at that first therapy appointment in 1972, my judge's robe and gavel were almost as well-used as my advice-giver's pen/soapbox. both symptoms have been intensively theraputed under many different names. with my 20/20 hindsight glasses, i summarize the continued need for both sets of therapy tools as 1) to judge is to pronounce, "case closed. time to move on." alas, my rubber stamp never seems to work out in that confusing time between naps (reality). 2) i, strictly personal, really do use advice-giving/soapboxing as deflection. by keeping the focus on other people, i reinforce my judgements with the "noble" excuse of experting at other people's lives.

it's anniversary week here on my little ship of fools. the protective custody shift of my 3 gk's happened 4 years ago this week. another 6 weeks will usher in the anniversary of the fatal car wreck which turned that custody shift into a more permanent arrangement. these days i call the children, "my foster kids" because the grand stereotypes have been serving as harsh reminders of just how much we lost in that fatal car wreck. even with the dysfunctions which caused their children to be in protective custody, losing both mommy and daddy (son) was a brutal blow. additionally, stereotypes aside, grandparents are treated with cultural prejudice. schools, doctors, etc., are quick to assume that parents don't trust or respect THEIR parents and will seldom give any info, etc., to grandparents. they will talk openly and respectfully to a foster mother. a grandmother is assumed to be "toxic mom." go away, evil presumer. by the letter of the law, i really am a foster mother. it says so right on the finalized court settlement. it is legally accurate to call ourselves, "a foster family." calling myself, "foster mom" cuts through all the cultural and legal confusion of the toxic mom debates, by whatever name.

the past couple of weeks have been a ptsd rollercoaster ride, ranging from the lows of all the confusions of loss --covidically masked and enhanced-- to the highs of seeing how far we have come. we are feeling increasingly secure with our new normal. knock wood and whatever other supersticious safeguard you can think of. this morning finds me especially confident and grateful that i learned the skills of suspending judgement as i strive to simply accept the new normal at face value. which of the emotions washing over me are good, bad or just ugly? leave the judge's robe in the closet. emotions are what they are, however i choose to judge them. in suspending judgement, it is far, far easier to just go with the flow. i'm not here to judge.

again i am not sure what i am reaching for here. thoughts? reality checks? experience? unsolicited advice?

again i leave the mood icon on the rapid cycling median. gee. . . why was i misdiagnosed as bi-polar for the decades between my first therapy appointment and the advent of the ptsd dx?