I had my therapist session today. We discussed many things, but the part that really stuck out for me was this. I was talking about how I was worrying over Father’s Day. I don’t want to send my father a card, but I usually do. In addition, with my mom being here, she’ll probably want me to talk on the phone with him as well. Needless to say, that is not high on my list of things I want to do.
Ed. Note: The above was written yesterday. The rest of the post will be written today, tomorrow, whenever. My therapy appointment was on June 9th.
I worry about shit like that until I am miserable. It will run around in my head until it’s all I can think about. I was telling my therapist how I had no interest in doing either, but I don’t know how to tell my mother that. Several years ago, I stopped sending my father any birthday cards or Father’s Day cards (fun fact. In Taiwan, they have a Father’s Day, August 8th, because August is the eighth month, and eight is ‘ba’ in Taiwanese, so ba-ba would be father (using different tones), but no Mother’s Day), and my mother informed me that my father was very hurt by this.
That’s the way our family rolls. My mother relays a message guaranteed to exacerbate a situation under the guise of trying to ameliorate a situation. Does she actually think she’s helping? I don’t know.
Anyway, I brought it up to my therapist, and she said, “Minna, I want you to think about saying something like this. “Mom, Father’s Day is very difficult for me because of my issues with Dad. I do not know if I will be sending Dad a card or calling him on the phone. Please don’t push me to do either.”
My response? “Fuck, no! I can’t say that!”
Therapist: “Which part?”
Me: “Any of it!”
Ok. We are at the end of a week of religion-based entries, and this is the final installment. No, this doesn’t mean I will never write about religion ever again–only that I have other things about which I want to blog, and a week solid of any one topic is more than enough (except, of course, chocolate and Alan Rickman).
So. Over the past four days, I have outlined my spiritual journey until this point in my life. It hasn’t been easy, and I still struggle with my spirituality.
So. My “Fuck You, God” phase did not end with a bang, but with a whimper. It’s difficult to maintain that level of rage for any sustained amount of time. Besides, I had pretty much done all the experimenting I wanted to do at that point–and there was still an emptiness inside me. What to do?
Looks like this is going to be a week-long series, bitches! Oh, sorry. That’s how we greet each other over at Balloon Juice, and I quite like it. 
So, when we left off, our intrepid heroine (me) was heading off to college. I had planned on going to college in CA, but I changed my mind at the last minute. Instead, I ended up going to St. Olaf, which was closer to home–but not too close. For the first time, I lived away from my family. For the first time, I wasn’t being given rules and regulations to follow. For the first time, I had to make all my own decisions. It was scary as hell, but also a bit thrilling.
Go see