Article on weight and stress management

I will post an article tomorrow, but I just read a great article from a health expert, Jon Barron,  who I subscribe to. http://www.jonbarron.org/natural-health/obesity-music-change-brain-newsletter I thought anyone interested in managing their weight, stress and environmental factors might find it interesting.  It also was very inspiring and confirming for me that I'm on the right path in relation to the scientific back-up for improved health from spiritual focus, meditation and changing behaviour and brain patterns through cognitive behavioural therapy, a topic I want to include in my resources section.

I hope you enjoy reading the article!

Here is the link
In this newsletter, Jon explores how you can actually override some of the physical changes that have been forced on your brain -- changes that force you to eat too much or stress out too easily, for example. With conscious effort, you can actually "repair" areas of your brain that have been previously altered to your detriment. This is hugely liberating and life-altering if you choose to act on it. (Click here to read article...)

Mental Illness and Being "Shrunk"

I just broke up with my shrink....well at the end of the year,   but I wanted to give her notice and the opportunity to really hone in on things if it is needed.  I made a commitment to see it through for 18 months to fully dredge once and for all.  Breaking up is huge because this woman knows more about me than anyone else.  I basically pay her to reveal all – every resentment, pain, hurt, fear, emotion, action and dysfunction. One thing I am sure of is that with the life I live and the colourful characters in it, I’m sure she has not been bored!

I really have come a long way – I have come from starting the first session pointing out the key performance indicator that a potential patient uses is “Please tell me that I’m nuts enough that you’ll keep seeing me!!!” to having a six month period with relative stability and peace of mind.

Now you may think that seeing someone every week for 18 months equates to being stark raving mad – which is not a totally wrong conclusion, but it more relates to the type of therapy.  After seeing a number of therapists over a 10 year period and either not committing to a long term process or not feeling they were the right person to treat me, I went back to this psychiatrist who I saw 6 years before.  I stopped therapy because it became too hard going both logistically and mentally after the birth of my first child.  So I returned to her to finish the job.  If you think it is hard to find the right mechanic or hairdresser, try finding the right therapist! 

My Doc is what’s called a “Psychodynamic therapist” as opposed to psychologist or cognitive behavioural therapist.  This basically means I go there, talk for 50 minutes and leave – often with a stop to the dunny which is basically one of the few places in my world where I can cry in peace because there is no child, elderly person or someone on the end of the phone wanting something from me.  My therapist gives very little feedback and I know absolutely NOTHING about her personally.  If I ask her opinion on something she won’t give it but asks me what I think. She does pose questions and makes suggestions but ultimately I have to arrive at the conclusion.  She will not give me a definitive response.  

You have to trust in the process – that talking unprompted on a week to week basis about the things that come up in your life will act as a longitudinal study over time that reveals to you (and your subconscious) the patterns of behaviour, themes and triggers that guide your existence.  As you start to recognise these and explore the root causes you can catch yourself at the top of a downward spiral and create new patterns of behaviour to replace the dysfunctional ones. 

I don’t think it is all her though.  As a devout Christian I have approached this in a prayerful way asking God to bless the process, reveal what needs to come up and give me the courage to face the fear of opening a can of worms -  and being assured God will never leave me alone trying to shove the slippery suckers back into the can!  I might be challenged but never alone or incapable of getting through. I do a Christian mediation in my favourite “happy spot” looking out on the river just before my therapy session so I am prepared.  I am amazed at how things have come up in therapy and then been directly confirmed and the way out laid down in front of me in my spiritual life. I have often unravelled something in therapy and then been able to really specifically pray and study to come up with the answer and be “released” from the problem.  Both God and my therapist (who I suspect has other beliefs than mine) have guided me out of the mess in my head that I’ve been stuck in for so long.

So given I am now officially qualified to make this statement, I am going to be a sane self righteous pratt for just a few moments.  Listen up.......

For people who make judgements about people who see therapists and believe all this self examination is a bit self absorbed and queer and you should just snap out of it... it is better to get help than be unaware or unwilling to do anything about your own dysfunction and the heartache you inflict on the people around you.  

For Christians that believe  God can help anyone who asks to reveal to them the things they need to work on and then heal them, sometimes God uses people ,  medicine and science to do a work of healing.  He often employs a process rather than a miraculous fix.

For people that are afraid of opening “Pandora’s box” and think it would all be too painful...the pain inflicted by your subconscious is already ruling your conscious life.  You’re better to eyeball it and get it done and dusted so it doesn’t control you anymore.  Just because pain lurks under the surface does not mean it is contained.  Pain and unforgiveness silently leaches into every pore of your existence and subconsciously lurks tainting every experience and the ability to truly feel joy and freedom.

 And lastly, want to hear my theory on aging gracefully?  Get your stuff dealt with while you are young and before your body and mind gets too exhausted to do the hard yards.   I think the key to being happy in old age is directly correlated to how much of your baggage you have psychologically offloaded during your life.  If you leave it until the end when everything is wearing out and you don’t have the capacity to deal with it, it starts to infiltrate in other forms.  For example, could it be that dementia is the mind’s way of escaping what it no longer has the capacity to suppress or deal with and without life’s distractions it has no other choice than to go off somewhere?  

It’s time that everyone started to think of depression as any other form of illness in society.  If you are thinking in terms of a hierarchy of organs in our body, the fact that the brain and mind is central to everything else and the most important of all the organs, it should be prioritised.  Yet when we seek to have a healthy brain it can be viewed with trepidation or fear that is not viewed the same way than if it was a cancer getting cut out.  Surely it is time that our society embraces the importance of looking after this most essential organ without shame.  

Gillard the Goose

School holidays are always full of action, but this one is especially busy due to settling into our suburban barnyard our newly acquired goose, Gillard.

One Sunday night dinner a few weeks ago the family was gathered to have a farewell dinner for our Grandma’s carer who is sadly leaving us and going back home to NZ.  My sister-in law, who also secretly would love to be a farm girl, said that her heart was breaking because my brother was making her send away Gillard because she was too noisy.  But it wasn’t quite that simple.  As the story unfolded so did the level of dysfunction with Honky Tonk, the gander, mating with the ducks and Gillard finding her soul mate in my brother.  She follows him around everywhere, grooms him and honks lovingly and loudly whenever she glimpses him (gives a new spin to the bumper sticker “Honk if you’re horny!”). 

It has gotten so bad that on the mornings that my brother has to take early flights to do weekly interstate work he has to skulk around his own house in the dark like a thief so that she can’t see or hear him or she wakes the whole district at 4.30am.  She protests loudly that he is about to leave her for three days and waddles around aimlessly until his joyful return.  The last straw was when he thought he could get away with a quiet and quick smoke before leaving for the airport but Gillard caught a whiff of his tobacco smoke and off she went!

So my brother decided she had to go – I think from a Freudian perspective it is quite telling – he probably would like to send off all the noisy and nagging females in his life - wife, sister and mother included, but just can’t arrange it so conveniently!

The dilemma is that Gillard is booked in to the Exhibition in August and although they have found a property she can go away to (like some disgraced teenager to a home for wayward girls), my sister-in-law wants to keep her until the EKKA.  So the family “gaggle” all noisily nagged my husband to let us have her for at least 6 weeks.

And if you think that is where it peacefully ends, think again!

Gillard is housed with our six chooks.  Given she wandered freely at my brother’s place, a long term stay is dependent on her having access to the wider yard.  This means sharing with our dog.  But the friendship has started off a big rocky based on suspicion, jealousy and confusion.  The goose warily wanders around while the dog circles widely never taking her predatory eyes off her.  It is a nerve racking standoff with  me saying CHILL... BE COOL.....It’s Gonna be ALLLL right.... We’re gonna be Cool.....sounding a bit like Samuel  L Jackson in the famous diner shootout scene in Pulp Fiction.

It all came to a climax when after trying to reward the dog by giving her treats from my pocket I just ended up enticing her  closer to me and the Goose refused to leave my side and when I offered the dog  a doggie biscuit, Gillard thought it was for her and they both swooped at the same time.  The goose then grabbed a chunk of skin and fur from between the dog’s ears, the dog yelped and backed off reluctantly with a glimmer in her pointed gaze that said “you just wait until next time.....”.  The war is now on. The chooks have also stopped laying in protest at having some big white wench stomping around on their turf and paddling in their pond (a clamshell).

And the honking problem is just beginning.  Geese are very good guard dogs and our street is busier than where she came from so it is not unusual for her to defend her property from anyone wondering down the street at night. She is also very social and wants to be with people all the time, so honks when she hears us up and about – especially early in the morning if you need to do a pee!

So in the interest of keeping on good terms with our neighbours I have asked all in the immediate vicinity if she is making too much noise and to let me know at any stage if they feel that they are being disrupted.  ALL have replied that they think it is great with smirks on their face (I’m sure they think we’re mad).  It was  confirmed  when one bloke strolled down the road to say hello for the first time in the 12 years and said that he and his wife were lying in bed cracking up laughing the other morning as they tried to identify the sound and where it was coming from.  They figured it must be a goose and the sound was coming from “the menagerie”.  He said that is their affectionate nickname for us due to the 6 chickens, dingo looking dog and madly growing pumpkin vine weaving in and out of the fence with pumpkins hanging off it on the street.  One side of our house is perfectly mowed and manicured and the other is a dirt patch with clucking, scratching and flapping coming from it.  I thought that it was a great metaphor for my psyche and life!

Hey, I think it is good for neighbourly relations – everyone likes some novelty and someone to gossip about and our house is an excursion opportunity and  tourist stop – all the parents walking kids home, oldies taking a stroll and people walking dogs actually cross the road and hang out around the fence amazed. I am providing a community service.  And in only one week Gillard has become a bit of a legend and is happily chatting with all her audiences.

My husband who is usually very quiet has expressed that he is not impressed and it WILL be only for six weeks.  Although he is normally not image conscious he said that if I keep up my barnyard antics that we’ll get a reputation as the Cannon Hillbillies and our daughter will end up in the future on “A Farmer Wants a Wife”.  He also added he’d leave me if I ever bought home a cat! We’ll see who wins the war ......

Shopping with Children

It is just as well that part of my personality profile includes having no dignity or shame.  I learned prior to having children the art of never being embarrassed because I always tell my own embarrassing or outrageous stories before anyone else has the opportunity to beat me to the chase.  However, on this occasion I must admit to a slight blush. 

Let me frame up this shopping expedition.....I was at Target on Monday arvo at 5pm the first day of school holidays and end of financial year sales.  Due to capitalising on this fantastic sales time of year I was “bonding by force” with my daughter.  I’m trying to indoctrinate in her the modern “hunter gatherer instinct”, which translates in today’s age as getting a bargain as opposed to finding the best berries.  To be honest it is more like rote programming in my case because she will have no choice about shopping – I am TAMING and TRAINING her to be a mall rat – it’s going to be part of her heritage. I have always secretly resented my Mother that I was a self taught shopaholic.  She avoided shopping centres at all costs and could be found asleep on a fitting room floor when as a teenager I dragged her out to buy me a new outfit because she held the cash.   There was no natural passion for it, merely strained duty.  I simply don’t understand people that don’t like to shop.

The sale item I was after this expedition was a couple of new pairs of pants. I had 15 pairs to try on.  I was hoping there was huge variation in design and it wasn’t just my backside that is the problem. 

My daughter was really well behaved for the first 10 pairs but wanted to escape.  I explained that “Mummy can’t leave the change room with no pants on and you’ve been really patient, so not much longer”.  Much to my horror on turning around to try on another pair she entertained herself by slapping my butt cheeks with both hands,  in unison and to a regular beat while chanting over and over “Fat bum, fat bum, fat bum”.  I was hopping around with one leg in the pants trying to get my butt away from her and safely up against the wall with her chasing me around the cubicle squealing with laughter at the “game”.

As the noise reverberated off the cubical wall I was sure it had amplified over and under the door and out into the rest of the store.  I was right.  After safely trying on the rest of the pants up against the wall and fending off my backside I finally exited to a number of shop assistants standing around with smirks.  

I should have quoted my famous line from the time I did a really obnoxious fart in an elevator just before a tradesman hopped in at the level below....  there was simply no denial or explanation that would have sufficed, or anyone else to blame.  It is amazing what confidence a business suit gives you.  I squared my shoulders... looked him straight in the eye... and pronounced with pride before stridently exiting.... “You get that on the big jobs!” 

It would have been an appropriate line in this case of this fat bum incident.  That will teach me to torture my children with my shopping habits.

On The Nose

I am blessed to have a really acute sense of smell – I should be a wine taster or perfume tester or food critic – my husband also pointed out I would make a good sniffer dog at the airport. But the downside of this is the assault on the senses when looking after other people’s hygiene needs and as a mother and carer you are often literally “in the poo”!

I actually thought twice about writing this one, but given the most read blog I’ve ever written was “Dealing with the Elderly” http://madmummy74.blogspot.com/2011/05/dealing-with-elderly.html, obviously my readers can cope with the graphic logistics of a carer’s life. Maybe we can call this one BOG instead of BLOG.

All I can say is that when I turn up to school drop off or church or a business meeting, no one really has any idea of the logistics in my life that I have to juggled prior to arriving well groomed and relatively sane looking.

Currently my Father-in-law has some health problems including some Diarrhoea.  I think it coincides with the kids having tummy bugs and he catches them too, but at 90 his diligent doctor wants investigate things to assess if it is something more sinister.

I needed to conduct an in-depth analysis (as opposed to a SWOT analysis) into the best collection method for a stool sample.  Splash factor and full immersion contaminate the sample but those small urine collection bottles that S&N provide are not realistic for the elderly.  Let’s face it, as a 90 year old, partially blind, slightly large, and wrinkled with some “male sag factor” there is absolutely no hope of depositing a stool neatly into one of those containers.  So we discussed the merits of a newspaper “poo cave” versus wedging an oval plastic disposable dinner plate into the narrowing part of the toilet to act as a landing pad!  It is at this point I am a lousy carer and I left him to it.

Given the pressure and performance anxiety it was no wonder by the time the collection guy rocked up the next morning to get the sample and to take a blood test that only the blood was available. 

After much discussion that if he has bowel cancer he actually does not want to know,  I said we’d talk to his doctor about his advance health directive and his approach to aging which is to leave things be and not go through invasive tests (he was booked for a colonoscopy) .  When the time comes which may not be for ages yet, he just wants to go out with dignity.  In his case at 90 knowledge is not power and ignorance is bliss.  I respect his choices. Given this fairly heavy discussion I put the stool test out of my mind.  This was on Wednesday.

Fast forward to Friday at 2pm which was my “free” day.  I was exhausted after going to the gym, doing the shopping at the organic fruit and veggie shop, taking my daughter to her swimming lesson, cooking an omelette and salad for lunch, cooking Gary Mehgans’ tomato soup recipe from the Woolworths catalogue, and doing load of washing.  I decided to take a 10 minute kip to recharge before wrapping a birthday present ready for an after school birthday party .  My Father-in-law shuffles in and despite seeing me with my eyes closed  tells me he has executed a fresh sample and it needs to be collected.  So I get up,  ring S&N only to find that their mobile collectors are finished for the afternoon so I will need to drop off a turd after school pick up and before the birthday party. 

And if you think it ends there you are wrong.  Just when I thought I was finished with this crappy day (pardon the pun) I get called into the bathroom by my son to find he and his sister both giggling because they have perfectly orchestrated, in unison,  two poos – him on the loo and her in the potty and they are both proud to display them.  They could not understand with my strong sense of smell and already queasy stomach from the day’s events why I was not over the moon and ended up dry reaching at the mixed brand aromatic assault on my senses.

As I said, my nose is in the wrong career and being a Mum and carer sometimes is a little traumatic.......