I first encountered yoga when I was 17. I'd read 'Forever Young Forever Healthy' by Indra Devi and wanted to join a class. Yoga wasn't main stream in 1964, and everyone thought I'd gone mad, but my determination was such that I went to the library to enquire about classes. Even the librarians looked at me strangely. The nearest class was at a Yoga and Meditation centre in Manchester. Much to my parents' horror, who thought yoga was for freaks and vegetarians who tied themselves in knots, and that I'd get kidnapped or murdered, I went off alone on the train to an unknown destination. It was an adventure. My stomach churned with excitement.
I have never had a good sense of direction and how I found the way to the house I can't remember, but on arrival an Indian gentleman invited me into a large Victorian terrace. To my surprise it was full of middle-aged people, who to my young eyes were unattractive and overweight. Not at all like the photographs in the book. I glanced at a woman's legs bulging with purple veins, remembering the promises in the book that practising yoga would prevent such abominations happening. Perhaps she started too late I thought to myself.
As I sat cross-legged (I could sit in the lotus position the first time I tried) chanting voices filled the room with an unfamiliar humming sound. Although I'd been attracted by more than just the promises of eternal youth, the real reason for my interest remained esoteric. I knew I wouldn't go back there but as I left, the Indian gentleman clasped my hands, looked me straight in the eye and told me softly that in my next life I would find the Right Path. I knew nothing then of Buddhist philosophy but understood the sincerity of the message.
I've had an on-off relationship with yoga ever since, and I became a vegetarian ten years ago.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Sunday, 25 March 2007
Thursday, 22 March 2007
First CBT Session
Driving to Chester I wondered if the therapy would do any good. I've tried yoga, meditation and Tai Chi, but I have had to resort to the chemical cosh. The swallowing of a tiny pill takes one second. It's much easier than meditating for hours, but I'm always left with feelings of guilt and failure. I should be able to control my mind. I want to be able to control my mind, but the leg work is sometimes too difficult. When I most need to meditate, I find I can't. I'm not strong enough.
I found the place easily. It was on a large modern business park. Doreen, the therapist is a plump, friendly, blond lady about my age, give or take a year. She told me a bit about how CBT works, and asked me why I'd come.
"I'm a psychology teacher and I've read about CBT, and some of my students have had the therapy very successfully. It sounds like a good alternative to medication."
"Yes, it is."
"I'm on Soroxat. I hate taking pills. I'd really like to give CBT a go. My son, Jon, he's in prison," I said pausing to judge her reaction. There was none."That's part of my problem, him being in prison. He had a brilliant psychiatrist who was into yoga, meditation and CBT. He's been diagnosed bipolar."
"Is he on lithium?"
"No. They did put him on it, but with the help of his psychiatrist he's manging his illness without drugs."
"That's excellent. So, Barbara, where do you think your problems started?"
"I realise now that my depression started long before Jon's incarceration, but the trauma of having a son in prison 5000 miles away triggered a major episode."
It goes much further back. I was adopted. I'll try to get through it as quickly as I can," I said remembering we only had one hour. "My adoptive parents were kind people and I loved them both. The problem was my mother never wanted me to find out. She never told me, and I found out by accident when I was twelve. I was devastated and couldn't forgive my mother for lying to me all those years. She was upset and handled it badly, telling me that my birth mother had had me out of wedlock and didn't want me. She'd put me in a home and I would still be there if she hadn't taken me."
"Oh, she shouldn't have said that."
"She didn't want me to go running off trying to find them. I understand that now, but then I was in a total state of shock. I hated my adoptive parents for their pretense, but couldn't even bring myself to imagine what my birth parents were like. This was the late 1950s and girls who got pregnant before marriage were bad girls, or so I'd heard. So it all went into a black hole. I never asked about it again and I never discussed it with anyone, except my best friend Ruth, and our conversations relating to it were brief. She always wanted to know more but it upset me to talk about it. Just thinking about it brought tears to my eyes, so I shut it out. I didn't even tell my future husband, Dan, until just before we got married. So it lay festering away until I was forty when I decided to try and find my mother."
"Did you find her."
"No, but I found my father. I met him and he told me all about the affair. How they met, fell in love, and how he called the wedding off three days before. He will talk to me for hours if I ring him, but he really doesn't want me in his life. He's too busy, even now at eighty. I have two half sisters I've never met. He said he brought them up strictly and couldn't admit to them that he had an illegitimate child."
"Families eh? Well keeping your feelings about your adoption hidden for all those years would have caused all kinds of problems."
"I'm very lucky though. I have a wonderful husband and daughter, and son, but I've had a lot of difficulty coping with the Jon situation."
"That's understandable."
"I like the idea of CBT because it's pro-active. You're not just sitting talking about your problems. I tried counselling. It helped to a certain extent, but I got sick of talking about myself. I always try to put on a brave face. Everyone has problems and people don't want to be around miserable people. So I always smile and pretend I'm OK."
"You are allowed to show your feelings. You are allowed to be sad. Allow yourself that luxury sometimes. It's a great strain on you trying always to be upbeat."
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
I found the place easily. It was on a large modern business park. Doreen, the therapist is a plump, friendly, blond lady about my age, give or take a year. She told me a bit about how CBT works, and asked me why I'd come.
"I'm a psychology teacher and I've read about CBT, and some of my students have had the therapy very successfully. It sounds like a good alternative to medication."
"Yes, it is."
"I'm on Soroxat. I hate taking pills. I'd really like to give CBT a go. My son, Jon, he's in prison," I said pausing to judge her reaction. There was none."That's part of my problem, him being in prison. He had a brilliant psychiatrist who was into yoga, meditation and CBT. He's been diagnosed bipolar."
"Is he on lithium?"
"No. They did put him on it, but with the help of his psychiatrist he's manging his illness without drugs."
"That's excellent. So, Barbara, where do you think your problems started?"
"I realise now that my depression started long before Jon's incarceration, but the trauma of having a son in prison 5000 miles away triggered a major episode."
It goes much further back. I was adopted. I'll try to get through it as quickly as I can," I said remembering we only had one hour. "My adoptive parents were kind people and I loved them both. The problem was my mother never wanted me to find out. She never told me, and I found out by accident when I was twelve. I was devastated and couldn't forgive my mother for lying to me all those years. She was upset and handled it badly, telling me that my birth mother had had me out of wedlock and didn't want me. She'd put me in a home and I would still be there if she hadn't taken me."
"Oh, she shouldn't have said that."
"She didn't want me to go running off trying to find them. I understand that now, but then I was in a total state of shock. I hated my adoptive parents for their pretense, but couldn't even bring myself to imagine what my birth parents were like. This was the late 1950s and girls who got pregnant before marriage were bad girls, or so I'd heard. So it all went into a black hole. I never asked about it again and I never discussed it with anyone, except my best friend Ruth, and our conversations relating to it were brief. She always wanted to know more but it upset me to talk about it. Just thinking about it brought tears to my eyes, so I shut it out. I didn't even tell my future husband, Dan, until just before we got married. So it lay festering away until I was forty when I decided to try and find my mother."
"Did you find her."
"No, but I found my father. I met him and he told me all about the affair. How they met, fell in love, and how he called the wedding off three days before. He will talk to me for hours if I ring him, but he really doesn't want me in his life. He's too busy, even now at eighty. I have two half sisters I've never met. He said he brought them up strictly and couldn't admit to them that he had an illegitimate child."
"Families eh? Well keeping your feelings about your adoption hidden for all those years would have caused all kinds of problems."
"I'm very lucky though. I have a wonderful husband and daughter, and son, but I've had a lot of difficulty coping with the Jon situation."
"That's understandable."
"I like the idea of CBT because it's pro-active. You're not just sitting talking about your problems. I tried counselling. It helped to a certain extent, but I got sick of talking about myself. I always try to put on a brave face. Everyone has problems and people don't want to be around miserable people. So I always smile and pretend I'm OK."
"You are allowed to show your feelings. You are allowed to be sad. Allow yourself that luxury sometimes. It's a great strain on you trying always to be upbeat."
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Sunday, 18 March 2007
Mother's Day
In America Mother's Day is in May, so I always get my card from Jon at that time. I keep it and display it the following year. My favourite card from him shows a Kangaroo with a baby in its pouch. The verse reads, front: MOM, even though I'm not so little anymore.... inside reads: I'm glad you're still there.
Karen has paid for me and her to go to the Spa at Bath for a weekend, for my 60th birthday. Sheer luxury! You can pay extra for treats such as facials, or massages, and for Mother's Day she bought me an extra treat.
From Dan I got a pink and grey striped hooded top to slip over my bikini in Tenerife.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Karen has paid for me and her to go to the Spa at Bath for a weekend, for my 60th birthday. Sheer luxury! You can pay extra for treats such as facials, or massages, and for Mother's Day she bought me an extra treat.
From Dan I got a pink and grey striped hooded top to slip over my bikini in Tenerife.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Hat Shop
Dan on his travels had spotted a hat shop in Newton. We stopped by there yesterday. "You don't want me to go in with you, do you?" Dan said.
"Of course," I said impatiently. "I need some feedback on how the hats look."
"Unlike me, you look good in any hat, even a woolly hat. You're a hat person."
"Oh, no. You're not getting away with that. You're coming in with me," I insisted.
The shop door was boarded up and we thought it might be closed, but the boarding was the result of drunken vandalism. "They didn't take anything or harm the hats," the proprietor said.
"Thank God," I said looking around at the array of hats displayed in all the colours of the rainbow. I had a vision of drunken hooligans running around the streets of St Helens in fabulous feather hats.
"Have you got an appointment" she asked. An appointment to try on hats?
"Our customers usually bring in their outfit so I make time for them," she said. "But I'm not busy if you want to have a look. They're designer hats. You can buy them but they're mostly for hire."
I'd never thought of hiring a hat, but at prices of £250-350 it certainly made sense. I'd only wear it the once and then it would be cluttering up the bedroom.
My outfit, which I'd brought with me, is cream and black. I tried every similarly coloured hat in the shop. Dan turned out to be a great help. We narrowed it down to two. One was called a kissing hat. The brim although huge was turned up away from the face, so that the Mother of the Bride could kiss the wedding guests without doing them an in jury. Dan liked this one. The other was a classic style with a wide brim and feathers. It looked fabulous from every angle. I knew that was the one. I felt right in it. Dan liked it so the deal was done. I have to pick it up on the Thursday before the wedding and I can keep it for the weekend. If it's not damaged when I return it I get back my deposit, which is the hire charge twice over.
"Does the Mother of the Bride leave the hat on during the meal?" I asked the proprietor.
"The Mother of the Bride is the most important person, after the bride, of course. If you leave your hat on during the meal, everyone else should, but if you take it off so should the other guests. It depends on what you feel comfortable with."
"Such power," I said. "I'll confuse everyone by pretending to take it off, but merely adjust it."
"It'll be like in Japan, when everybody waits for the highest ranking person to start eating before they can join in," Dan Added.
"Well it wasn't so bad helping me to choose a hat, was it?" I asked Dan after we'd said our goodbyes to the girl.
"No, it was OK. I thought the shop would be full of women trying on hats."
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
"Of course," I said impatiently. "I need some feedback on how the hats look."
"Unlike me, you look good in any hat, even a woolly hat. You're a hat person."
"Oh, no. You're not getting away with that. You're coming in with me," I insisted.
The shop door was boarded up and we thought it might be closed, but the boarding was the result of drunken vandalism. "They didn't take anything or harm the hats," the proprietor said.
"Thank God," I said looking around at the array of hats displayed in all the colours of the rainbow. I had a vision of drunken hooligans running around the streets of St Helens in fabulous feather hats.
"Have you got an appointment" she asked. An appointment to try on hats?
"Our customers usually bring in their outfit so I make time for them," she said. "But I'm not busy if you want to have a look. They're designer hats. You can buy them but they're mostly for hire."
I'd never thought of hiring a hat, but at prices of £250-350 it certainly made sense. I'd only wear it the once and then it would be cluttering up the bedroom.
My outfit, which I'd brought with me, is cream and black. I tried every similarly coloured hat in the shop. Dan turned out to be a great help. We narrowed it down to two. One was called a kissing hat. The brim although huge was turned up away from the face, so that the Mother of the Bride could kiss the wedding guests without doing them an in jury. Dan liked this one. The other was a classic style with a wide brim and feathers. It looked fabulous from every angle. I knew that was the one. I felt right in it. Dan liked it so the deal was done. I have to pick it up on the Thursday before the wedding and I can keep it for the weekend. If it's not damaged when I return it I get back my deposit, which is the hire charge twice over.
"Does the Mother of the Bride leave the hat on during the meal?" I asked the proprietor.
"The Mother of the Bride is the most important person, after the bride, of course. If you leave your hat on during the meal, everyone else should, but if you take it off so should the other guests. It depends on what you feel comfortable with."
"Such power," I said. "I'll confuse everyone by pretending to take it off, but merely adjust it."
"It'll be like in Japan, when everybody waits for the highest ranking person to start eating before they can join in," Dan Added.
"Well it wasn't so bad helping me to choose a hat, was it?" I asked Dan after we'd said our goodbyes to the girl.
"No, it was OK. I thought the shop would be full of women trying on hats."
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Saturday, 17 March 2007
18th Party
It was my sister, Lizzy's granddaughter's 18th birthday party last night. It was held at the club where I'm having my 60th. I'm having the same DJ, Eddie, so I had a chat with him about my party. I told him it was 60's dress. "So you want all 60's music?" he asked.
"Yes, please."
"No problem, I've got stacks of 60's stuff."
"And I want you to dress up." Pause while I weigh up his reaction. "You can be a mod, a rocker or a hippie." He looked a bit unsure.
"I'll see what I've got," he said. Eddie always has a fag in his mouth and a pint in his hand, but he's a good DJ.
I'm also having the same caterers and took the opportunity to discuss the menu. It's going to be June, so we don't want hotpot, but they do a mean curry and chili which I know would go down well. I took the menu home to ponder over it.
I want balloons and streamers and photos of me in the 60's. I want it as tacky and over the top as possible.
I'll be really brown after two weeks in Tenerife. The problem is, the pale and interesting look was in in the 60s. We wore layers of Max Factor pan stick on our faces and lips, caterpillar false eyelashes, and loads of black liquid eyeliner. Perhaps I'll wear factor 30 and keep my face out of the sun. I usually do anyway, to avoid the wrinkles.
I'm so excited. It's only two and a half months away.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
"Yes, please."
"No problem, I've got stacks of 60's stuff."
"And I want you to dress up." Pause while I weigh up his reaction. "You can be a mod, a rocker or a hippie." He looked a bit unsure.
"I'll see what I've got," he said. Eddie always has a fag in his mouth and a pint in his hand, but he's a good DJ.
I'm also having the same caterers and took the opportunity to discuss the menu. It's going to be June, so we don't want hotpot, but they do a mean curry and chili which I know would go down well. I took the menu home to ponder over it.
I want balloons and streamers and photos of me in the 60's. I want it as tacky and over the top as possible.
I'll be really brown after two weeks in Tenerife. The problem is, the pale and interesting look was in in the 60s. We wore layers of Max Factor pan stick on our faces and lips, caterpillar false eyelashes, and loads of black liquid eyeliner. Perhaps I'll wear factor 30 and keep my face out of the sun. I usually do anyway, to avoid the wrinkles.
I'm so excited. It's only two and a half months away.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Thursday, 15 March 2007
Tenerife
Two weeks today I'll be winging my way to Tenerife. Dan and I are going with our friends Peter and Beth to stay at their apartment in Los Americanos. This is part of my sixtieth birthday treat.
It all seems a bit unreal. Planning parties, weddings, holidays, outings, while Jon is still inside. For the last five years we've spent all our spare cash on paying off the attorney's bills or visiting Jon. I don't begrudge a penny, but this year we need to let go and celebrate.
I wish we could get a reply from the attorney about Jon's release date.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
It all seems a bit unreal. Planning parties, weddings, holidays, outings, while Jon is still inside. For the last five years we've spent all our spare cash on paying off the attorney's bills or visiting Jon. I don't begrudge a penny, but this year we need to let go and celebrate.
I wish we could get a reply from the attorney about Jon's release date.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
Sunday, 11 March 2007
No Confirmation
For the past two months we have been asking Jon's attorney in the US if he has started the paperwork for Jon's release in November, but we still haven't got a date.
So many good things are happening this year, but until I get a confirmation of his date of release, the negative thoughts lurking, come to the surface, telling me it'll all go wrong.
Perhaps the Cognitive Behaviour Therapy will help with this.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
So many good things are happening this year, but until I get a confirmation of his date of release, the negative thoughts lurking, come to the surface, telling me it'll all go wrong.
Perhaps the Cognitive Behaviour Therapy will help with this.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood
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