memories of it all, but have the fresh perspective of having seen it through and are able to see where your faith was, what things you did that worked well, what things you discovered serve only as road blocks, witness to yourself things that you did/said to increase the problem, acknowledge to yourself those things you did quite capably and with awesome flair, people who were a blessing to you, and there is no doubt what is meant when you have a thought or impression about that journey because it all comes from you.
I wish I had been better at keeping a journal when I was a teenager, when I was a young adult, and up to now. I would give so much if I could just lay in the hands of my daughters a record of the struggles, and triumphs, the frustrations, the convictions, the silliness, the ME of that time. If they could just read with their own eyes the thoughts and feelings I had at their ages or in similar circumstances, written in my own hand, perhaps they could understand I was a person back then, that I had real feelings, and the stories I tell them are not fiction. Perhaps they could accept "that" person when they refuse this one. Maybe, they could have a glimmer of understanding that while I do comprehend their feelings about something I also see that it may not be wise to allow it to rule future actions...or visa versa...
What gets in my way is how easily distracted I get with my life. How tired I get at night. And...I'm embarrassed to say, how I get carried away in numbing my mind with trips to social media, watching a show of some sort, or just about any OTHER thing than writing or typing my thoughts and feelings.
What's so hard about blogging? I worry. I have so many challenges--thus the title of my blog--and I have feelings and thoughts and frustrations and situations that, I don't know if others can really understand. I mean, it's not like anyone is here in the moment with all this chaos and intensity. And I am not super articulate when it comes to describing and painting a picture of what is or has happened...or the context of it all.
I admit, fear, does get in the way. Fear? Yes. I know anyone who reads this is someone I love, yet, the chances of someone else coming along with no perspective to my family and our trials who could misinterpret my words is a real concern for me. ESPECIALLY since we have a family with more than one child with a mental illness who can, at times, completely and utterly misunderstand and misinform others of just about anything depending on what stage of their cycles they may be.
I live on a teeter totter covered with egg shells and I have to run back and forth blindfolded 100 times a day without falling and without stepping on a single shell or ALL. HELL. Breaks. loose...
Why'd I even think to start this blog? Well, I thought it would be helpful for me, for others. Others who are blending families. Others who are parents (or any other family member or friend) of someone with a mental illness. Yet, the whirlwind, the blender, the uncertain stress of mental illness keeps me highly strung and I often just want to numb my brain.
I would promise I'll do better, that a I'll be more consistent, but it's a promise I can't make. I want to, but, I'd rather be honest. I'll post. I'll share. I just know it won't be updated daily...or even weekly necessarily. There will be times it's updated a whole lot and then times when a sure and certain drought will hit. That's just my life. It's the way it is. It's what I can handle.
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