Thinking Errors

Courtesy of psych, some maladaptive thoughts that I think we are all guilty of at one point or another:


Mental Filter - Dwelling on one negative thought, and losing sight of the whole picture

Discounting the Positive - Positive qualities or experiences don't matter to you. Only the negative.

Fortune Telling - Making predictions of future catastrophic life events (no matter how likely or unlikely they may be).


...and one of my favorites: "All or nothing thinking." I do this. Viewing things as black or white, amazing or horrible, instead of on a continuum or spectrum. College will be amazing and I'll be obsessed with it. College will suck and I'll want to leave after the first day. I never thought of a gray area, that my college years would be filled with both happy and not-so-happy moments.


It feels nice to have names for these things. My class agreed that we are all very anxious and guilty of the above thoughts. Recognizing maladaptive thoughts is the first step in overcoming them and focusing on the positive.

Try it!

Dreams

I learned an amazing fact recently: In our dreams, no one is a stranger. What I mean by that is that every face in our dreams, we have seen before at some time in our lives. So for example, the face of the dwarf in my dream about Snow White (yes, I am dreaming in Disney) could be the same face of a man who was standing next two me in line at the grocery store last month. Or, to be slightly more dramatic and less Disney-ish, the creepy serial killer in my hostage nightmare a few years ago could actually be the face of the man who pumped gas into my mom's car when I was four.

Crazy, huh?

A face that our minds have long forgotten, or a face that passed so quickly it was just a blip in the grand scheme of things, can actually turn up years later in our dreams.

As a psych major, I know that dreams are essentially the results of neurons firing randomly in every such way. Okay, that's cool.

But dreams are so much more than that. They have an almost spiritual quality.

Okay, you say. But what does a dream about Snow White mean to humanity? Okay, you have a point. Not every dream necessarily has some life-altering message or meaning behind it. But some definitely provide immense clarity.

Or closure.

I have dreamed about deceased loved ones many times. I love when those faces pop up. And they can be faces from many years ago. But just when I thought I had forgotten the shape of a nose or a laugh or the rise and fall of a voice...

There it is. Right there.

And then I wake up.

It's kind of ironic that our brain cells almost get in the way of memory. But every once in awhile, you have that dream that clears the fog, reminding you of what's important.

Good Enough

One moment, she is making a passionate attempt at twisting her seven-year-old body around a giant monkey bar on the playground. But the next, after steadying herself on two feet, she is in tears. Her shiny eyes look up at me, her words piercing:

I'm not talented enough, she whispers.

I'm genuinely surprised. I thought you were incredible. I could never do that now. But these words of comfort aren't enough. The tears still fall and my heart actually drops.

First of all, I'm impressed that she knows the word "talented." But what really stings is her use of the word enough. Enough for what? I realize what at least partly fueled the fire; she thinks that the ten-year-old before her was better.

But I don't think that's true, I reply. And even if you think it is, it's because she's older and her body is stronger. 

This doesn't work either.

So I try again.

My heart is talking now. You're not talented? I exclaim. You just showed me the elaborate wind chime you created on the branch of that tree next to the swings. You used leaves and sticks, and tied the two together with pieces of grass. And you explained to me how your creation will tell us which way the wind is blowing.

And you garden. You know the name of every type of tree on this field. You tell me about flowers and which ones can survive best during the winter months.

And you tell stories that would make the Grimm Brothers jealous. About fairies and castles and knights and a purple snake and a giant tornado. You even act them out for me. 

I am speaking in my mind now: how dare you believe you aren't good enough?

At my mention of her many gifts, her head comes up out of her hands. She picks at her black tights. I even see a half-smile.

What else am I good at? 

And the list goes on.

I'm not sure how this little girl will feel about herself tomorrow, but she seems happier for today. She skips off to the slide, and I am left praying that she will one day discover her self-worth.

I'm having the same kind of day today. The kind of day that makes me feel...well, not good enough.

For example, there's that midterm looming over my head that should be fun (diagnosing a fictional patient with mental illness and composing a treatment plan). Instead, I find myself lacking the energy and motivation to start. Which is strange, because I got over eight hours of sleep last night. I'm just drained. And those new black sneakers (see last post) still haven't been used. Frankly, I just don't feel like running.

And the list goes on.

For now, I'm trying to push these taunting thoughts aside and focus on my strengths and where they can lead me.  Writing it out definitely helps.

I think that sometimes, we are all that little girl on the playground. I know I am. But in these instances, I remember a phrase from one of my favorite novels: She was all of these things and something more...it was what God puts into each soul that is given life, the one different thing such as that which makes no two fingerprints on the face of the earth alike..

So little girl, (and I don't now which "little girl" I'm talking to here): You ARE good enough. Actually, you are far more than that. You are miraculous.

Time

It is a well-known fact that time goes by more quickly when we don't want it to. My four months in Italy still feel like a blur. Summers seem to end as soon as they start.

Anyone else who is a senior in college (or ever has been) can probably attest to this. I'm not saying that I don't want to leave. In fact, while I love learning itself, I'm totally over college and ready for something bigger. But then again, I'm not. And that's probably why this semester is about halfway over and I still feel like I just arrived.

This time around, my being busy is taking on different forms. Last fall, I was quite literally bombarded with work (taking the equivalent of seven classes between research, TAing and actual classes). And applying to study abroad (including acquiring a visa, which I still have nightmares about to this day) was the icing on the cake. This semester, I actually have hours of free time. But I'm also writing my thesis in three months.

Twelve weeks. That's about how long I have for the entire process. It is just insane to think that something so meaningful to my college career (and me personally) is being completed in less than three months. While I normally don't enjoy technical writing so much, I am realizing that a thesis is something to be proud of. But for now, it is taking up many hours. (We were told last Thursday that we had to write half of it in a week. Talk about dropping the bomb).

But that week is over, and I now have almost half of my culminating project on paper. (Doesn't mean it sounds like anything Jane Austen ever produced, but it's a start).

I'm definitely neglecting certain things in this whirlwind of a month. I've been looking at my chipped nail polish for the last two weeks, thinking that I should probably take ten minutes to repaint them. Too bad I have these thoughts during busy moments (read: during a seminar or lecture), and not during the more relaxing ones.

And my new black Nikes have yet to hit the pavement. Getting good grades and a healthy amount of sleep have pushed running to the side. It's unfortunate, because the foliage is stunning right now.

But I'm realizing that it is important to make time for enjoyable activities. Like writing. Or going to Starbucks (you can kill two birds with one stone there). Or catching up on Grey's.

Because during those moments, time slows down a little. Even if just for an hour, I am back to writing in my diary at age five, or coffee trips with my friend on our morning drives to high school. Or that summer years ago when I discovered Grey's, fell in love with Patrick Dempsey, and watched three seasons in a month.

Life doesn't pause, but I still can. And I'm trying to take it all in as I go.

Columbus Day Snapshots

A few themes emerged from this past weekend at home:

1. College hasn't taken away my beach obsession.

2. Joey is supah cute. And good at everything. (Soccer? Basketball? Call of Duty? Piano? Voted most promising leader of the seventh grade? What can this kid NOT do?) Yeah, I'm bragging...

3. I love ice cream. (Ate it twice a day. Even better? Mom justified it. "You're on vacation." Not that I needed her opinion).

4. Pumpkin spice lattes = manic episode. As in, I go shopping and don't stop.


5. A day trip to Wellfleet is just as stunning in October.

Happy fall, ya'll!!

What I Couldn't Say

Yesterday we had two guest speakers in my seminar, a husband and wife. One is a psychiatric nurse, the other a psychiatrist. The husband told us a certain story that really resonated with me.

A few years back, he worked at some kind of mental care facility in Northampton. One particular patient at the facility passed Jay almost daily; he would always say hello, but only get a blank stare in return. Unsure if the patient even understood him, he continued to say hello each day anyway.

After several months of this (or longer, I don't remember), Jay was saying his daily "hello" one day to another blank stare. But after a few minutes, he felt something behind him (literally).

The woman had walked up and slapped his butt.

I bet you weren't expecting that. But aside from being mildly hilarious, there is a larger point here.

The woman was saying "I am here." I am a person. I can joke. I am a woman. She was saying these things in the only way she knew how at that particular moment.

This story had me thinking. How many times have we tried to express an emotion or need without explicitly saying it? Maybe we're in denial, and don't want to admit that we're hurting. Or maybe we don't want to "burden" others by expressing our feelings. We act in these ways even though the signs of pain are present anyway, recognizable to those closest to us.

Along the same lines, sometimes we knowingly or unknowingly leave a trail for others to follow, hoping that they will somehow find out our truths. This is an extreme example, but I remember the story of one of my friends whose other friend had attempted suicide a few days before my friend had gone over to her house (unknown to my friend at the time). Her friend was in the shower, and had told my friend to "hang out in her room" while she was waiting for her to finish in the bathroom. On her bed in her room was her journal, opened up to the page the detailed her actions just days prior. I imagine that suicidal thoughts are extremely painful to discuss, and maybe this was her friend's way of crying for help. Or maybe the journal was just left there accidently. The point is, her friend received the help she needed.

Is someone acting out of the ordinary? Do we sense that there is more underneath than meets the eye? Maybe we should be more aware of those silent screams, those ropes being tossed in our direction, in whatever form they come.

Capacidad

During my first two years at UMass, I volunteered at an after school program called Capacidad. I had to take last year off due to my busy schedule and going abroad. Not expecting to go back this year, the opportunity arose to do so as I am completing a mini-practicum for my thesis course. I've had three weeks back at Capacidad so far, and it's been enlightening.

Maybe I wasn't in the best state of mind in Spring 2011, my last semester at Capacidad before my break. Actually, I definitely wasn't in a good place. But I didn't realize until three weeks ago the extent of my distorted head space at that time (although warranted, I believe).

Something felt different when I walked in this time. I'm more confident in a way. I haven't really put my finger on it yet. But this isn't the only change...

Man, these kids GREW. I am not accustomed to leaving children for a long period of time with no picture updates, so imagine my surprise when the little boy from almost two years ago suddenly has a good three or four inches on me. It's actually quite a moving experience, one that I will probably be getting used to as I get older.

And of course, there are those kids say the darnedest things moments. One of the seven-year-olds who is attached to my hip after remembering me from two years ago gave me a social commentary the other day: "You know what? I saw kids fighting at recess today and it's bad. Violence is never in English." Of course she meant to say "violence is never the answer" but I think I like her way better!

Kids can also have a way of letting you into their "other" lives, whether it's intended or not. For example, it is not normal for a previously lighthearted conversation to take a sudden turn. One such conversation two weeks back between me and one of the little girls went from Disney Channel to "My dad is in jail" in a span of four seconds. She's very young, so I'm not completely sure that she knows what that means. Nevertheless, it inspires me to be the best role model I can possibly be for these kids, some of whom may not have that at home.

Lots of stories to come, but for now I'm enjoying spending my Wednesdays becoming acquainted (or reacquainted, depending) with fifty or so energetic kiddos.