Independence Day

July 4^th 1776: The U.S. proclaims its independence from Great Britain

July 4^th 2004: Jenny decides she will live an independent life

July 4^th 2005: Jenny takes a bold first step in said life; Jenny meets a BFF

July 4^th 2006: Jenny’s Independence Day is proclaimed.

July 4^th is kind of a big deal in my life. As a child, fireworks and parades were never a focus of the day, but there was always a bit of extra feeling of something to celebrate about. George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, these were well known figures in my fund of childhood stories and they were talked about on July 4^th. Being proud of the U.S., without prideful blindness to its limitations and faults, was something instilled from tender years. And what better way to convince a child that something is good than by having a party about it?

In 2004 July 4^th became the most hated day of my life, the one with the most painful memories such that the National Holiday was blanketed over and being so busy that I didn’t even have the presence of mind to recognize which day it was became the supreme goal. While divorce had been something I had been fighting against for some time, despite my best efforts it crept nearer until it pounced on July 4^th. My last ditch hopes and efforts had failed and Martin and I decided that it was time to end the marriage. My world, my fairy tale, my Eternity seemed shattered and I was left fragmented and mourning for the loss that left me independently adrift.

In 2005 July 4^th found me in a brand new state, a new city, with no friends. So, having a horror of being alone one year to the day from when my life fell apart, I did what any YSA would do, I called the local Institute and asked if there were any plans I could participate in on the 4^th. There was a pool party, no one there I knew, in a place I didn’t know… I screwed up my courage, packed my bathing suit and pulled out my map. I still remember the walk from the side of my car, across the residential street, up the front walk, knocking on the front door, thinking whole way, “What on earth are you doing crazy lady??!!!” and being nearly too scared to go through with it.

Thank goodness I did because I met a fellow YSA who has become one of my best friends. To this day, each year I contact him and remind him (dates are not so much his thing) what a scared little puddle of goop I had been that day and how grateful I am that he sat and talked with the new girl and how much I value his friendship.

In 2006, now well established in my singlehood, I continued to be overwhelmed with the pain of July 4^th 2004, so ashamed (though I had done nothing ‘wrong’) that I had kept my “secret” from all but a handful and I fled to spend the National Holiday with my family. My brother, ever supportive, ever blunt, listened to his sister’s tale of woe about the on-going pain associated with July 4^th and then made a profound statement. He said that July 4^th was not a day of mourning; it is a day of celebration both for the country and for me personally. It was the day I chose to live my life free of a love-less marriage from a man who did not like me, disparaged my profession and deliberately insulted members of my family on a regular basis. Adam then said the words that have echoed in my mind until I can, five years later, believe it, “July 4^th is Jenny’s Independence day, too.”

So when, on July 4^th, you hear me say, “Happy Independence Day to the U.S. and to Me,” you may have some small glimmer into the path I’ve walked and just how much I have to celebrate on this day of independence.

Vicarious Pain

Do you have any traditions or little things that set you in the right frame of mind to do something? I do. It seems my life is totally comprised of these little traditions. Including traditions to add or change the current traditions.

For example, I am very slow to warm up to new people, ideas or activities. I know this about myself. Any one who has ever gotten close to me knows this. To off-set this hallmark of my personality, I have a rule (though I use that term loosely) that when friends ask me to do something, even if I’m really not sure I want to, I do it. This tradition has brought me many moments of unanticipated fun and joy… and a lot of new interests.

Traditions are funny things: They connect us to the past and build a bridge to the future. They bring a sense of continuity to our ephemeral existence. They can bind us if too many or too rigid and they can leave us three sheets to the wind if too few. By noticing who shares similar traditions they help tell us who is part of “our” group and who is not.

I have a tradition called work. It is work that I have wanted to do since I was 11 years old. I began formal study for it when I was 14 years old. Given those facts, I’ve been at this profession for about two decades. It is a source of joy and fulfillment in my life. I am grateful each day that I get to live my childhood dream of being a child psychologist.

I have many fun moments at my work. Laughter is sprinkled throughout my day. My patients laugh too, sometimes with me and sometime at me and the silly things I do. Little do they know the secret… I’m silly, I’m the stand up comic (those of you who know me off-duty will not believe that I’m a stand up comic at work, but it’s true), I’m the cute acting and dressing “Dr. JB” to ease the pain that they can’t get away from.

They can’t get away from it because it’s in their own head, their own thoughts, their own feelings, their own bodies. Their pain is palpable: It makes my head hurt. It makes my heart hurt. It makes me squirm in physical discomfort. But I can go home at night, to get away from the radiating pain, confusion, worry and sadness of these young people I affectionately call “my kids”.

That distance eases the hurt. But they are still in the hospital, right where I left them, and they are still hurting. And I know this. Distance does not bring amnesia.

Once, I had a patient very nearly kill himself. I got the message late at night, while with some friends. When I hung up the phone and turned back to them, feeling ready to vomit over what I had just learned, they stopped in their tracks and asked WHAT had just happened. Without betraying any of the confidentiality by which I am legally and ethically bound I told them a patient had just tried to kill himself. One dear, bold as brass and blunt as an old ax friend said, “You’re not doing a very good job if he is still trying to kill himself.” A cruel statement? Not at all. He gave words to my deepest fear. I went into work, to help my patient through this crisis with my own fear clearly articulated and set about to heal both my patient’s and my own pain at this, now historical, event in our lives.

Like multi-colored threads, these moments are woven through my life. The one as a third year grad student, at 25 years old, where a long-time and deeply trusted mentor commented that my adult male therapy patient had paid his dominatrix to have a relationship with him and (not having had any female relationships, even of the friend sort, since then) was now paying me to have a relationship with him. The one about a year before that when I had to tell two sweet, mentally retarded parents that their son was mentally retarded, a problem they had grown up struggling with and had told me, early on in knowing them, that they did not want to see their only child go through what they had endured growing up. Or the time I was subpoenaed to appear in court on behalf of CPS because they were seeking to terminate a mother’s custody of her child I had tested and I would not have to go if she did not contest the termination: I did not have to go. Or the time my client was so tired she just couldn’t go back to work and asked to sleep a little in my office while I sat and watched over her, or the time after time after time I came home, sick at heart with the stories of my clients and couldn’t tell my family or friends to ease my own pain. Finally, the time I spent the day testing a six year old who had been taken from his parents’ care because they wouldn’t care for or feed him to find out the extent of the psychological damage, and went to dinner that night and watched as my friend sat in horror when I said this, just this much, in response to her question, “What’s did you do today?” and I realized that I was becoming hardened against the pain I saw and vowed not become hardened to it.

So, I refuse to become hardened to the pain I feel and vicariously live with as I help my patients. I see the man hallucinating at the bus stop as I drive by. I see the mother being too harsh with her child because she doesn’t know what else to do as I walk down the mall. I feel the depression of the person standing next to me in my favorite past-time. I am a witness to it; we all see these problems all around us. I also have been blessed to learn enough about how people function to have a measure of understanding of the significance of these facts in the lives of my fellow humans.

Lots of people work as psychologists, as mental health professionals. I don’t see me as anything special in that group of healers. But sometimes, I am given an honor that I don’t expect and am not totally sure what I did to earn it. Once upon a time a friend said there was a family who needed help, and would I talk to them? I felt honored that they trusted me enough to send this family my direction. (It’s one thing to get clients off the street. It’s another when your friends, essentially, pre-screen you and still find your help of enough value to LET you help.) I did nothing more than listen to these friends of a friend a few times and point them in the right direction of how to help their child and family. What I heard back about what this family said about me was a little embarrassing in its praise. I had simply been grateful I could help.

So, what is the tradition that allows me to cope with the pain I’m flooded with nearly every day? “Where much is given, much is required” is a basic tenant of my life. And I am grateful that I have been given much.

Sonata Form

You might, or might not, want to read this blog. If you’re a friend of mine you might find interesting my take on how you (with a thinly disguised identity) have impacted me. If you’re an acquaintance of mine, you might not want to hear the above without any attempt at disguise. And if you’re neither I’m not sure why you’re reading this.

Selfishly, I have things I need to say, experiences I need to make sense of. Thus, I am writing about me, to me and then sending it off to the Ethernet Universe. As such, I will be speaking as I think, which means (if you’re going to follow along) you need to know a few basic points of reference about me.

1) I am a musician. At six months old I kept time accurately and find metronomes only get in the way of me keeping beat. I almost always have music playing in my mind. Music helped me make the most important decision of my life. I am an accomplished pianist, but I will not play for you unless you are a stranger or very close to me.

2) I am a psychologist. I will use psychological concepts and terms without explanation, so keep your Google and Wikipedia handy. One last note: You’re only hope of me not ‘analyzing’ you is if you never popped up on my radar. If I’ve seen you, heard of you or interacted with you then I’ve already started as reflexively as breathing. Your only consolation is that I keep my mouth shut about what I see and I don’t blab to others.

3) I am divorced. A few of you will be saying, “Tell us something we don’t know already!” The vast majority of you will need a moment to readjust your gestalt of me. The Mormons among you will be asking two questions: 1- Was it a temple marriage? 2- Why did it end? The rest of you might ask why it ended, but many of you will say, “Ok, we got it… next?” To answer your questions, yes it was done in the temple and 2… I suppose the easy answer is that we found out we weren’t as compatible as we thought we’d be. And then, subsequently, I didn’t want to stay married to someone who said he didn’t love me anymore. There are some things that one should not have to live through and I wouldn’t wish divorce on anyone.

4) I don’t brag. I will state facts, which you might or might not be impressed over. To quote Jane Eye, “I do not say it to impress. It is a fact. That is all.” In fact, I generally struggle to not alienate others by saying what could be perceived as bragging. Which lead to one of my best friends telling me I should brag and then promptly bragging on my behalf. I am as curious as a cat and have a hunger for new information and experiences so I tend to do a lot of stuff.

Finally, if you’re totally befuddled as to the meaning of this blog’s name, allow me to elucidate: Ostinato is a repeating musical phrase. Rubato refers to when the strict tempo is abandoned for a more emotional tone. Emotions are there to help us learn wisdom from our experiences… and I am looking for the patterns in my life. But, as the name implies- you will not understand if you try and logic it out. Only by relying on intuition can you feel the meaning.