As you can see, I've changed the design and title of this blog. It just felt like it was time. More on the new title later.
I've been encouraged to reboot this shabby old thing since moving away from my family and friends. It's an easy way to keep everyone in the loop of my current wanderings and wonderings.
Portland has been my home for a month, now. I can hardly believe it's been that long. The move was relatively smooth, Ayda did great in my backseat, and nothing of mine was damaged on the trek up here. We took Highway 1 along the California/Oregon coast, and I posted some pictures on Facebook/Instagram of the gorgeous scenery. SO glad we took that route.
The hardest thing so far has been what everyone's hardest thing has been upon arriving here: finding a job.
An interview here, an interview there, "You'll hear back from us either way."
And I hear nothing.
This whole thing has led to an appreciation for the community I have in Arizona who always helped me find a job when I needed one. I guess I took that for granted.
A month without income is a stressful one indeed. Not to mention car trouble that costs a pretty penny to fix, a misunderstanding with the school that leads to my financial aid refund check being three weeks late getting to me (and has yet to arrive), and my first experience with treating Ayda for fleas. That's not counting the numerous things I need but can't afford to buy yet, like textbooks and windshield wipers (mine are toast).
With so many blows, and so many more on the horizon, hopelessness is right on my heels as I move forward. There have been times in the last month when I mentally laid my face in the dirt and let the hopelessness catch up to me, cover all of me, and make me feel like there was no use in getting up because nothing was waiting for me ahead. I'd stay there for five minutes or so, contemplating what giving up would entail, and very suddenly, sometimes even aloud, I'd say "Get up, keep moving." And I'd force my mind to dust itself off and continue looking for the next step toward an answer, toward a potential job, toward solving what problems I can with what I have now and prioritizing those that can wait until I have an income again.
Every day feels like a five-mile run. Without the runner's high.
I say all of this not for pity, or for handouts, or for admiration. I say all of this to paint a picture of my current state so that you can imagine how this next piece of the puzzle fits and feels:
Through my dear friend Shelley, I was given a connection to a manager at a Starbucks ten minutes away, and I have an interview there tomorrow. Everything is pointing toward this working out, though I say that with hesitance since you never really know until you're offered a job.
I've never been so excited to work food service in my whole life.
What once would have only been 'a demotion in pay and work' in my eyes has now become a light at the end of an anxious tunnel, and I'd do almost anything to make this opportunity work out.
Other than the job hunt, I have had a week and a half of classes at George Fox so far, and overall they are great. One instructor is incredibly theoretical, another is incredibly practical, and the other is incredibly philosophical. Every week feels like an extensive mental workout as these three instructors approach Marriage and Family Therapy (MFT) from so many aspects.
Though he's the toughest to follow in class, my philosophical instructor said something in our first class that will probably stick with me forever. After an EXTENSIVE explanation of something, he finished with:
"...and it is our calling to come hold another's hand at the edge of the abyss."
My eyes immediately watered and almost turned into a full-fledged flood down my face. The overwhelming
thunk of acknowledgement, of
YES!, of
Here am I, send me! was more than I've ever experienced. I knew then and there that any sort of trouble with getting up to Portland and creating a stable life for myself was worth it, because I am here to reach the fullest potential of my calling.
I am called to meet with clients, willing and unwilling, and try to mentally/emotionally seek them in the darkness, to travel any road to find them, to earn the right to be heard, to earn the privilege of facilitating peace and healing in their relationships.
Now more than ever, I am convinced that my area of specialty within MFT will be trauma, maybe even PTSD more specifically.
Those doing anything to avoid the devastating event that lives within them like a broken record.
Those who feel profoundly alone in their pain and unable to connect with others because of it.
Those who cannot heal until someone else steps into their painful space and is willing to feel it with them.
Those who are desperately seeking a hand to hold at the edge of the abyss, at the edge of nothingness.
That's my niche in life. I know I was created to wander back through the darkness I've come from and sit with, for months if needed, my clients who cannot find the way out. I was created to become deeply familiar with the edge of the abyss, to keep strong and give those beside me hope in a different solution to their pain.
So there's my blog title. In the months/years to come as I write about my program and my personal life, I have a feeling my posts will gravitate toward this concept of the cold, hard reality of the abyss, and how my interactions with it are changing me into a better counselor.
It's good to be back. I'll try to get better about taking pictures, I know those are always more fun. :P
Love you all.
