Showing posts with label Groups. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Groups. Show all posts

Friday 17 May 2013

Fifty Shades Of Purple And The C Word


On Tuesday I attended a group called Fifty Shades Of Purple at the Women’s Health Centre here in Boganville. I was most nervous upon leaving the house, and  barely awake as I was expected to be there at the indecent hour of 9.30am. The idea that a busy mother of 3 should be awake and functioning at this time is preposterous. Ahem.  I mean that’s what ABC kids is for, right? So I can sleep in.  Never mind that they have to be at school before 9.20am. Ridiculous .

To make matters worse there appeared to be no reserved car space for me directly out the front with a sign saying RESERVED FOR VANESSA CONNOR. Rude, I tell you. I had to circle the surrounding streets for a full 10 minutes with some arsehole tailgating me, frantically looking for a spot.  There wasn’t one to be found, so I was reduced to parking several streets away in the RSL car park. I reflected that it was odd that we were not members of the local RSL. Our bogan cred is in question.

Breathlessly, I finally arrived at the centre, late of course and was ushered into a room FULL of scary people.  There was at least four of them!! As well as the group leader/coordinator, who is also my counsellor.  Oh and there was a cute little dog, belonging to one of the ladies.  He was some sort of guide dog for PTSD victims which I thought was a smashing idea. And, yes, I should really stop reading Enid Blyton books at my age. 

Anyhoo, we all introduced ourselves  then the session went on to discussing negative self-talk. Apparently I am not the only person who has some crazy bitch talking shit to me constantly in my head. Who knew?

I also realised that I do ALL OF THESE THINGS:

·         Catastrophising

·         Exaggerating the negative and discounting the positive

·         Mind-reading

·         The ‘shoulds’

I have come to strongly dislike the word should and frankly find it most unhelpful in life.  Honestly that negative Nelly in my head with her catastrophic  crap and should, should, should all the bloody time just needs to SHUT RIGHT UP.

After we pondered on all this it was time for some morning tea, which involved coffee and biscuits which was  nearly as good as cake. Not  quite, mind you but the budget probably doesn’t stretch to cakies so I’ve made a mental note: bring cake. Mind you if I actually bake any cake to take with me it will probably be a miracle. (I actually did bake muffins and jam drops, but they have already been eaten. Oops.)

Then, just as I was beginning  to relax into the group, relieved that there would in fact be no bondage involved  in a group named Fifty Shades Of Purple, came the dreaded C word.

CRAFT

I quit Playgroup partly because I was so traumatised by craft. I never wanted to hear the ominous C word again.

We had to make a ‘Kind Card’ for ourselves.  I drew a dodgy flower on the front, then wrote BE KIND TO YOURSELF inside it and coloured in one side with crayons. Clearly I am an artistic genius who has somehow been over looked. The fact that Mr 4 could draw something MUCH better is irrelevant.

The strange thing was that I did find it oddly calming. So perhaps there is something to this craft caper after all. I survived it without feeling like chaining myself up to be whipped would actually be less painful.

Soon after this, the group was finished for the day and I filed out to wait for my next appointment. One of the other ladies was waiting for a taxi and we chatted and discovered we only live a couple of streets away so I offered her a lift for next week. There are six more weeks. I’m looking forward to it.

Yes, even the craft. (Shut up Randa and Poss).


Do you attend any groups? Enjoy craft? Do you also have a crazy bitch in your head telling you shit?

 

Wednesday 4 April 2012

Group Therapy

Today I was hit by a bus. Metaphorically speaking.  Pushed way out of my comfort zone.  Completely out of my depth.  Feeling awkward, alien like and anxious.  This happens every Wednesday.  One word.

Playgroup. Actually it could be two words.  Not sure.

It's only two hours a week.  Two very  over-whelming hours.  For me, anyway.  Noise.  Children.  Apparently they are essential for a Playgroup.  Fleurescent lights. People.  Lots of people.  Scary.

Not to mention the giant huntsman that crept out to greet me in the bathroom there, a few weeks ago. Eeeeeeeeeek!

On any given week, there will be children running around playing, including my very own Master 3 (when he isn't clinging to me).  Babies crying.  Mum's chatting.  Toys everywhere.

Where am I amongst all this?  Standing, mute, in the corner, in quiet discomfort.  It's not that the folk there aren't friendly and welcoming.  They are.  It's just me.  Groups intimidate me. Always have.

Although I can sometimes manage an awkward one to one conversation, groups are a mystery to me.  I have no idea in hell how to join in an already established conversation.  Am clumsy at starting one. Posess zero ability to shout out and project my voice (which rarely reaches more than a whisper anyway) across a crowded room.

I can't bounce off people speedily with instant witty comebacks.  Trade jokes and banter with effortless ease. I do not have instant rapport with anyone I meet or make friends easily wherever I go. Let's not even talk about eye contact. Impossible.  Just. Does. Not. Compute.

I am capable of being a loyal friend and confidante, I know that, but not capable of making them easily.  Luckily, I do have my family and a small group of friends who seem to accept me the way I am (the quietest person in the room where ever I go) for which I am very grateful.

Plus, when at Playgroup, or anywhere for that matter,  I seem to have a decidedly unhelpful habit of comparing myself to all the other mothers.  How on Earth do they manage to look so neat, tidy and frankly, awake?  Wearing white.  White. With children.  Just. Does. Not. Compute.

In addition to this, their children tend to look like they've just stepped out of a Target catalogue.  My Master 3, on the other hand, looks like he's been dragged backwards through a hedge, wearing faded hand me downs, impeccably ironed to perfection though, of course, ( if you have been reading all my posts you will know I just made that last bit up, just wanted to check if you are paying attention) including a Spiderman shirt that belongs to a dress-up suit, at least a size too small.  As well as sporting a dodgy at home hair cut.  Classy.

The main thing is, he seems to have a good time.  So I will keep going,  and hopefully he will learn to navigate groups with slightly more ease than his mother.  Also, even the most quiet, shy, introverted Aspie craves company sometimes.  Even if I do come home exhausted, wanting quiet time.  If such a thing even exists as a mother of three boys!

I just hope that the huntsman spider doesn't make another appearance.  That thing was huge.  Eeeeeeek!