I readily admit that my orientation to family (unfortunately, perhaps) is less than warm and fuzzy. I realize I wouldn't even be here if my father and mother hadn't...well...you know. And I'm glad they did, of course.
But my father was a pedophile and my mother was psychotic, so my childhood was right up there with "Whatever Happened To Baby Jane?" on steroids. I don't even like to imagine what happened to my two younger brothers and two younger sisters after I ran for my life at eighteen. It has taken me seven decades to reach a point where I'm not dragging the wreckage of my past around behind me like a dirty blanket -- often for all the world to see.
At some point in my adulthood, however, I came across a book that I found helpful in processing my "issues" and some of its ideas have remained useful over time. It was a book on "self-parenting."
I declare inside the front cover of my book, Your Life Isn't Over ~ It May Have Just Begun!, that I am not a medical professional. I can't diagnose or treat illness (my own or anybody else's). And furthermore, each body is different, so what works for me may not work for you. Having said that, however, there are some things I've learned about managing diabetes -- and health in general -- that are valuable information. Playing an active role in your health care process is one of them.
Most people that know me, especially those that have known me for a while, will tell you that I'm wrapped a little tight. Always have been. Even as a toddler, I was a perfectionist. And being a perfectionist will amp up that anxiety level at a moment's notice over things other folks wouldn't even notice.
It's not as though I haven't worked on it over the years. And whether or not my efforts were always 100% conscious, I have made progress. The first time I was made aware that my emotional responses had improved was when my daughter (then ten or so) left a quarter size ink spot on my favorite peach-colored spread and I just said, "Well, it's only a blanket." She couldn't believe it.
But that was some time ago and I still get more anxious than most. Sometimes out of nowhere. Sometimes when it causes real problems. And sometimes when I'm doing my damnedest not to.
