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
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?
