Life Coach

What’s Your Therapy?

I spent four hours the other evening revamping my church’s bulletin board. It was on the shabby side and my discerning eye was truly aggravated by it each time I saw it. Just the thought of redesigning it got me excited. I would get to do something I love and make me feel good in the bargain. 

The casual observer would have gone nuts with the number of times I had to get on a chair, get off a chair, walk away and return only to move something on the board for the hundredth time. “You look happy doing that,” someone said. Mind you I wasn’t humming or grinning from ear to ear but the person realized I was in my personal zen just cutting away and stapling away on this board. “It’s my therapy,” I responded. 

Baking is my therapy. Reading is my therapy. Turning chaos into order is my therapy. What’s yours?

There’s something in us that finds peace when we do it. Something that others find perplexing and frustrating to do, but you find it as your outlet and it brings a sense of calm to your soul. 

Some people run. Frankly pounding my knees on the pavement one in front of the other is more of an obligation, but I know folks who lace up and run to escape. 

Some people bake and have a kitchen dusted over with flour. They find the measuring and watching this mélange of ingredients turn into something others drool over is rewarding. 

Some people enjoy a good swim or anything dealing with the water. For them, subconscious reminders of their first nine months in the womb brings a sense of escape. 

Some people clean their house from top to bottom and erase the old and bring in the new. Their idea of peace is trashing huge bags of stuff they no longer need, decluttering their lives one piece of junk at a time. 

Some people enjoy all things music. Some play around with makeup. Some love quiet moments in reading. Some journal. Some blog. Some climb mountains in search of new adventures. Some like long rides. Some binge watch old episodes. Some do triathalons. Some travel. Whatever brings you a sense of relaxation or reward should be considered your therapy. 

March is social workers month and half of my work in therapy is guiding others in the discovery of their inner peace. We go stretches and stretches in our lifetime running towards illusions without settling down and finding contentment. We go miles and miles being unhappy in our skin without finding that “thing” that makes us smile on the inside and look forward to doing it. 

On this night, working on a bulletin board is what I needed. I also needed an Ibuprofen when I was done! Getting on and off a chair, stapling, unstapling, moving, removing. When it was all done, my sense of accomplishment of this task eased the long day I had endured. 

Find your therapy. Commit to taking care of yourself. 

Random Thoughts

Shoes, Shoes, and More Shoes

I don’t know what it is about wearing a nice pair of shoes that appeals to me. My brother and I both have the vice. He’s a sneaker head. And I, well I just like anything that fits well and looks good. That can be a pair of red Converse, some black Nike duck boots, red and camel Frye cowboy boots, or some BeBe shoes I bought over ten years ago that I still have in my collection.

You know you are a shoe fiend when you have more shoes for one outfit or the outfit has long since left the closet and the shoes are still there! I may have to go sit on someone’s couch to analyze this love affair for shoes. I didn’t grow up having a lot of pairs of shoes. My parents never bought us name brand anything but I knew from my mom’s old pictures that she had a mean shoe game herself. Cancer didn’t strike her shoe taste dumb or blind. Whenever I came to visit her from work or on the way to church, first thing she would do is compliment my shoes. Game recognized game.

My shoes are all boxed and labeled. I spent one winter break typing up labels and neatly placing them “bad boys” away. My friends joke that when I die, people are going to break down my door just to get to my shoes. I gotta write out this living will for real! I used to feel embarrassed when people talked about my shoe game. I never liked that kind of attention. I heard different things in their words. But there’s something about this year that has me saying “it’s whatever”. Yeah I like shoes. Yep, it’s part of my monthly budget. And what of it? #DeucesAndDismissed

I’m quite selective in my shoe choices. No $10 shoes here. No run of the mill shoes for me. They don’t last long, the heels tend to wobble, and they come a dime a dozen. Who wants a twin shoe wearer at a party? Not I says the cat!

I’m not selective on where I buy shoes from. I got a pair of never worn label brand shoes from Goodwill. I do Macy’s, Ross, Marshalls, DSW, and gasp! I even do EBay. That’s a story for another blog! Now I do have some dream shoes on my list. One of a certain soled shade. And another of a certain vintaged name. A girl can dream and work hard for hers. And the big 40 is right around the corner.

I’m sure the therapist who analyzes my fetish may find some personality flaws that lend to my passion for shoes. So I may as well save them the trouble and diagnose my damn self. Personality disorder: shoe lover. Treatment plan: buy shoes.


Lay On The Couch

I had been trying to make it to this minister’s wives group for the past five months. Schedule did not permit and the hour and a half ride to get there almost didn’t permit either. I don’t regret pressing through the snarled rush hour traffic now.

I am a wife, a pastor’s wife at that. I work full time, I am involved in professional organizations. Work follows me home sometimes. I am active in my community. I am making room to grow our family of two to three. I am a daughter to a cancer patient. The eldest of her two, the only girl, the one with the broad shoulders to bear this oftentimes unbearable weight.

I would have walked barefoot through the Saharan desert to make this group; to sit among women just like me. Women who wear multiple hats and dress for multiple roles. I love my friends dearly but sometimes being among strangers who have one commonality allows freedom to share certain things.

I have been careful not to drag my friends into my cluttered mind as it relates to being a pastor’s wife. It keeps the drama down and the friendships pure. My friendships aren’t based on church gossip and lore. So trekking down south to a two hour meeting every few weeks will allow me the space and time to breathe fresh air.

My husband, who believes I’m Superwoman, thinks I can do one of these groups on the north end. I believe so too. But I’m more interested now in being fed rather than being the one to feed.

I meet ladies who don’t look like me or may not even think like me. Our one thread of faith and a sometimes lonely role binds us if for but a moment in time. My turn to lay on the proverbial couch and let someone else take the lead.