I've been reading tiny articles sent my way from Google+, Linkedin, and Facebook, that tell me my mood/happiness/success/motivation/whatever are completely mine to own. And I believe that.
This is not a post in which I state that those articles are simplistic and misleading--even though they are. And it's not a post in which I decide to climb on the bandwagon and just get over everything that seems to be dragging me down.
I'm guessing, if you know me personally, you have not seen me sad very often. And if you have, I'm guessing that if we talked about it, I made you laugh. It is not natural for me to be gloomy or grouchy.
That being said, I also know that while we choose, to some extent, to linger in sadness or to do something different, there is value in allowing ourselves to process difficult experiences--and sometimes that means we won't be happy for a little while. So the "15 Things Happy People Do Differently" lists, don't really apply in those times.
I struggle often with the feeling that my life is not shareable--that it's filled with ugly events, the knowledge of which causes other people discomfort. I've lived with knowing members of my family do not believe the things I have told them--and that disbelief continued until my cousin, Jeff, corroborated my story by telling his own. That same disbelief is now leveled at my daughter as she allows others to know of her abuse experience at the hands of my brother. I understand disbelief. I felt pangs of it myself when I first heard the abuse story. I clung to disbelief as a means of survival, in regards to my own experiences, for many years.
Disbelief is one thing that keeps abuse and rape survivors in the victim mode and in the end it is irrelevant. It cannot erase events. Eventually the survivor moves forward, discarding those who cannot lend support, and clinging to those who will give support and accept it, as well, in times when their lives feel vulnerable.
I woke with the sun this morning--which is normal for me. Saturday = sleeping in for everyone in my family except me. For me, sleeping in = at least three days of insomnia. And I don't love sleeping anyway, so it seems silly to do it just because it seems to be a tradition for people who work nine to five, Monday through Friday.
Birds sing differently as the sun rises. This morning the sunrise was gorgeous and unusual. Rain was falling softly, but the sky was only partially cloudy. This happens often in July. I watched the sun color the rainclouds until they finally dispersed. The birdsong increased in volume as the clouds lifted, then became quiet background chatter.
I have much to do today; things I have left until I felt able to manage panic and PTSD problems. Today I can do those things. I've missed deadlines and put off clients, and I have yet to finish my syllabus and make the Power Point slides for my classes. Laundry is piled high and I'm pretty sure I didn't clean the kitchen last night before I went to bed.
But the point is, I'm finally ready to do those things.
However, I think I'm going to talk a walk first. It's a beautiful day. I plan to enjoy it.