Newbury Park Counseling

07/31/2023

This is so true

WHEN YOU SAY GOODBYE TO A PARENT
You are suddenly living in a whole new world.

You are no longer ‘the child’ and regardless of how long you have officially been ‘grown up’ for, you realise you actually never were until this moment. The shock of this adjustment will shake your very core.

When you have finally said goodbye to both your parents, assuming you were lucky enough to have had two. You are an orphan on this earth and that never, ever gets easier to take no matter how old and grey you are yourself and no matter how many children of your own you have.

You see, a part of your body is physically connected to the people that made it and also a part of your soul. When they no longer live, it is as if you are missing something practical that you need – like a finger or an arm. Because really, you are. You are missing your parent and that is something far more necessary than any limb.

And yet the connection is so strong it carries on somehow, no-one knows how exactly. But they are there. In some way, shape or form they are still guiding you if you listen closely enough. You can hear the words they would choose to say to you.

You can feel the warmth of their approval, their smile when a goal is achieved, their all-consuming love filling the air around you when a baby is born they haven’t met.

If you watch your children very closely you will see that they too have a connection with your parents long after they are gone. They will say things that resonate with you because it brings so many memories of the parent you are missing. They will carry on traits, thoughts and sometimes they will even see them in their dreams.

This is not something we can explain.

Love is a very mystical and wondrous entity.

It is far better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all and grief, grief is the price of that love. The deeper the love the stronger the grief.

When you say goodbye to a parent, do not forget to connect with that little girl who still lives inside you somewhere.

Take very good care of her, for she, she will be alone and scared.

When you say goodbye to your parents, you lose an identity, a place in the world. When the people who put you on this earth are no longer here, it changes everything.

Look after yourself the way they looked after you and listen out for them when you need it the most.

They never really leave.

Donna Ashworth
From my poetry collection
To The Women: words to live by
UK: https://amzn.eu/d/i8Xpzmu
US: https://a.co/d/2FaN5Ey

To The Woman is the second book from History Will Remember author, and social media wordsmith, Donna Ashworth. Donna’s poems and essays for women are constantly flying around the internet bringing positivity and solidarity. This collection contains 48 favourite poems, plus beautiful quotes; truly....

03/22/2023

This is good

I went outside to get my mail yesterday and felt the warmth of the sun on my skin. I looked up when I heard a squeal of laughter a few hundred feet away. My heart stopped for a moment as I watched short, chubby legs race down the driveway across from me, but just as the small feet came close to the street, long, thin arms grabbed the boy from behind and lifted him up to safety. I watched as my neighbor wrapped her limbs around the small body and pretended to eat him up like a chocolate chip cookie.

I sighed at the sweet sight and was jealous of my friend with a two-year-old son; not because I miss the exhaustion of raising little ones, but because she knows where the edge is when it comes to parenting—and can pull her child back to safety.

When I was the parent of three small children, I always plucked them back from edges. I would grab their hand as we walked through parking lots, picked them up when they got to close to the ledge at the pool, made sure they slowed down as they ran towards to stairs.

I put plastic gates up and buckled car seats. I chased and grabbed and lifted them to safety over and over again. I did everything I could to protect them, to keep them alive, to make sure they didn’t get too close to the edge.

Then my kids grew into teenagers. And those scary edges I’d worked so hard to protect my kids from now feel like cliffs—and no matter how fast I run, no matter how far I outstretch my hand, no matter how hard I try, sometimes I just can’t pull them back.

Sometimes I don’t even know where those edges are.

And I recognize I’m no longer supposed to envelope my kids, I understand that they need to make decisions on their own, I know that they need to teeter on the edge—but it’s just so damn hard.

Over that edge is the rest of the world, and it is full of scary things.

Will they be safe when they walk through the doors of their school each day? Will they remember not to respond to a text number they don’t recognize? Are they empowered enough to retain their self-worth when dating and strong enough to say no when offered alcohol or drugs?

Did I ever tell them not to put a drink down at a party or leave with someone they don’t know? Will they remember to be careful when they walk too close to the edge?

And although holding on tight to their hands feels so good, I know that letting go is the most profound expression of love I can give, and the only way I may get my children to return from the edge.

My heart still sees three little kids, but I can’t deny their growing independence.

I watch my neighbor and her son for a few more moments. He runs around the side of his house and then peeks around the corner to see if she is still there. He smiles at her, contemplating taking another step, but then giggles as he turns and races back to her, wrapping his short arms around her long legs.

I can’t help thinking that this is also the appropriate protocol for parenting a teenager. You stay back in the distance while your child ventures away independently, hoping they know you’re behind them, waiting to be a safe haven if needed.

It is a difficult thing for a parent to watch their child at the edge of danger, of choices, of independence; yet, I sit on my hands, monitoring from a distance, and resist the urge to pull them back.

Because it is at the edge I know they will one day jump, and hopefully soar to new heights.

And God willing, fly back to me again.

Photo cred: Liz Binder Photography

Follow Whitney Fleming Writes

02/07/2023

Via Wordables

09/28/2022

Try it

So much this! 🥰

09/23/2022

This is a good one

Right before I was married, my mom told me that she once overheard me on the phone when I was 14 years old. I was talking to my brother who was in college. Apparently, I was ranting that
it was hard being at home without him because our mom embarrassed me and wasn’t like “other moms.”

My mom told me she cried for three days after that phone call. I never knew.

She made a tremendous effort to connect with me and provide the fun teenage years she never had, and even though she knew we were going through typical pains associated with teenagedom, she didn’t know how I truly felt.

As I listened to her words as an adult, I felt the heat of shame creep up on my cheeks. Of course, I was mortified. I attempted a feeble apology for my behavior during those years and claimed that it must have been my hormones.

But even though decades have passed by, and we have an amazing relationship now, I remember feeling that way. I remember feeling embarrassed of my mother and wishing I could be a little “cooler” than my family could manage.

Luckily, that was a short phase, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that I was acting like an idiot, and my mother was a living, breathing saint. God and karma had the last laugh, however, and blessed me with three daughters.

I think about that story a lot when I am in the weeds of parenting three teenage girls, which, to be honest, is every day. I think about how I broke my mother’s heart and how she often tells me she course-corrected a lot based on my attitude toward her.

If I was belligerent, she knew it was often something going on with my friends. She let me get away with a little bit more then.

If I was exceedingly obedient, she knew I was guilty of something, and she tightened the reigns.

When I lashed out at her, she knew she needed to reel me back in a little tighter.

But to think that I didn’t hurt her during these times, to think that she didn’t take it personally, well, I could tell by her face that she carries a little bit of that pain with her to this day.

It’s this knowledge that frustrates me sometimes when experts say, “Don’t take what your teen says or does personally.”

I mean, I understand it in theory. They will make bad choices that are not a reflection of your parenting. Sometimes they just want to get a rise out of you. It could just be hormones or “hanger” or simply them slowing breaking away.

But my relationship with my children is the most personal thing in this world to me, and during this tumultuous time their words and actions often shatter my heart.

I often tell myself that I’m too emotional, too invested, but I don’t know how to parent any other way. I’m not even sure if I would want to.

But instead of telling parents not to take it personally, let’s start acknowledging that there will be times your teen strikes you where it hurts, perhaps even where you are most vulnerable. Let’s start by admitting that watching your teen make poor choices is gut-wrenching. Let’s start supporting each other through those times when our teens break our hearts.

Because every one of us is going through it, feeling it, trying to figure out what we’re doing wrong. And if you’re not, consider yourself lucky.

It’s all personal.

I’m not glad I hurt my sweet mom, but I’m glad she kept feeling my emotions. I’m glad she didn’t respond in kind, and instead parented the kid in front of her at any given moment. I’m glad she called me out when I acted like a brat and lost her temper because I pushed too hard and coddled me when I needed it most.

She simultaneously felt every emotion as I went through it, and loved me through it all. It was personal to her and part of our story.

I wish the experts would say, “Your teen will break your heart, but I promise you’ll survive. In fact, one day, if you’re lucky, your relationship will be stronger because you felt it all—the good times and the bad.”

Because I’m no expert on raising teens, but that’s the one thing I know.

xoxo,
Whitney Fleming Writes

09/13/2022

Love this

This is everything!

09/10/2022

Love this

I'm feeling this one today. Never enough.

07/18/2022

If you’re having suicidal thoughts, a substance use crisis, or any other kind of emotional distress, you can dial 988 to be connected to mental health support.

04/09/2022

03/17/2022

♥️

02/16/2022

So true❤️❤️

01/03/2022

I love this

Last week, I wore my heavy wool socks and my boots to walk the dog on a cold, wet Fall day. In the middle of my two-mile jaunt, I realized my left heel started to hurt. By the time I made it home, I had a blister the size of a quarter on the back of my foot.

A blister happens from friction--constant forceful rubbing.

Last year, my relationship with my young teen daughter was a gigantic blister. We constantly rubbed each other the wrong way.

I was so frustrated with her behavior that I pushed her on everything. Her unkempt room and schoolwork and attitude. Her lack of awareness for others. Her inaction to change.

She started circumventing the truth whenever I confronted her and shutting down. She retreated to her room at every opportunity. She pushed back out of frustration.

Our relationship was a blister, and it was hurting us both.

If you've ever had one, you know your only course of action is to stop doing what caused the blister in the first place. Give the blister some room to heal. Stop the friction from occurring.

I had to wake up every morning and decide if I was going to pressure my daughter that day. Was I going to nag her about her bedroom? Needle her about the chores she didn't do? Take away her phone or ground her for not listening?

Or would my love be more of a soothing balm healing us both?

I was tired of the constant friction. It was unhealthy for our entire house.

So, I started helping her a bit more. Instead of yelling at her that she forgot to make her lunch--again--I just made it and left it on the counter for her. Instead of engaging when she made a snarky comment, I simply said, "Well, let's just end our conversation on that note," and walked away. Instead of barraging her with questions about school and her friends, I started asking her to hang out with me more for coffee dates or cooking dinner or watching a show.

I didn't let her get away with big things. We have house rules that are non-negotiable. But I made a mental list of what were big things and what were small things, and I realized my list of small stuff was so much longer than I ever thought.

I kept at it for several months. Sometimes I helped her and sometimes I let her fall. Sometimes I forced a hug so she could physically feel my presence, and sometimes I let her dictate the terms of our relationship. Sometimes I let a terse word or action roll off my back, and sometimes I simply said, "please leave the room if you are going to behave like this."

And one day, as we hung out baking cookies, I realized my relationship with my daughter didn't hurt anymore. It felt warm and fuzzy, like my favorite pair of wool socks.

We healed the blister by taking away the friction.

Some teens are just harder than others. Some act out because they are frustrated or confused or just so desperate for independence that they only know how to painfully kick you away.

You can fight it with all your might, but know that friction often causes blisters, and some can become pretty bad.

Or you can take the friction away.

I took my dog for a walk yesterday. I wore the same boots, but slipped on a thin pair of socks and wore a few band-aids for good measure.

Oh yeah. My daughter came with me. Just because she wanted to hang out.

*This is a repost (and one of my favorites) Thanks for reading.

01/01/2022

Happy new year!

01/01/2022

https://whatsyourgrief.com/a-new-years-resolution-for-grievers/?inf_contact_key=d7032cb63fb4823747e80f377e2bee2a680f8914173f9191b1c0223e68310bb1&fbclid=IwAR0ZJm9xAYOQA2pL45lUnuv3wNZoq89J8EMD9txyZ-ShxTbjgJbLD7SwnAg

I resolve to take you with me into the new year and then every day after that. I’ll hold onto memories of you, each a separate thread connected to our life together. I’ll jumble them up into a ball, so I’m not constantly getting tangled in the past. […]

12/23/2021

I bet you know what the stages of grief are, even if you don't think of yourself as much of a psychology-type person.⁣
⁣
The stages of grief were developed by Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in the 1960s, as she listened to and observed people living with terminal diagnoses. What began as a way to understand the emotions of the dying became a way to strategize grief.⁣
⁣
The griever is expected to move through a series of clearly delineated stages: denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, eventually arriving at "acceptance," at which time their "grief work" is complete.⁣
⁣
This widespread interpretation of the stages model suggests that there is a right way and a wrong way to grieve, that there is an orderly and predictable pattern that everyone will go through.⁣
⁣
In her later years, Kübler-Ross wrote that she regretted writing the stages the way that she did, that people mistook that as being both linear and universal.⁣
⁣
The stages of grief were not meant to tell you what you should feel, and when exactly you should feel it. They were not meant to dictate whether you are doing your grief "correctly" or not. Her stages, whether apply to the dying or those left living, were meant to normalize and validate what someone MIGHT experience in the swirl of chaos that is loss and death and grief. They were meant to give comfort, not create a cage.⁣
⁣
The truth is, you can't force an order on pain. You can't make grief tidy or predictable. Grief is as individual as love: every life, every path, is unique. There is no pattern, and no linear progression. Despite what many "experts" believe, there are no stages of grief.⁣
⁣
To do grief well depends solely on individual experience. It means listening to your own reality. It means acknowledging pain and love and loss. It means allowing the truth of these things the space to exist without any artificial tethers or stages or requirements.⁣
⁣
Grief is part of love, and love evolves. Your love, and your grief, are bigger than any stage could ever be. The only way to contain it is to let it be free.⁣
⁣
You'll find ways to live inside your grief, and in doing so, it will find its own right place.

12/12/2021

So good to remember
It goes a long way

♥

11/30/2021

❤

11/28/2021

This is a great read

I’ve been in some scary places in my lifetime.

But, hands down one of the scariest places I’ve ever been is in the parking lot of my son’s high school.

At first the parking lot is peaceful and quiet, just a bunch of parked cars and a line of parents idling in their own cars waiting for their students at the end of the school day.

Then the wooded path from the high school to the parking lot slowly begins to fill with groups of young adults.

Some are off to college in a few months.

Some are already old enough to vote and serve in the military.

Some are heading straight from their school day to their afternoon jobs.

Some are climbing into their own cars and driving away.

Some are grabbing rides home with older friends who can drive.

As they all make their way past my car, I can’t help but picture the versions of them I first met so many years ago.

Gone are the young adult versions of them.

Instead I see the 7 year old that used to ride the bus with my son when he was in 1st grade.

I see the 8 year old that played ball in the street outside my front window.

I see the 9 year old that introduced my son to the magic of summer travel baseball.

I see the 10 year old that helped lead their flag football team to an undefeated season.

I see the 11 year old who introduced me to his mother, a woman who would become one of my closest friends.

I see the 12 year old who wrote my husband a beautiful thank you note for being his coach during his youth football years.

I see the 13 year old who giggled with their friends in the backseat of my car as I drove them all to the movies.

Babies.

Children.

I know they have morphed into amazing young adults but in that parking lot I still see them as the carefree, innocent, wide-eyed younger versions of themselves.

Even as they back out of their parking space in their own little SUV’s and peel away into the line of cars exiting the parking lot, I see who they used to be.

Even as they kiss their high school sweetheart goodbye in the parking lot and drive away to their jobs, I see who they used to be.

Even as they chat with each other about their plans for life after graduation, I see who they used to be.

And as my own son, always one of the last to enter the parking lot, finally makes his way to my car, I see who he used to be.

I see the 5 year old version of him, lunchbox in hand bounding off the school-bus and into my arms.

Yes, this parking lot is terrifying.

For this is the place where you can feel the distance between childhood and adulthood growing more and more each day.

But if you look and listen hard enough, the high school parking lot is also one of the most hopeful places to be.

It is where you can see the friendships and connections that will still be there for decades to come.

It is where you can see the hopefulness for the future they have yet to write for themselves.

It is where you can see the fear of the unknown and the insecurities being replaced by bravery and confidence.

It is where you can see the ability to enjoy the present.

As my son climbs into the passenger seat and flashes his 16 year old grin at me, I am aware that I only have a few more months to spend in this parking lot. Soon he will have his license and all that money he has been saving from his job will be put towards a car.

Soon I won’t be needed in this parking lot - this beautiful parking lot where fear gives way to hope - and I am really going to miss this place.

*Shared with permission from Changing Perspectives with Jenni Brennan

11/03/2021

This is a good one😀

Last week, I wore my heavy wool socks and my boots to walk the dog on a cold, wet Fall day. In the middle of my two mile jaunt, I realized my left heel started to hurt. By the time I made it home, I had a blister the size of a quarter on the back of my foot.

A blister happens from friction--constant forceful rubbing.

Last year, my relationship with my young teen daughter was a gigantic blister. We constantly rubbed each other the wrong way.

I was so frustrated with her behavior that I pushed her on everything. Her unkempt room and schoolwork and attitude. Her lack of awareness for others. Her inaction to change.

She started circumventing the truth whenever I confronted her and shutting down. She retreated to her room at every opportunity. She pushed back out of frustration.

Our relationship was a blister, and it was hurting us both.

If you've ever had one, you know your only course of action is to stop doing what caused the blister in the first place. Give the blister some room to heal. Stop the friction from occurring.

I had to wake up every morning and decide if I was going to pressure my daughter that day. Was I going to nag her about her bedroom? Needle her about the chores she didn't do? Take away her phone or ground her for not listening?

Or would my love be more of a soothing balm healing us both?

I was tired of the constant friction. It was unhealthy for our entire house.

So, I started helping her a bit more. Instead of yelling at her that she forgot to make her lunch--again--I just made it and left it on the counter for her. Instead of engaging when she made a snarky comment, I simply said, "Well, let's just end our conversation on that note," and walked away. Instead of barraging her with questions about school and her friends, I started asking her to hang out with me more for coffee dates or cooking dinner or watching a show.

I didn't let her get away with big things. We have house rules that are non-negotiable. But I made a mental list of what were big things and what were small things, and I realized my list of small stuff was so much longer than I ever thought.

I kept at it for several months. Sometimes I helped her and sometimes I let her fall. Sometimes I forced a hug so she could physically feel my presence, and sometimes I let her dictate the terms of our relationship. Sometimes I let a terse word or action roll off my back, and sometimes I simply said, "please leave the room if you are going to behave like this."

And one day, as we hung out baking cookies, I realized my relationship with my daughter didn't hurt anymore. It felt warm and fuzzy, like my favorite pair of wool socks.

We healed the blister by taking away the friction.

Some teens are just harder than others. Some act out because they are frustrated or confused or just so desperate for independence that they only know how to painfully kick you away.

You can fight it with all your might, but know that friction often causes blisters, and some can become pretty bad.

Or you can take the friction away.

I took my dog for a walk yesterday. I wore the same boots, but slipped on a thin pair of socks and wore a few band aids for good measure.

Oh yeah. My daughter came with me. Just because she wanted to hang out.

*This is a repost (and one of my favorites) Thanks for reading.

10/14/2021

Do you identify with this?

10/14/2021

file:///var/mobile/Library/SMS/Attachments/66/06/C7801D29-1B96-4A28-98D6-59F5692D47EB/IMG_0290.heic

Can you relate?

09/08/2021

Stigma: a mark of disgrace associated with a particular circumstance, quality, or person.

Su***de, sadly, remains stigmatized. It is a challenging topic. The mere mention of the word tugs at our heartstrings, our minds, and our very souls.

When an individual dies by su***de, the family and friends go through what are often considered, “unspeakable” feelings. Guilt, shame, and the inability to answer all of the unanswerable questions fill the heart.

Su***de remains difficult to understand and frightening to talk about. When something remains a societal stigma, it can create an extra layer to the already heart-wrenching pain of grief.

Language informs so much of our perceptions and beliefs. In recent years, mental health professionals have worked hard to change the language around su***de. Removing the word “committed” and replacing it with “died by” is terminology that serves to remove the stigma.

The history of su***de is such that it was considered a crime. And although it is no longer, the attachment of that shameful residue remains. People experiencing stigma may feel fearful, diminished, or discounted.

We know there is no single cause of su***de. It most often occurs when stressors become greater than current coping abilities of someone suffering from a mental health condition and can no longer clearly see their way to any other answer.

While some find the change in language a mere attempt at political correctness, my heart tells me it's about compassion, hearing others, opening our hearts to what is true and honest and real. When we remove "committed" it helps remove that stigma so we can begin embracing individuals and families with honor, dignity, and respect.

Grieving cannot begin in an environment of fear, shame, and silence. Words matter. People matter.

Removing stigma helps us begin wrapping our arms around people with compassion and understanding.

***depreventionmonth
***depreventionday

09/07/2021

What if you told your child the real reason you yelled at them was that you're having difficulty managing your own emotions? What if you reminded your children that your reactions are not their responsibility. I imagine it would free you both from having to be perfect. .destini destini '.

09/04/2021

This is so good

OK parents of brand new college students, there is a thing that might happen and I need us to be prepared.

Roughly 8 ½ out of 10 of us will get a phone call from a super miserable college kid.

Like, flat out miserable. They will be friendless, homesick, overwhelmed by the work, unsure of their every decision and will be quite certain things will never get better.

Every molecule in your body will scream, “Baby don’t worry! Mama’s here! I AM COMING TO SAVE YOU FROM THIS CRUEL COLD WORLD AND ALSO I WILL BAKE YOU COOKIES AND WHEN CAN I BOOK YOUR FLIGHT HOME?”

You must under no circumstances do the very thing you feel you need to do in your soul...rescue them.

Your child is on the Hot Mess Express and it is a ride they have to take to get to This-New-Place-Feels-Like-Home Junction.

Do not pull them off the train. Also do not get on with them and lament that yes everything is horrible because that is a straight shot to Sad Sack City.

Instead, you need to run alongside that train waving your hat saying things like, “You’ve got this it’ll all be OK!”, “It'll be a short ride and you’ll be so happy when you get there!” or “Keep your dorm room open so people can see you are home!” or “Look straight ahead so you don’t get train sick!”

That is it.

Listen to them. Validate their feelings because the adjustment can be hard and long and feel not so great. It’s OK for them to struggle and they might just need to talk about how crappy it all is.

But they also need us to believe in them. They won’t always believe they can do it so we need to step it up and tell them they indeed can.

Remind them they are a gift from God to the world and that they’ve had friends before and they will again and their little brother still thinks they’re the coolest.

And I know what you are thinking, What if they are not OK? What if this all is a disaster and the right thing to do is to bring them home?

I hear you, and on the off chance that is the case you need them to tell you when that time is. And it isn’t on weekend two when they still don’t have a friend. It isn’t even on weekend four when they are still sitting in their dorm room.

A good rule is to make them stay put for at least six to eight weeks, especially if they are having a hard time.

Yes this will basically feel like forever to both you and your miserable child.

But something happens around the 6 week mark.

They make friends, or at least one friend.

They connect with a professor.

They break down and join something, anything.

They realize they know the way to all their classes and have a new favorite coffee at the coffee shop.

Someone invites them to a party and they go and it isn’t a nightmare.

The cafeteria staff starts to recognize them and lets them know when they’re going to make more potstickers.

And they have made connections all on their own.

Of course the conversations you have had and the bazillion prayers you have prayed have helped but basically they own this.

They have carved out a new home without anyone else and it will feel amazing.

Do not steal this from them.

Sit with them, coach them, pray for them, but make them stay on that train.

It will be one of the hardest things you have ever done.

I know, I have done it once and I have four more in line to allow me to experience this joy of parenting again, and again, and again and again. Unless they choose to just stay with me forever which at least one of them still promises to do.

Surround yourself with support because you will need it too. You will see pictures online and think all the other kids in the land are happy but yours. But if you ask a parent or two you may find they are right there with you. At least 8 1/2 of them.

We’ve got this friends and so do they. ❤️

Amy

{Edited to add: Of course If your student is struggling with mental health issues help them connect with support on their campus and then know when to fold them. You know your child best and you’ll want to watch for all the red flags. But most of our kids just need time.}