Not Believable

 If I ever want to be in the mood to write again, I need to spill here about the two things that the therapist didn’t believe me about. 

One of them was regarding the pressure from my extended family when I was younger. I basically started working with kids when I was very young, because the pressure on me at the time was to NOT get married or have kids of my own and to pursue only career and education only. This was in contradiction to their mantras that no one would ever hire me, but the pressure was still there. I have 20 first cousins, and ten of them never married or had kids.  That’s evidence that I’m telling it accurately  

The problem that the therapist had with this is that most other women get pressured from society TO get married and have kids. In her eyes, someone experiencing the opposite is probably either lying or delusional. But, I stand by my past. The only thing that I can probably agree with now that I didn’t see at the time was that maybe it was because of my young age at the time?  However, age was rarely brought up. The pressure on me was “don’t”. Not, “maybe someday” 

 

The other thing had to do with the year I graduated from college. When I explained that I could not find a job upon finishing my degree, she assumed it was during the pandemic. This would fit her political narrative probably. I said no, it was before the pandemic. She gave me this face: 🤨 and said “huh!”

I can’t remember if I told her that 2020 was my highest earning year ever, but if I did, that probably pissed her off too. I must not have, because she would have attributed that to my degree when it had nothing to do with it. It was all the apps that I do on the side now. They paid hella good in 2020. Anyone can sign up for that, and no one cares about your degree. 

Therapists not believing my story doesn’t mean that I can’t write it down. Some of the best writing that I’ve consumed in the last few years have been about subcultures that have nothing to do with any of the subcultures I have lived in. For instance, the HBO series “Big Love” with Bill Paxton. I loved the job they did on that writing. But I have only come across a polygamist family in real life once before, when I attended high school with the youngest daughter of one. I did not get angry at the show and write them a letter saying, “I’ve never been expected to marry a man with two wives already and seven kids, therefore it isn’t realistic!”  

It’s realistic in some parts of the country. It shows a lot of strength and maturity when one is able to understand that their experiences don’t apply to EVERYONE.  

Work Update

 Tonight will be my third night working at this men’s group home, affiliated with the same company. On my last day at the ladies’ house, they all gave me a hug and were not too happy about me being transferred. That makes me feel good. 

At this house, the only other staff member besides me is the house supervisor. If I hadn’t been transferred, she’d have to be here 24/7. She’s in her 70’s and kind of unhinged, but more on that later. Staff members are leaving this company for the following reason:

This past summer, right before I got this job and moved out here, this particular group of group homes was owned by a different company. My company bought them all in either May or June. The company I’m working for enacted a new rule that they must do hourly bed checks on the group home residents. You can’t lie about doing these checks, either. You have to log in to the desk top computer in the house and click on each client name and click asleep, awake, on leave, or hospitalized. There’s even a way to do it on your phone. Each check in is time stamped to make sure you did it every hour. The other staff members are appalled at this. I’m appalled at them being appalled. I just think it’s the bare minimum. 

There were two ladies at this house who have quit over this new rule. So the house supervisor and I are basically just relieving each other every 12 hours. My regular schedule is Monday through Friday 8pm until 8am, but she also said I can work weekends if I want. She also insisted she didn’t want me getting burned out because she needs me. So I told her that my husband is going to be out of town this weekend. His job goes to Louisiana every three months for an inventory account. I said I would work this weekend since he’ll be gone, but next weekend I’ll take off. There is a floater that can come in. She was happy with that, but appeared to think that my husband going out of town means he’s cheating on me lol. That was just the impression I got from her reactions to “He’s going out of town.”  I told her that I used to work there too, and I also went to Louisiana every three months. She seemed ok with that explanation. When I worked there, there was a coworker whose wife thought he was cheating when we were in Louisiana. It was a bit of a shit show. She had him on “locate my family” app, and the motel we stayed at had a tavern in the same parking lot/strip mall. She thought he was there drinking all night. 

But back to this men’s home. 

In some ways, it’s easier and in some ways, it’s not. When I get there at 8:00 am they’re all turning in for the night. Most of them lay awake in bed for over an hour. They wake up between 5:45-6:15, which is earlier than the ladies. They have fewer medications, and none of them need help showering or grooming. They do all the same household chores as the ladies’ home, but they don’t do as good of a job as the ladies. One of them has the same first name as a celebrity, and I started calling him the full name of that celebrity. He’s all over that. 

So all I do is clock in at 8pm, see them all off to bed, tidy up a bit and do the hourly bed checks. Then only really deal with them the last two hours. I have needed to slow a couple of them down with medications- they seem to want to hurry up and take their meds too quickly, and since they’re all new to me and I haven’t memorized their medication lists, I am insisting on giving them one pill at a time until I mark it in the computer. 

So all in all, it’s very chill. I like doing this kind of work much better than I liked doing home care. I didn’t think I would, either. Taking care of elderly in their homes is often as physically taxing as caring for a baby or toddler (even harder actually, because babies and toddlers are easier to lift and don’t die).  Working in a group home like this with adults who have IDD feels more like caring for tweens or teens. It’s not physically taxing at all, you just have to constantly “remind”. And since they’re actually adults, you don’t have to impose arbitrary rules on them like you might with older kids. That makes it easier on everyone. 

I also never worked 84 hours a week with elderly in their homes. Not sure I’d want to!  

House Switch

 Earlier this week, I met the nurse and another staff member at one of the other group homes that is run by my company. The nurse went through the medication routines and the diagnostic lists of the four men who live in the group home. 

Then this morning, the manager of that house called me and asked me if I was interested in working at her house Monday through Friday from 8pm until 8am. I said yes right away. I know that’s 60 hours a week!  That will actually be good for me. I want to pay off my student loans already!  These guys are supposedly a “little harder” than the five ladies I work with now, but that’s not saying much. They’re easy compared to literally all of what I’ve done in the past. 

Then, that house manager said, “Oh good! Thank you so much!  I’m so glad you are willing to do it, because if not then I might have to kill myself!”  😮 

“Oh!” I exclaimed “No don’t do that!”  

We both weirdly chuckled. What an insane thing to say!  So that starts this Monday night at 8pm. I’m actually looking forward to it. They said two of the guys will already be in bed when I get there, and the other two will go before 9:30. After that it’s just the “hourly bed checks” until medication starts at 7:00 am. The five ladies I work with now start their meds at 6:30. I may have to help the guys more with making breakfast, but that’s ok. 

Maybe I can pay my student loans off for my 49th birthday! 

Feeling Blah

 For no reason at all, here’s a video of my cat Mitchell being a poopoo head. 

I don’t think I have it in me anymore to write my book. I’ve mentioned it here before- the book I wanted to write is called The Child Advocate.  The extremely rough draft has about 45,000 words.  It’s “based on” my own experiences working with kids and what I learned along the way. 

When I started writing it, the creative juices were really flowing. Then I started having memory after memory and I was like, damn. I have really been through a lot with this crap. It was at that point that I decided to go to therapy to process all of this.  You can read about my ups and downs (mostly downs) Here. 

I think therapy has sabotaged my ability to write this book. Every time I sit down, I hear the one who didn’t believe key elements of my story and also the one who basically yelled at me to get over it. I cannot bring myself to write and publish something that got me those reactions from therapists.  If someone actually read my book though, and either found it unbelievable or thought I was just some whiner that needed to get over shit, I would be ok with that.  Coming from therapists hits fundamentally differently.

After that, several more “free consults” proved that they have a problem with my marriage, due to the fact that we met at work.  I cannot just start therapy again, I have to constantly ask if they’re ok with my marriage. They’re either not ok with it, or they are and they insinuate that once we build trust, they can help me see how wrong it is. How about no. I do not want to lose my autonomy. 

The spark to write it just isn’t there anymore. I realized this last night when one of the therapists who I had a free consult with kept me on her mailing list for whatever reason and invited me to a free group zoom meeting called “celebrating neurodiversity.”  Now the neurodiverse label, I don’t know. I have already been diagnosed and then undiagnosed with two different things, who knows if these people would undiagnose me with ADHD if they could. Obviously they could- the only diagnostic tool used on me was a checklist that took 60 seconds. But I looked at all the other faces on the screen and something in me just knew that the past couple years of trying to “seek therapy” has drained all the creativity out of me. I don’t even want to do my quilts and wreaths anymore. When one young woman started sharing that she just doesn’t know how to establish a morning routine, I clicked exit and said screw this. I don’t have time for this anymore. At least this bullshit was free. 

Regarding morning routines- not all days are the same. You need two or three different routines that will work for different types of days. The difficulty comes when you think you failed because you couldn’t stick to ONE.  Make a few different lists for different mornings. Tack them to the fridge and decide each morning which kind of day it is. That’s it. 

I am thinking that I’ll just sit at my desk at home and compile all of what I have into one document and store it in a flash drive and then shred the rest. My daughter already knows where the flash drive is in case I die. Maybe there’s a chance that the act of “compiling” will make the inspiration come back. 

View Spike

 I made a post earlier today. It had 17 views when I left the house. I drove an hour and it went up to 133 views. This freaked me out so much I deleted the post. My posts only get over 100 views occasionally, and it’s over a few days not an hour. I have no idea what happened. Yes, more views are welcome!  I just didn’t share it anywhere that would garner that   

Brie in a Pumpkin

I hollowed out this small pumpkin and added Brie, cream cheese, fig jam, thyme, walnuts, and honey. I baked it at 350 for about an hour. I also baked bread from scratch. It’s amazing! 

 

20 Years Ago Today

 October 6, 2006 was the day I took a pregnancy test and it came back positive!  8 months later, I held Anna in my arms. 

I was working at the children’s museum. We had walked talkees and a coworker who was pregnant and due at Thanksgiving. That morning on the walkee talkee, our supervisor announced that she had the baby that morning. We were surprised. He was early. He spent quite a bit of time in the NICU, but was ultimately healthy. 

I started realizing I could be pregnant. I didn’t think it was possible, though, because my old church seven years earlier had convinced me that it wasn’t the will of God for me to have a family. Yes I was married, but I felt like I was living against God’s will if I was married. It was complicated. God definitely wouldn’t allow a baby to be conceived if having a family wasn’t his will. 

After work, I went to Walgreens and got a pregnancy test. I decided to test anyway because it had been a long while. However, Walgreens didn’t have a bathroom. I went across the street to Kroger. I used their bathroom, and the positive sign came up immediately!  Not “in three minutes” 

I walked out of Kroger and the alarmS went off. The store manager approached me and asked what I had in my bag. I told him it was a pregnancy test I got at Walgreens across the street. I swore I didn’t get it there. He asked for a receipt, but I’d left it on the passenger seat of my car. He was really tough with me and didn’t believe me. I was embarrassed showing it to him because I had peed on it. 

After that, he begrudgingly let me go. I was 28 years old, but looked young for my age. There was a teenage runaway shelter around the corner from that Kroger- it seemed like he thought I came from there. 

I ran to my car, grabbed the receipt, ran back in and showed it to him. He immediately felt bad and went to the floral department and gave me a yellow carnation. My first husband and I had that carnation on our kitchen counter for two whole weeks. 

Years later, I described him to someone I knew who was a Kroger manager. She knew him and said he was tough on everyone. No one liked him. Someone damaged his car in retaliation for being by tough. His insurance wouldn’t cover it, so he drove around with the damage. I can’t judge him for that, because a deer did that to me and I’m still driving around with the smash door.