Visits one, two, and three.

The first week I met with the nice lady, I was feeling really, really low. I had just left my job. It, as I said in an earlier post, it seemed that this was the pinnacle. I decided to see the Nice Lady because I frankly was feeling suicidal. Well, maybe not feeling suicidal but the idea of suicide became a part of my thoughts on a few occasions. We recently purchased life insurance and one of the things the agent said about the policy was that it even paid out in the event of suicide. My brain kept thinking things like my family would be better off without me around. They would be taken care of financially if the life insurance paid out. They'd be better off without me. My brain would then remember that it was not true in the least. This was/is just a tough time. Dumping this stuff on the Nice Lady was very helpful.

The second week that I met the Nice Lady, we talked about the fact that things had seemed to be less intense. The only thing that changed really was that there was a bit of time and space between what had happened in the few weeks prior. Yes, even time alone helps things get better and feel a bit less intense. Time does in fact help.

The third week I met the nice lady (I had to skip one week in between due to food poisoning), we talked about the holiday and how frustrated I was with my lovely family. Their behaviors often infuriate me. No planning, no real discussion about what anyone really wants, wants to do, etc. It seems to me that they are making it up as they go. I don't like that - I like to talk, to plan, to communicate, to have an idea of where I'm headed. That way I have a slight chance of being successful in getting what I want out of 'xyz' activity. But, I digress. The whole pot-luck thing we had agreed to turned out to be less of a pot-luck and more of Mom doing everything. She told me what she was going to make and asked what we would bring. She had covered all of the major food groups so what to bring? Chicken Sausage? Drinks? "Bring whatever you want" she said. Then when we told her we were going to bring drinks she said "oh, I thought you were going to bring sausage." If she would just tell us what she wanted us to bring I wouldn't feel the urge to choke the shit out of her as frequently as I do.

For visit 4, etc. see "Looking for a J-O-B Sucks"

Why talk with a Nice Lady?

Well, to start, I left my job. It doesn't really matter that it was a job that I hated, with people that didn't seem to 'get it', or that I was trying really hard to be a part of the culture of the place. What does matter is that it was the pinnacle of events that helped push me over the edge.

I hadn't applied for the position that I was working in. It all just kinda fell into place. I offered to help out because the client I referred to the agency wasn't getting good service from them. It seemed like a win-win-win situation. The client would get better service, the agency would have someone providing the service, and I could get out of the house and away from my young child a few hours per week. I named my price, my working conditions, my expectations. They were all agreed to. No conversation, no discussion, no questions asked. That should have been my first clue.

As time went on, the agency could see that my experience could help them get more. They asked me to help with a program development project that they were interested in working on. They asked me to develop a training program for their agency staff. I agreed to do the work. Hell, it was just what I wanted to do. And, not only did I need the time away from the house and mommy responsibilities, we needed the money. Again, no conversation, no discussion, no questions asked. I didn't see the Red Flag!

As I started the work, childcare was a small issue. I tried as hard as I could to do the work at home. My kid is intense, though. He needed my undivided attention and refused to nap during the day. I found childcare. Now we really needed the money. Fourteen months of only my husband's salary (we live in the SF Bay area) and the credit card bills really started to catch up with us. We hate credit card debt. Makes us both crazy. That and I just can't sit still for very long without losing my mind. I'm not a natural 'stay at home mom'. I'm more of a Type-A personality. And I'm fine with who I am.

Once the agreement to do the training program was made (oh, yeah, I had to develop the terms and write the agreement), the focus shifted to the program development project. I rolled with the punches and started working on that project. My intention was to work on the project, finish it, and move on. I was planning to get what I could in terms of experience and financial resources and take the next plunge. I didn't know anything except that I wanted to find a new career and these experiences would help me get there. To hell with social services. I've been doing this work too long and I can't stand the sick, twisted, crazy people who want to enable clients to be losers - despite the fact that their agencies are supposed to blah, blah, blah. I mentioned that we needed money, right?

So, I worked on the program development project. Doing what I could to make it what the agency wanted. But, when the person identified to run the program backed out just before turning the application in to the state, I was asked to do it. I asked about the terms. Part-time? Yes. Money? Really good. Benefits? Sure. My program? Absolutely. Okay, I'll do it. Did I mention to you that I already selected the #2 person? No. I think she'll be great. Oh, I'd like to meet her. Sure, I'll call her right now. She dropped everything she was doing and came by to meet with us. I instantly got a bad feeling from her. Didn't like her at all. But, my thought and feeling was that I had to work with her because he had already offered her the position. Red Flag! Red Flag! Red Flag! I hate money.

Nice Lady?

A friend of mine once told me that she was seeing a "Nice Lady". It was, and continues to be, the way that she and I, and others say, without saying, that we are in therapy. Yes. Therapy. Talking through demons, problems, concerns, our perceived craziness. Because friends, family, and spouses get sick and tired of hearing it. That and they have other things to do with their days, nights, and weekends. The Nice Lady gets paid to listen. Once a week.

So, my goal is to write here about some of my demons, problems, concerns, etc. This is despite the fact that she thinks I shouldn't. Whatever. I need to get things out more often than once a week. I need to review on occasion. To help me remember. I've got 10 weeks of insurance covered therapy and I'm going to do everything I can to get the most out of it.