Psyched Up

I have never seen the show “In Treatment” on HBO, but I bet I would love it.

HBO does an amazing job with everything they touch.

Except for the show Hung.

Dud.

But from what I know about In Treatment, it sounds like a very cool concept.

Basically you are a fly on the wall during a series of intense therapy sessions.

When my parents were growing up, the only people who went to therapy were the weirdos.

At least that’s what most people thought.

When I was growing up, the only people who went to therapy were the weirdos and the hyperactive kids.

The only thing I knew about that biz was what Dr. Sidney Freedman from M*A*S*H had taught me.

(I wonder if the writers knew that he has the same initials as Sigmund Freud.  Wow, what a coincidence.)

These days if you want to be part of the in-crowd, you’d better make an appointment with a therapist.

But you better make sure you know what the doctor is ordering.

Do a quick search and you'll see about a million options -- Psychologists, Psychiatrists, Social Workers, Counselors, Group Therapy, Behavioral Therapy, Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy, Psychoanalytic Therapy.

It’s like going to one of those all you can eat salad bars.

Wow those places stress me out.  Too many decisions.

I started going to therapy in the fall of 2008 after 30+ of my colleagues were told thanks for all of your hard work.

GET OUT!

I had been before, but never under such circumstances.

Life was quite overwhelming at that moment, but I was fortunate to find a fantastic person who helped guide me through that terrible time.

20 months later, I’m as grounded as I will ever be.

Unemployed, but grounded.

Yesterday I returned to see my therapist after taking two months off.  That damn freelance job got in the way of all of my fun. 

Despite the time away, I jumped right back onto the cozy couch, kicked off my shoes and started up a conversation.

60 minutes later we were done.

I have learned quite a bit by talking to the experts, but perhaps the number one thing I’ve learned is that the experts don’t like to give you the answers.

They prefer to sit there, do a whole lot of listening, sometimes write things down, ask you some questions and then lead you to the water.

Its up to you to do the drinking.

Fortunately for me, I’m always thirsty and I caught on quickly, taking a whole lot away with me.

When I started two years ago, the first goal that I.. we.. me.. we.. (I don’t know) set was for me to try being more present at home.

Working 60+ hours a week can make for a tired human, but deep down, the wife and kids really don’t care how tired I am.

They just want me to be there when I am there, since I really wasn’t there most of the time.

Once I became a stay-at-home dad, that being present thing became a lot easier.

I actually started listening to conversations and if I was feeling really crazy, I might even say something.

Now that’s progress.

Through therapy I have now obtained all the tools to be present when/if I start working full-time again.

I usually walk away from a session with a handful of homework and a bag full of goals.

The reality is that in life, you are not going to succeed most of the time, but if you can keep trying, that’s the victory.

Today we talked about the great unknown or as Billy Joel liked to refer to it -- My Life.

More specifically dealing with what you know instead of what you don’t.

If you try guessing about the future, you might as well start guessing about lottery numbers too.

And we know how that will turn out.

Deal in reality.  Live in the now and take it from there.

When this phase of life is over, then and ONLY THEN, can you go to the next phase.   

Don’t pass go until it is time.  There is no $200.

Even though she won’t take any of the credit, I owe SO much to my therapist.

We watched my career crumble in front of my eyes (and hers) and somehow I’m still standing.  

(And you thought I was going to make a corny Elton John reference, didn't you?)

I would imagine that therapy is not for everyone, but for me, it has made life more clear than a pair of bifocals.

I have no doubt that it would not have happened without some Cognit-Psychiolog-Social-Counselor person.

I’m just glad I found a friend.

Batter Up

It’s amazing what you can learn at the batting cage.

You can learn how to keep your hands back.

You can learn how to keep your head in.

You can also learn all about psychology.

More on that in a moment.

A few days ago, my eleven year old son and I went to the batting cage to work on his swing.

It took him about one pitch to get frustrated.

Ok, maybe three.

That’s how I knew he was my son.

When I was his age, I had the maturity of... an eleven-year old.   

So watching his temper kick in feels like I’m watching an old black and white movie get re-made into color.

But this time I’m a supporting actor instead of the star.

God rest the souls of the wooden tennis rackets that lost their innocent lives about 32 years ago by being slammed into the concrete by an immature child.

Come to think of it, I was A LOT worse than he is.

After ten rounds in the cage -- which included me walking away, him yelling at me, me trying hard (and somehow succeeding) to not yell at him, me walking back, me yelling at him and him yelling back -- we calmly sat down in the car to talk about how it went.

At first, it sounded like Happy Hour at the Excuse Bar & Grill:

• I couldn’t see the ball
• The machine threw bad pitches
• It was going too fast
• It was going too slow
• You don’t help me enough

And that was just the first round.

Now before I continue, let me say loud and clear, my son is a GREAT kid and is quickly developing into an even better baseball player.

He loves the game, respects the game and most of all believes that he is going to be a major leaguer someday.

Just like we all did.

I’m not sure he understands yet the work that it’s going to take to play even high school ball, but I hope that I don’t get in the way of his dreams.

The good news is even after all of our battles, I still believe in him as a player and he still believes in me as a dad.

While we were sitting in my car, I had a flashback to one of my recent therapy sessions, where we discussed controlling what you can control and not wasting your time on the things you can’t.

What a simple concept.

What a difficult execution.

So I asked my son, "when you are in the batter’s box, what can you control?"

“Your swing,” he said.

Good start.

I asked if he could control where the pitch is going.

My mom once told me, never ask a question you don’t know the answer to.

“No,” he said.

So, then why are you so concerned about the machine throwing bad pitches?

If it’s a bad pitch, don’t swing at it.

Wow, if life was only that easy.

I learned when I was managing people, if you can set up bad news with a nugget of good news, it has a lot better chance of being accepted.

Managing kids is no different.

I told my son that when he kept his hands back and his head in, he really crushed the ball.

Which he did.

I then reminded him that we all have only a certain amount of energy and if we waste that energy on negative things or things we can’t control -- like making the machine throw better pitches -- we won’t have any energy left to do positive things, like crush the ball.

My therapist must be so proud.

I guess all that time I was staring at the wall, I actually was paying attention.

By the time my son and I were done with our conversation, there was so much bonding going on, you would’ve thought Sean Connery and Roger Moore were in the car.

I asked my son if he wanted to go take five more rounds.

Once again, never ask a question you don’t know the answer to.

Ten minutes later, we headed home, as a better hitter and better friends.

I’d call that a home run.

No Foolin'

It was exactly a year ago today that my then 10-year old son scared me to death.

It was approximately 3:15am, on April 1st, when his rooster alarm clock bellowed COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO over and over and over and over and over again until I located it underneath my bed.

Aside from the fact that it woke me up from a deep sleep, it really frustrated me that I couldn’t initially locate it.

When I did, I nearly threw it through a wall.

I’ve got a very good sense of humor, but this was one joke that didn’t make me laugh.

I was fuming and I let him know about it.

I also let my friend Phil know about it and he laughed at me.

Thankfully that reality check helped me come back to earth very quickly and it also reminded me that my son is one funny kid.

Even in the middle of the night.

Considering my reaction 365 nights ago, I wasn’t really worried about him pulling that same prank again this year.

But this year I was up until the wee hours anyway.

Wide awake until about 2:00am, just like most nights these days.

I wouldn’t call it insomnia or stress or anything like that.  I just like staying up late.   

I like late night talk shows.  I like writing my blog at Midnight.  I like listening to the sound of a silent house.

This week at my therapy session, I casually mentioned that I have not been sleeping much.

Now my therapist and I have pretty much talked about everything since I first walked into her room more than a year ago.

Marriage.  Unemployment.  Depression.  Suicide.

Slow down there, not my suicide, but the desperation that it must take for somebody to be able to take their own life.

Deep down, I think she really gets me.   She has helped me get through this most tumultuous of times.

But this week when I mentioned that I hadn’t been sleeping, I saw concern in her eyes.

For the first time.

I think she bought my explanation that I like staying up late because I like watching TV at that time.

I hope she bought it.   It’s the truth.

The bottom line for me is that life has taken on a most serious turn recently and learning how to deal with those obstacles is a daily challenge.

Perhaps the best way to deal with stress is by keeping a good sense of humor and today there was plenty to laugh about.

I think I made it pretty clear to my son that I wasn’t interested in being on either side of his April Fools pranks this year, but that certainly didn’t stop him.

Among the tricks he pulled off today:

• he put red food coloring in the vanilla ice cream and then said that he sneezed in it

•  he put split pea soup in the toilet and then had his mom check because “somebody had clogged it”

• he put his younger sister’s stuff animal, a skunk, in the microwave so that she would be greeted with a surprise when she opened the door

• he sent his older sister a fake email claiming that Joe Jonas is now bankrupt

Just imagine if he would’ve put half of that effort into his Social Studies paper.

He pretty much hit everybody, but me and the dog.

And that’s fine with me.

As he left for school this morning, I told him to make sure that he doesn’t do anything that he will regret.

“Am I allowed to get gum and put it in the urinals?”

NO!

“Am I allowed to tell people we are moving?”

Sure.

I mean NO!   

I quickly reminded him that his mother teaches at his school and if there’s a story that gets out that we are moving, nothing good can come out of that.

Especially these days where she is the one in our one-family income.

“Can I wear an arm sling to my baseball practice today to scare my coach?”

Ok.

Hopefully that will hold him over for a year.