I am enough.

So, I tried out a new therapist a few weeks ago in the hopes of finding someone who could say to me, "Oh, silly Amber, here's the problem. You just need to do this and you'll feel better." Which is crazy because, as a therapist myself, I know that this rarely happens. But still. I wanted him to help me unearth this thing, this deeply rooted thing that creates so much discomfort in my life and help me kill it good.

Instead, we talked about a lot of things, about this sense of urgency I have to get a job that supports myself and my son, about how I hate my line of work, about how I get both excited and depressed at the idea of leaving Jack at daycare. We talked about how I have irrationally believed that we are all on a sinking ship and that Jesus left me in charge of fixing it. He told me that I was anhedonic- that I have an inability to experience pleasure- and that I need to learn how to let go of this idea that if I am good to myself then others will suffer.

I told him to try growing up in Sunday School and not get that idea. I also told him that he has never seen me in a karaoke bar and if he had, he would not describe me as anhedonic.

I also told him that I do experience pleasure in my life, but then I immediately experience anxiety about it. Pleasure is something I was taught is bad, is not to be trusted, is sinful and indulgent. Be ye not of the flesh, says the Bible and about every youth pastor I ever listened to. Week after week at Bible study I would sit amongst my peers and listen as some girl the youth pastor had recruited to share her "testimony." Head down, voice filled with shame, tears falling down her cheeks, she would recount her story of debauchery and flagrant hedonism. She would tell us about how Satan had deceived her into thinking that using drugs, having sex, and listening to rock-n-roll would make her happy. She would talk about the abortion she had and how she thinks about her unborn baby every day, how she can't go to sleep at night without crying. She would beg us to listen to her story and to give our lives over to God, to be chaste and chase away the temptations of the flesh.

While I think that the intention of her story was to help us avoid creating needless suffering in our young lives, I think that I came away with a different lesson: pleasure = disastrous consequences. This, paired with my totally ridiculous sense of over-responsibility for other people's suffering, makes it very difficult for me to even be aware of what I might just like to do with my life.

LIKE to do with my life. Not should do. Not need to do. Like to do.

(By the way... does anyone know of any job openings for a professional ice-cream over-eater? Or a lay-out-by-the-pool-reading-Candace-Bushnell-novels-
while-sipping-margueritas-er? Perhaps you know someone who has a couch that is in need of someone to lay on it while watching marathons of Project Runway and My Life on the D List. If so, let me know and I'll send them my resume.)

Jesus, who was my Michael Jordan, was a martyr. As it was told to me, he died because the world was so shitty that God was going to kill it unless someone sacrificed his/her life. I wonder if Jesus ever really had fun. I wonder if he went through life feeling really responsible for everybody all of the time. I wonder if he ever said to himself, "You know, there's that leper colony over by Nazareth that I really should go and heal but dammit, I'm tired of sick people. I'd really rather go snowboarding today."

I'm reminded of the time when he was surrounded by needy people and he just vanished into thin air to get away from them. Jesus, I can relate. How did you give yourself permission to take care of yourself? Did you feel guilty for not sticking around?

During dinner tonight with a friend, I was describing this restless malcontent that I experience when I'm not out crusading for something big and important. I've done a lot of crusading and it appears that I have a great deal of my identity all wrapped up in being a savior. I'm having a hard time just being enough as I am right now, a single mom who works as a nanny and an apartment manager and who is exhausted by 7:30pm every night. I'm not "using" my degrees, I'm not writing a book, I'm not contributing to a cause, I'm not reading anything important. This all makes me very nervous. And yet, I can't think of anything that I want to crusade for.

What my new therapist did ask me was this: "What is the most important thing to you right now?" Without hesitation I answered, "That Jack get a good start at life. That I provide him with a solid foundation from which he can flourish." He then asked me, "Are you doing that?" And I knew that I was. I am doing what is most important to me and yet I still feel like it's not enough, that I'm not contributing, that I'm never going to feel useful again.

It's time to unravel this mess of pleasure equals hurt and usefulness equals worthiness. I'm just not sure where to start.