* Hey this is it! This is the end of Group Therapy. If you missed the others, you can go here. Or not. Whatever.
This new fun 'n free chapter in my life brought many surprises. I discovered a generous and loving family -- a family full of support that tolerated the load of crap I had dumped on them during the previous years. I also discovered some work friends that cared a bunch. And by bunch, I mean bushels and bushels of bunch. We working friends became known as the Lunch Bunch for we lunched a bunch. While we lunched, we laughed, enjoyed each other's company, and helped each other out. (Mostly they were helping me out.) They brought me shakes after I had my wisdom teeth pulled, helped me remodel a few rooms in my house, and freed a bird from the fireplace (not without all of 'em screaming holy terror). These folks fixed any and everything I asked. It was like I had eightish handymen and exactly one handy woman.
I will forever and ever be grateful for the Group Therapy of that Lunch Bunch.
Spouse and I were married after about 20 months of nonconsecutive dating. We became “with Yahoo” almost right directly -- where almost is six months. The clock was ticking and neither of us would get any younger, so it was, you know, time to start calfing.
I quit my job after Yahoo #1 was born. Before we knew the flavor of said Yahoo, we called him Reggie. Reggie was chosen because it was somewhat unisex. Reggie was short for baby-boy Reginald and for baby-girl Regina, in the which we were warned-a-plenty to not name it either of those names. People are so nosy and stuff when it comes to baby names, aren't they? Come to think of it, people are just down-right nosy when it comes to babies in general. We found out Reggie was a boy, and Spouse suddenly decided that we should name him after a cheese. That never happened though.
(That paragraph had nothing to do with Group Therapy, I just remembered it for some reason.)
I found out after two days of baby-holler, that being a Stay-At-Home-Mom wasn't all that glamorous. Or relaxing. Or fun, actually. I became a tad lonely, and A LOT stir crazy. I tried gathering with other mommies only to discover that conversations would consist of two things: elaborately-boring birth-stories, or household chores. Sometimes we mommies would hit the jackpot and discuss the proper amount of times to use a towel before washing it (which is a borderline household chore topic, but humor me.) Those were the exciting conversations. This was Mommy Group Therapy – and not exactly my cup of tea.
As opportunity would present itself, Vera was laid off from her job. Vera lived (still does) four houses up. We became acquainted before Spouse and I moved in and kept a casual friendship. Vera and I didn't know each other well -- but we knew that music was one thing we had a lot in common. Every day, around 3:00 or 4:00, I'd wander up to Vera's house. We'd lay Yahoo #1 beneath her flowering cherry tree, then porch it with some tunes and a beverage or popsicle. It was a great summer. That was the summer of Group Therapy with Vera. Sadly, Vera found a job and went back to work. I don't think I quit crying for three months.
On September 15, 2005*, Spouse introduced me to this blogger concept and suggested I pick it up. I thought, well that's rather strange, who the heck reads that? What's the point of revealing all your junk to no one? (If I'm about to expose my junk, somebody should see it, right?) Over the years, this little spot has been the best of friends. This blog has helped me learn stuff, document what I want to remember, and discover parts of me I didn't know existed. It has helped me swim through tangled emotions, analyze frustrations, and celebrate. The blogger has also introduced me to some pretty fantastic friends -- friends I hope to have for a lifetime.
One post at a time, and five years later, I found a Group Therapy called Blogger Group Therapy.
The point of this exercise was to really have no point. Hehehe. Gotcha! Actually, the point of this Group Therapy series of nonsense was to show that I need Group Therapy. Perhaps we all need Group Therapy, but I'll let you decide that. I wouldn't be where I'm at now -- and where I'm at now is a happy little clam -- without the Group Therapies. All of 'em. This is me embracing it all and being happy for each crappy opportunity, ugly memory, and sunburst of joy. The good, the bad, and most definitely the ugly will create me. The trick is to decide if I plan to create a spectacular me or something out of horror-flick. And the trick to that is taking responsibility for the decisions. My decisions, not someone else's, landed me in that mess. I have no one to blame but myself. It also appears, that after 13 years, I'm finally getting over the pain, else there's no way in hell I'd tell all of you Group members about it.
I don't think I'll tell that story again. Bummer, eh? You can read it, but I'm not going to tell it.
Throughout the various Group Therapies, there was one constant. That constant was running. When the going gets tough, the tough go running. When the going gets sad, the sad go running. When the going gets anxious, the anxious go running. When the going gets stressed, the stressed go running. When the going gets angry, the angry go running. When the going gets joyful, the joyful go running. When the going needs silence, the silent go running. When the going gets depressed, the depressed go running. When the going just needs to run, the runners go running.
Run, Rabid, Run.
*Wanna hear something spooky? You might not believe me, but what I'm about to tell you is the honest-to-garsh truth. I started this Group Therapy business on September 15, 2010. This is exactly five years after my very first post -- to the date -- something I found out just now when searching for the link to that post. This is very spooky, because it was not planned, it just happened. How serendipitous was that? My original plan was to talk about the running group therapy, then all the fluffy stuff in this post with a nice little wrap-up about the blogger being another essential form of my Group Therapy. Something happened and it morphed into a giant-outpouring-of-my-loaded-closet. And now my skeletons are out. Just in time for Halloween. Booo!