Dear Therapist

Dear Therapist,

Please excuse me for being grumpy with you these last few months. It's just that I'm so tired. and it's a kind of tired that sleep can't fix.

I'm tired of our sessions where you push my son, often until he cries. He's only 19 months and he's not training for the Olympics. I know better than anyone that he's strong willed, and I know he needs to be pushed. You take it too far.

Do you ever look at your own son and imagine him having special needs? I never imagined my son having special needs. Despite everything I have to be grateful for, my heart still aches every single day. It's a pain I can't describe, it wasn't meant to be this way.

I've told you so many times, he needs a little break between activities. He's so young, he can't stay focused for an entire hour. Can your toddler stay focused for a whole hour?
I'm not an overprotective mother and I'm firm with him when I need to be. However, I see no point in making it a miserable experience for him. He's going to need therapy for a very long time.

Do you ever wonder why my son won't go anywhere near you? He cuddles with his other workers but he doesn't like you. It's because every single time he goes near you, you restrain his good arm so he can't use it. I tell you every week to stop doing that. I will do the restraining because I know when he'll tolerate it. You never listen.

I'm tired of motivating my son to do therapy. I'm tired of him being so resistive. I'm tired of lying in bed at night thinking of sneaky ways of doing therapy. I'm tired of nurses, doctors and therapists who don't listen to me. I've been with him through every medical procedure and every therapy session. Please trust my judgement when I tell you what works.

I know that your care plans are mandated by a higher power. I think they're a crock of shit. You spring it on me without warning, it puts me on the spot and I struggle to think of what goals he needs to work on. He continually interrupts our conversation, so I never have any valuable input.

The only reason we keep seeing you, is because he needs to stay linked in with an Early Intervention Program. I don't know what his future holds and I can't sever ties with you just yet. I've come to dread our weekly sessions and it's no coincidence I haven't been there for the last few weeks. I know you're a nice person, but I'm so close to snapping and I don't want to do that. I know you're the expert in therapy but I'm the expert in Max.

Dear therapist. Please listen.

Thanks for the memories

We're moving house. If I knew how to post a link to an old post, I'd post it here ________. But since I can't, the post is called 'Watch this Space' and it's about how desperately I needed to move. Fast forward to now, and tonight is the last night we are spending in our old place.

Our new house is modern, it has real air conditioning and a big back yard. It's only 10 minutes away from my work and my family. I fell in love with it the very first time I went there.




Here's a picture. Nice huh?

It's a darn sight nicer than this shithole I've lived in for the last 5+ years. I've hated this house from the first moment I saw it but at the time, the rental market was tough. It was especially tough because I had a shocking rental history and a large hairy dog who destroyed things. We were so desperate to find a house, we even offered extra money for this craphole. Proximity to the city, is the only thing it's got going for it.

Despite my venomous disdain for this house, there's still a part of me that will be a little sad to say goodbye. It was in this house where I lay sobbing for hours/days/weeks after the ex suddenly up and left. It was here where two of my best friends unofficially moved in and helped me rediscover my confidence. I was in this house when I discovered I was pregnant. I was in this house when my waters broke. We bought Max home from hospital here, not once but twice. The first time as a newborn, the second after his 6 week stay in the Children's Hospital. It was here, where I sat cuddling my dogs Malli and Sebastian, knowing it would be the last moments we shared as a trio.

These walls have also seen some pretty shitty things, there are just as many crap memories I'll be glad to leave behind. Not to mention the hideous decor, I'll share with you now.



Tiled walls in kitchen, cat and lobster.




Heater which you need a Masters degree in Gas Appliances to operate.




Kitchen floor. Laminate tiles which are ugly and don't stay stuck.




Very odd tiny room. What you see here, is the entire room.




Tiny bathtub. Perfect for Max. Disastrous for an adult who might fancy a bath (the streaks on the wall at the top of the pic is bathtub paint, not blood)




It's a BYO mirror in this bathroom.




This is the view from the toilet seat. It's the gas for the hot water. Of course.




When I moved here, I left a beautiful suburb which was semi-rural. I was sad I couldn't hear the birds anymore, so mum bought over a few bird posters to fill the void. I often looked at them and thought "some day I'll fly away".

Finally I'm about to fly away and say goodbye to this piece-o-shit house on a bus stop. One last sleep, one last bleary eyed morning where I skid across the kitchen on a rogue laminate tile. I ain't gunna miss you house but I thank you, for being there for some of the greatest memories of my life.




Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone