Keep Walking

If I have a neat little heart attack, right here at the bottom of the attic steps, then the kids can throw away all that junk up there. But no, I had to tell them I’d do this myself. Why? I can’t imagine that there is anything up there that they shouldn’t see.

Sam and I bought this house when the boys were still little. Around forty-five years ago. It’s going to be an ordeal emptying this memorial to my marriage, our younger selves, before I bury myself among the old and discarded. I’m sure it won’t be just the mountain of dust bunnies I’ll stir up.

Snuff, my beagle, sits on the landing and watches me. Convinced that, once again, I will let the ladder go back up and take him for a walk. “No, sorry, fellah. Today, I will really go all the way up.”

And I do. One step at a time.

Box after slowly disintegrating cardboard box with stuff. Some are marked, most not. I push aside the boxes with Christmas ornaments. Someone may want them. Baby clothes at least forty years out of date seem to have been a cozy incubator to many generations of mice. Tax forms and receipts from 1990 through 2000. Another box from even earlier. Cockroaches scatter when I nudge the stack. Right! Don’t touch anything. Just burn it in place.

I turn to a rack with clothes. There is my swing coat! It used to be bright red. I remember feeling so proud when I sewed it myself. Though I didn’t bother with a buttonhole, making fairly useless in cold weather. I slip it off the hanger and shake it out just in case anyone is living there. I could still wear this, couldn’t I? Twirling, I stick my hands in the pockets and pull out an old photo.

Oh my! That brings back memories. Smiling, I turn to the dirty window to see the image better. Yes, they’re all there. When was this? ‘78, 79? Something like that. My first solo, wasn’t it?

***~***

Nervously I closed the door and sat at the table.

Good afternoon. I’m glad you all came back today. Last time you shared what brought you here. Let’s talk about what you want to get out of these sessions. Who wants to start?

Silence

Anyone?

More silence.

Okay, then. Let’s try this. Sit back, close your eyes, if you wish. Take a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Try to clear your mind. Maybe think of a blank projection screen. Ready?

You are walking in nature. Is it a meadow, or a forest? What do you see? Are there trees and what do they look like, how tall, what color, how dense? Is there sunlight or is it overcast, raining? Are there flowers and shrubs? Is there a path? What does it look like? Are there other paths crossing, splitting off or is this the only one? Is it straight or crooked? Are there other people on it? Are they going your way, or coming toward you? Friend or stranger? How about animals, like a pet, or birds, squirrels, deer? There is no right or wrong answer. It’s your walk.

I paused while I mentally reviewed my notes.

Audrey, a forty-three-old single woman, diagnosed with anxiety disorder and chronic depression, had recently lost her parents. Having relied heavily on their support all her life, the loss had left her devastated, frozen in place.

Audrey tell us what you saw.

Well. Audrey’s voice is hesitant, barely above a whisper. The trees are pine trees, you know …Tall, dark… The path, um ... well, more like a rut, you see … hollow… yes. It’s covered with fallen pine needles and cones … all dull brown … It’s a cloudy day, a bit cool … I’m alone, but obviously the path has been used before.

Thank you, Audrey. I appreciate all the details. Well done. John, how about your walk?

John, age fifty-seven had been made redundant after the company where he worked for twenty-four years merged. The loss of his routine and productivity had a major impact on his daily function and his sense of self-worth. He had difficulty looking for and landing another job.

Ahem, John speaks slowly, deliberately. Not a forest, Josephine. More a copse. No, a park. Yes, a park. There are other paths, each has its own name. I see flowerbeds with defined borders, though they are overgrown, a bit weedy. The lawn areas should be mowed. The park is used regularly, though I don’t see anyone today, but there is litter from other occupants. The sky? It looks like rain is on the way.

That too, has nice details. Thank you, John. Darryl, tell us about what you saw.

Darryl, twenty-two, had been diagnosed with oppositional defiant disorder when he was in middle school. His diagnosis has since been adjusted to schizoaffective disorder. He routinely stops taking his medication, leading to verbal outbursts, arguments, and paranoia. This has usually been followed by job loss and a return to hospital.

Well, I saw pubic hair. Lots of it. No people, no. But lots of lice. I was one of them. That’s it.

Was there light? Sunshine?

Nah, it’s kind-a dark inside panties, you know.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at Darryl’s answer. Yes, I imagine it is. Thank you, Darryl. Quite original. Carla? Will you share?

Carla had a long history of depression. For the past year, though in her mid-thirties, she had moved back with her parents. She had lost her last job due to excessive absenteeism. Preferring to retreat to her room, she had been angry with her parents for assigning chores. Describes herself as the maid, or their slave.

Yes, well, you see. Carla’s voice is high-pitched, ending most sentences into a question. The trees are very tall … They touch overhead?... Yes. Life oak, with spanish moss … The path is more like a drive, you know? Like the approach to Tara or Twelve Oaks? … You know, like in the movie Gone with the Wind, remember that? … No daylight from above, but there is light at the end where the … the plantation house is? Yes, like that.

A lovely description, Carla, thank you. Okay, we keep walking and come to some sort of divider or barrier. Something that blocks the path. Audrey can you tell us what it is, what you see?

Well, It’s a fence, of course ... It’s a tall fence, wood, six feet, easily. Like you’d have around a yard, you know … To keep the neighbors from prying.

Very good. John?

No, mine is a white picket fence, freshly painted and a low gate.

Yes, I can see that. Darryl?

A chastity belt. Yup, yup. Ha, ha. With a lock. Not that it deters us lice, we can get through, over, under anything.

Yes, I imagine you can. Carla?

Well ... At the end of the drive? Right ... There is a deep veranda, a porch. And then a door. No, double doors, of course ... A dark wood. Cypress … That could be, right?

That sounds lovely, Carla. Thank you.

Now, we have to get to the other side of the gate, fence and so forth. How do you do that. Darryl already told us that it is no problem for him. Audrey, you have a tall fence. How do you get to the other side?

I don’t know ... I don’t think I can climb it.

Fair enough. Is there a gate or a door?

Audrey hesitantly looked around the room. Well, maybe a door. With a lock, She added quickly.

Yes, of course. John?

It’s open. I simply move the latch, open the gates, step forward and close it behind me again.

Yes, makes sense. Carla?

Oh, that’s easy. I knock and the butler will open the door and let me in.

Yes, naturally. Now think about what’s on the other side of the door, gate and so forth.

Audrey?

There is … I don’t know. I can’t imagine going through the door, seeing what’s beyond ... No, I think I’ll keep it locked.

I can see why you would say that, but what if I don’t give you that choice? What if you must be on the other side of the fence? What would you like to see?

Oh, my! I’d like there to be, a … no,” she sighed. “More of the same, I guess. The pine trees and such. Yes, that would be okay.

Thank you, Audrey. I know that wasn’t easy for you. John, what’s on the other side of your fence and gate?

A neatly trimmed yard, Josephine. With a path leading to a porch. A rocking chair. Yes.

Just the one rocking chair on your porch?

Yes. One is all I need.

True. Darryl?

Well, duh! Pussy, of course. He grinned, looking around the room to see everybody’s reaction. There’s pussy. Nobody else can get to it, except us lice. We have a field day. Ung huh.

Yes, I should have seen that coming. I smiled. Carla, what’s beyond your door?

Oh, a lovely house. With antebellum furniture and fragrant flowers in tall vases and … servants, yes. I’ll have servants there, who listen to me and do as I ask. They’ll let me do what I want.

Wonderful. Now let’s talk about how we can interpret it. The first part of your walk is your life. How you see your life right now. A lot of sunshine could mean positive thoughts and feelings, whereas rain may be sadder. None of you walked in sunshine, which is not surprising, and hopefully will change as we go on.

The path, with or without colors, light, people, or animals represents your social contacts. Three of you described walking alone, though you acknowledged that others have been there at some point and that there might be room for someone else. Darryl described, very creatively, being part of a larger group. Audrey used the words rut and dull brown, John mentioned litter and weeds, and Carla described a tunnel.

The barrier is change, how you feel about change. Audry saw it as an immovable, insurmountable obstacle, John, and Carla saw it as an everyday barrier, like a door or gate. And Darryl mentioned a chastity belt, which is a protection from the outside.

What is on the other side is what you hope your life can be once you’ve made whatever change you need to make. Audrey doesn’t feel confident yet to say it aloud. John might be looking for contentment, acceptance of his current life. It sounds like Darryl would like to feel free to enjoy himself with friends. I belief Carla would like to have more autonomy over her life.

In the coming weeks we’ll examine how you see your life, we’ll look at the thoughts, beliefs, attitudes that keep you from moving on. We’ll challenge each other to restructure those thoughts and any behaviors that flow from them. As we walk each path, we’ll set goals and practice new skills. Do you have any questions?

So, yo, Miss Josephine. I can keep my lice, then?

Let me ask you this, Darryl, are you perfectly content to think of yourself as a louse?

He shrugged. Well, no…

Then let’s start next time by looking at what makes you think of yourself that way and how you can change those thoughts …

~~~***~~~

This group was together for five weeks. John learned to recognize and modify some of the thoughts that caused him to hold on to rigid routines. He successfully applied for a part-time job. And smiled when he told us he had bought two rocking chairs for his front porch. Just for balance and esthetics, he assured us.

Darryl admitted that he had always resented needing to take medication. He had thought of himself as less than human, something that wasn’t fully formed. The group helped him see that when he’d stop his medications, he would misinterpret comments and signals, become angry and start a fight. He practiced asking for clarification and restructuring his negative self-talk.

Carla found a new job, though she was still living at home at the end of our sessions, she and her parents had lengthy discussions about chores versus responsibility. She told the group that she was practicing adult behavior and joked that it wasn’t everything she had thought it would be,

Audrey admitted that she would like to have friends. The group helped her challenge the thoughts that had kept her isolated. She researched various clubs in town and found an amateur photography club and joined them on some outings. She was the one who had proudly taken the photo I was holding in my hand.

And I? I learned so much from them. They taught me to listen better, to try and not assume or jump to conclusions. They showed me that our values and dreams are ours and we have the final say over keeping them or letting go. That we are the only ones who can set our goals and say whether or not we’ve met them. That our needs vary from person to person, from day to day and that all of us, even a group leader, can have a bad day. Each one of the groups I’ve led since has taught me something. But my journey began with these four. With us five.

I’m about to stuff the photo in my pants pocket and hang the coat back on the rack, when I see some writing on the back.

“Keep walking. Keep growing.”

I nod. Thank you, Audrey. I had almost forgotten.

Looking around the attic, I realize there is nothing worth keeping here. I’ll have the boys bring it all down. The grand kids might like a bonfire. But, no, I’m not ready to put the house on the market.

I’m still walking.