Theological Musings

Introverted Mother, Extroverted Child

Okay, so it turns out that not all the girls I went to middle schools turned out to be total wastes of space. I've wound up friending several of them on Facebook, and aside from occasional epic differences in politics (southern Maryland is The South, y'all, and don't you forget it). One in particular I've rebonded with is Erin Gross . Erin is a totally fun blogger and a wicked writer. She's fun, and funny, and made a hell of an Ebeneezer Scrooge when we put him on trial for a book report project in the eighth grade. She is also, emphatically, an extrovert . Her son, it turns out, is an introvert . She has been completely, and sometimes painfully, honest about her quandaries about how to raise a person with such different needs from herself. This is where I come in. I am an introvert. Wow am I an introvert. I need a day off to recover from family dinners involving more people than my immediate family. So, when Erin would make a blog post about ...

Attitude, Belief, and the Chronic Depressive

A friend of mine posted a quote on Facebook today. "The only difference between a good day and a bad day is your attitude and your belief." I'm not naming the friend or the source of the quote, because a.) I don't want her to feel bad about what is, really, a generally harmless quote, and b.) It's really not the point of this post. But as someone who struggles with depression in general and who has been going through a particularly ugly episode lately (ah, how I love the change in seasons--NOT), I have to say that I these kinds of "it's all in the attitude" quotes crawl under my skin. They're not quite triggers, but almost. What a lot of non-mentally ill people take for granted is, in fact, a fair amount of control over their attitudes. And it's what sometimes even the best meaning friends fail to understand about the average chronic depressive or anxious person. We don't have those controls. Or, rather, they're locked away from...

The first step...

Well, I've done it. I've admitted I need help. I can't do this alone, and it's not fair to burden Tor or Cheryl with it. I can't make Herself live in such chaos anymore. I've contacted a professional organizer. With G-d as my witness, I will never trip over my carpet cleaner again. What did you think I was going to say? You'd think I had a history of dramatic announcements involving my mental health or something...

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