I went to visit my counselor today. I have concluded that as long as you don’t snag a counselor who says, “tell me about your suppressed childhood memories” it really isn’t that big of a deal to go see a counselor. All you do is talk about your problems to someone who is completely removed from everything and also has a very good understanding of human emotions.
Although, it does get a bit awkward when they say “so, what do you want to talk about?” and you’re not really sure.
I was hoping to work on painting my desk but that plan failed when I was busy all day. I didn’t mind. I really like being busy all day. It makes me tired but it also makes me happy which is super when you are battling depression.
Anyway, I came up with this analogy of my feelings as I was talking to my counselor:
I feel like I grew and prospered like a normal person until I was sixteen. When I turned seventeen things went haywire. I got sick, I moved around like crazy, and I failed at life. Finally, at age twenty, I got sent back home again to sort my life out.
Learn the things I never learned.
Become what a twenty year old should be.
So suddenly, I wasn’t twenty, I was sixteen again. I was in the exact same situation I was in at age sixteen. My parents were frantically trying to teach me the stuff I should have learned at sixteen. My family was treating me like I was sixteen. I was acting like I was sixteen. And I didn’t think I was capable of doing things that I wasn’t able to do at age sixteen.
I am not sixteen. I am twenty. I did not have three blank years. I had three years where I learned and grew.
After I visited my counselor and she told me that I am twenty and not sixteen I rushed to church because my family is in charge of cleaning the church this week. Fun fun. I mopped the kitchen floor which actually was kind of fun because the mop had this cool squincher thing to squeeze out the mop water.
Then, there was barely time to take a nap before the party preparations began.
I worked all week on this party, calling people, figuring out what time worked for everyone, planning games, etc. Now I hung up streamers and scattered confetti and taped balloons all over the living room. Jenny made a big sign which said “Happy Birthday Anna” and I taped it up over the door.
It was a party.
Then I went to pick up Anna, leaving Mom and Jenny to greet the guests and get them hidden, all ready to pop out and surprise Anna as she came in the door.
I drove along through the rain. “Why am I doing this?” I thought. “Why is it so important to me to throw a party for this girl I barely know? Am I trying to be super Spiritual, doing what Jesus would do?”
The Sunday I first saw Anna in Church with her family, I made sure I talked to her, was nice to her, and took her to Sunday school.
Why?
Because I knew that if I were in her shoes I would want someone to do that to me.
Every Sunday after that I made a point to talk to her, befriend her, and invite her to youth activities.
Why?
Because I knew that if I were in her shoes I would want someone to do that to me.
And then there was the Sunday when she told me that her birthday was coming up and she wouldn’t be able to do anything exciting to celebrate. Also, that all her friends were so far away. And that she was tempted to be down about it, but she was trying to keep a positive attitude.
That’s when I decided to throw a party for her. Because if I was in her shoes I would want someone to do the same to me.
Let me tell you something: The 16-year-old me would never have done that.
(All photos are from Google images)
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