This ritual challenge was difficult to get started. I could have started any time in December, but yet, I waited until Boxing day. The 1st came and went. Then my holiday crafting. Then next Monday. Then after Yule… and so on with every excuse in the book not to start. Several times I had set aside a slot in my calendar to do ritual, and either guests would pop by, or whatever. I was going to do some of this work in tandem with NET therapy, but there was a scheduling error at the chiropractor’s office. There was resistance both within and without to get started. Freud would have no doubt found that interesting.
But day 2, I looked forward to ritual. I have decided that I want to try to do it duskish every day, but I need to ensure that I don’t get too caught up on that time. If I start getting rigid about when I am allowed to do ritual, the challenge will never be complete.
Today was a rough day. Not only my moon began, but I had an abusive client… same one twice today. This was a muggle job client, not a tarot client. 99% of my muggle job clients are wonderful and so appreciative of what I do. (100% of my tarot clients are amazing 🙂 )My 3rd client today had a rough night, but part way during his care, he said “Ya know, I’m already feeling better. Thank you Caroline. My 4th client today is from my home town, and I walked in the door, and she said “I’m so glad to see you! I’ve been asking for a week ‘where’s my Caroline?'” I have such an amazing impact and relationship with so many wonderful seniors. I have no living grandparents, but I have my clients. I feel so blessed to work with most of them. But there’s always that one… Every day I go in there, and I am called stupid, crazy, lazy, dummy, etc. I have been told by my supervisor that if she starts being abusive, to walk out. I’ve been putting up with her for a year and a half. She was my 2nd visit first thing. and then this afternoon, my 6th visit of the day. I was running 15 minutes behind, and I walked into her screaming at me at the top of her lungs. I said “nope. That’s enough of that.” and I turned around, went back to my car, and emailed my supervisor. For all the badassery my image assumes, I’m actually a very sensitive person. I tolerated her abuse out of mercy, because she actually does need help with what we call “Activities of Daily Living”. But her treatment was just so inconsistent with this challenge that I was just done. After a year and a half of begging and pleading to be removed from this client, I finally no longer have to go back. If that’s all I get out of this challenge, I’m good.
Getting into ritual today was mostly seamless. I was about to start, and then I thought “I’d better change out of my scrubs first.” I do have a tarot client tonight, so I needed to change anyways. But, I jokingly refer to my scrubs as my “shame clothes”, and do not allow myself to be photographed in scrubs. As much as my muggle job is rewarding, and as much as I love my clients, and I do such “salt of the Earth” work, I’m ashamed of what I do. I have a MENSA qualifying IQ, and a university degree. I should not be washing asses for less than a living wage. But yet, I have been doing this job for almost 15 years (minus the two years of bliss when I worked at Ivey). Why? Because I haven’t believed that I could do better. I didn’t believe that I could have a good job, be valued for my education, live a happy life- live an abundant life! I sold myself short and took the safe way, because I didn’t think I was good enough to succeed at my potential. It’s really hard to fail in a low paying, high demand job working with seniors. I have a car, clean criminal record, speak clear English, am female, and am competent at the work I do. I could find a new PSW job in an hour, but they are all the same. It would devastate me to attempt to reach my potential again and then fall. I had a great job at the university for two years, and losing that job broke me. Going back to PSW work was like scurrying away from success with my tail between my legs. I hate that I did that to myself. I had lost custody of my daughter at the time and was going through hell. I should have just gone on sick leave for a year. But I kept pushing, kept fighting, because that’s what I do.
So I changed, got ready, lit some candles and incense, and sat in front of the mirror. I hesitated and thought “I should put some make up on.” Somehow, I connect being loved with being pretty enough. Any time that I have been told that I was loved was by someone who thought I was attractive. My lovability feels connected to my sex appeal. Growing up, I was the ugly kid in town. The one who was spit on, barked at, endlessly teased for being ugly. I came to the city, and when I was hit on thought “Which one of them put you up to this, and how much money do you get if you make me cry.” It’s probably why I’ve carried weight all these years, to avoid being stereotypically hot, and definitely something I struggle with now that the weight coming off. But, If I am going to convince myself that I love myself, it should be all versions of me, including the unpainted one. So, I sat in front of my mirror, sipped my potion and said my mantra.
I felt like I was just saying the words. Like they were just empty sounds. But I looked myself in the mirror and repeatedly said “Caroline, I love you. I really, truly love you.” Fake it til you make it?
Day 2 down.