THIRTIES- Welcome The Visitor

Depression, frustration, and illness come as visitors to remind us of our managerial strength. Challenge yourself to manage. 

The Guest House

“This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.

meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.

because each has been sent 

as a guide from beyond.

-Jalal ad-Din Rumi

     When the Kaptain and I returned home from our beyond romantic honeymoon in Fiji, life went on as usual. I had been distracting myself for so long with the house and wedding that I created confusion as to why I was creating depression, asking my friend if I had made a mistake. At this point, I hadn’t learned that depression depends on how we decide to look at “the unexpected visitor” and some imbalances are more than others. We can call it anything we want, and our light is stronger than any imbalance. I was yet to learn to observe and welcome the visitor by breathing into it and trusting the process. The visitor seemed like a permanent resident in those years. Actually, when I come to think about it, I remember creating anxiety issues as a kid. My strongest memory was the fear of being poisoned. I thought if I touched any bottle under the kitchen sink, I was going to die. I would create paranoia and wash my hands a hundred times, reassuring myself that every last invisible speck was gone.

     During this time, the Kaptain and I lived for the weekends. We would travel up to Laguna Niguel and be with our friends whom we had since childhood. My husband would go surfing, and my bestie and I would hang on the couch all day talking and analyzing. I would plead with her to convince me that everything was going to be ok. Many times, I told her that I needed meds and NOW. She kindly coaxed me into seeing a therapist at Kaiser Permanente in Oceanside. Although, I had already seen my first psychologist back in my late twenties, I didn’t want to go. I remember my first therapist making an analogy, saying that my controlling father theoretically had a gun to my head for most of my life. My father never said, Do as I say, or else, but that is what I heard. I took my friend’s advise and made an appointment to see my now second therapist ... 

    "I think I need to be on anti-anxiety medication," I said. 

     He replied, “Let's wait. I want to see you every week.” My eyes brimmed, and thought, Is he trying to take advantage of me? That’s at least what my father would have told me; and up to this point in my life, his voice was louder than my own. 

     The therapist must have read my mind because he continued, "This is your life, Kathleen. How much is it worth?” 

    With every appointment, I began to say what I wanted to say without being reprimanded that I was wrong for my feelings. My father had rarely validated me unless I agreed with him on everything. Up to that point in my life, going to therapy was the most independently courageous thing I had ever done. I felt like I was going against my dad and that scared me. For he was my rock (before the Kaptain), my bread and butter; and without him, who or where would I be? Opening my heart to someone who I did not know and revealing my darkest thoughts, out loud, was like a chunk of concrete being lifted off my back. Therapy became easier, and I became braver by being willing to hear my own voice. I can now clearly see that I was paying someone to just listen and confirm what I knew to be true all along...my father was the psychological definition of a full fledged narcissist. I sometimes surprised myself with the psychologist’s reactions, validating my life and energetically saying, You have every reason to feel this way. You see, I thought I was a bad person for my thoughts. Throughout the years, I was shamed by many people who did not understand when I complained about my dad. They would say, “Kathleen, your father is so cool and gives you so much.” 

     So, why were they fooled? Because I was, too. My dad put on an amazing show in front of people and spoiled the family (including some of my friends) with vacations and money. I also thought that I "should" be over the top happy because I owned a house. 

     Meeting my therapist at the age of thirty-four was a breath of fresh air and just the beginning of my journey back home to my heart. One day, and to my surprise, he vanished. I never heard from him again. My friend said, “He gave you your wings; it is now time for you to fly.” Little did I know that I was going to fly to my next phase of growth. Learning to welcome my “terrible” thoughts and all the things I was resisting in life: the anxiety, the self rejection, the family and friends who did not meet my models, the marriage I was unsure of, and many of the choices that I had made thus far.  All angels in disguise helping me to see that love is the only truth. It was timely for me to call up my courage and take responsibility for my reactions to life.

     Being brave, saying what we want to say, and letting it all out is necessary if we want to truly live. Otherwise, you will allow the visitors to convince you that surviving is enough. Please give yourself and the world a gift...You are a loving spirit, creating the experience of being human.

      If you forget, I will remember for you.