Paradigm Shifts

The paradigm shifts remain the hardest part of psychotherapy for me. When, exactly, did the Child Prostitute become the Signal Corps Specialist? When, exactly, did the engineering student my cute neighbor was intrigued with become his neurotic, not-working mother? When, exactly, did the token female "Lead Installer" become "The Bitch of No Return?" When, exactly, did the River Rat Wanna-be become the honey done Breach of Contract mark? Etcetera, etceteri through the long list of paradigm shifts between the throw-away kid camps to comfortable retiree. For sure, those changes are far, far easier on paper than they are inside a fractured psyche. There are no anniversaries for any of those paradigm shifts but most days I believe those shifts really did happen. Most days. My inner child still shamefully hides her bloodied skirts in the psychic closet all too often.

Has the sick and creepy old dairy barn become a honey barn yet? For sure it is not ready for the health code inspectors, but it has come a long way, baby, to get to where it's got to today. There is a cheap, well used hand-crank extractor in the proposed extraction room. Has the FIL's investment property become a farm yet? One of the co-owners who inherited it a bit over 3 years ago is up here getting his hands dirty when his corporate duties allow. He is approving of my allowing myself to use personal possessive pronouns in discussing ^it^. Well. . . Conversationally, the FIL approved from that Day One 38 years ago, also, but believing him set me up for entirely too many "Mind Your Own Business" lectures. My husband remains his father's son, no matter how often he insists he is different from his father. Yes, Dear. It's a lovely day to go play with your bees, isn't it?

Hubs has corporate duties to tend on campus this week. He has agreed to multi-task that 3 hour drive with the custodial hand-off of the GK's. The other grandparents live on the other end of the metroplex, but that is still much closer than we are now. Daddy will get dropped off somewhere in that process, but his STBX waltz makes his destination far less certain, but this is the Monster-in-Law, minding her own business like the combat trained veteran she is. Monster-in-Law duties are something Signal Corps Specialists are uncommonly qualified to handle. DOD security is even stricter than the most territorial of DILs. I was trained to SpeCat (Special Category) levels. Is it compassionate and fair to handle DIL clearances with the SpeCat provisos?

As Hubs and peripherals prepare for take-off, I am attempting to work up the Faith to believe the paradigm shift of the FIL's investment property becoming a family farm. Hubs is worried about the isolation factor which has so plagued me here, but. . . Dare I approach the therapy support network I have already identified in this neighborhood? I did so before my estranged brother's death catapaulted me out of here with the support of the Co-owner Agreement SNAFU.

Sorting. . . Praying. . . Saluting all psycho nag flags.