I have always had a deep passion for reading. Starting young, I’d soak up every type of fiction that my school and city library carried. Initially, I held a safe distance from the characters in my novels, but as I got older, I distinctly remember becoming emotionally invoked by certain personality types, particularly, the “know-it-all.” I would scoff and roll my eyes at the character. It seemed completely natural to be put off by this behavior.
Who doesn’t remember “Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” Iconized in Disney’s Snow White as a mystical face with omnipotent sight, this idea of the brutal honest reflection, at first glance, appears to be both a powerful gift and curse. Wow, it’s beyond imagination to think that a magical mirror could tell you the truth, what no one else would dare say. The only question is would I want to know?
Communication is a tricky thing. I’ve noticed that as articulate as I am, I’m often misunderstood and it’s usually my fault. When I speak, I use self-created colloquialisms so that doesn’t help with clarity. I should have introduction cards to all those who pass by: Hi, my name is Jacqui and I have OCD and a made up language- just kidding. I think for most of us, it’s hard to communicate your feelings when you are emotionally invoked. Yet, what I failed to notice before and only see now is that it’s even harder to hear what’s being communicated when distraught. What does this ridicul
What does it mean to be o.k.? I’ve been wondering this a lot lately. "How are you" being the most common greeting, there's no way to avoid wondering, especially since I'd burst into tears when asked this automated greeting over the last two months. While undergoing difficult times, this salutation feels like fingernails on a chalk board and this is not exclusive to grief.
The grief process didn’t start with my mom’s death. It actually started two and a half years ago when she was first diagnosed with Stage IV Colon Cancer. I remember my therapist pointing this out, but at first, I rejected the possibility. To me, admitting that I was grieving seemed liked I was giving permission to the terminal in my mom’s diagnosis. Instead, I kept my focus on being emotionally and spiritually healthy so that we would be worthy of a miracle and for awhile, it appeared to be working.