Remember a few weeks back when I made the joke that I needed an exorcism?  In my mind, that kind of activity would be an explosion (or implosion?) in the vein of Linda Blair.  A massive and sudden expulsion of energy that, when the dust settles, results in things being returned back to normal.  But perhaps what I need to set my sights on is more of the slow, fizzy release of negativity like a pressure cooker.

I’ve resumed therapy visits, and finally it seems as if we’re getting somewhere.  Without going in to too much detail, I’ve been doing my homework.  Every. Day.  Working on slowly emptying the anger from a very deep and wide reservoir that would make the Hoover Dam seem weak.  Yes, it will probably take a while, but I’m doing my best to be patient. It’s hard to dedicate yourself to working on something and see yourself stumble back and forth in the process.  I think I just hoped that after a few therapy visits, I’d land happily back in to my old shoes.  It’s taking longer than that.  In this Immediate Gratification era, it seems like anything that takes a long time isn’t worth doing.  Not true though, right?

At dinner the other night, we started showing Mr. B a video of him when he was around Miss P’s age, singing the very song she had just sung to us.  One video led to another, and on our media journey back in time, we stumbled on video taken from my baby shower when Mr. B was in-utero.  Looking at this younger version of myself, I got pretty depressed.  Not for the aesthetic part.  But because this younger version of myself hadn’t turned sour yet.  Her expiration was very far off in the distance.  She didn’t have that large crease in between her eyebrows from a constant scowl.  She hadn’t let motherhood and life and anger and resentment turned her in to someone you had to walk on eggshells around.  Man, I miss her!  I want to be that person again.  She’s in here, somewhere.  I know it.  So why am I holding on to this other version?  The one that thrives on misery and bad moods and passive/aggressive behavior?  Does anyone have a large, yet humane, trap we can put her in and ship her off to a place far, far away?  Preferably like this: 

And then, I came across a blog this afternoon that made me want to change with the snap of a finger.  I don’t even remember the history of how I found it (I think maybe Erin from My Nuggets of Truth?) , but Choose Joy is a blog written by Sara, a.k.a. Gitz, as she struggles with a chronic and debilitating illness.  Unfortunately, Sara lost her battle this weekend.  I only found her blog this morning, but I spent the better part of Miss P’s nap reading posts from the past year or so. While she eloquently chronicles her battle, she also makes a point of not complaining about it or placing blame.  How is that possible?  I’ve read other similar stories from people dealing with much bigger issues like this (rather than the petty ones I face on a daily basis like “You couldn’t unload the dishwasher?” or “Why am I the only one that picks up around here?”) and they all say the same things.  They don’t let the small stuff get in the way of their happiness.  They don’t dwell on the bad things, or at the very least, they don’t let shit just consume their livelihood.  Here’s a quote from Sara that sums it up:

I choose the joy. When something is going badly and I’m dwelling on it, I think instead of something for which I am grateful. I swear to you, it’s as simple as that. You just have to decide today, and again tomorrow. And before you know it, you’ll have an attitude of joy more than any other attitude you have at your disposal.

One day at a time.  One moment at a time.  Small bursts of focus that, compounded, could make things appear easier.  Who’s with me?