coping

Life presents variables; learning how to cope in order to master, minimize, or tolerate what has come to pass.

Yarn-Over Matter
Arts and Crafts have never seemed like a good fit for me. I have never been good at any kind of creative pursuit that requires sitting still or closely following instructions. My apartment is filled with IKEA furniture that looks like it was assembled by Picasso (this includes an armchair that definitely can’t be trusted and a bathroom cabinet I suspect will collapse like a Jenga tower if I were to ever breathe too heavily on it). I’m a chronic knee-bouncer with a short attention span, who will jump from one task to another leaving a trail of half-finished work in my wake. Loved ones will generously refer to me as a multi-tasker. In truth, this nervous energy is a symptom of my chronic anxiety, something I have struggled with since before I even knew what it was. Over the years many well-meaning friends have recommended a variety of coping techniques from meditation to mountain climbing. And one after one I have tried and failed; feeling a little more defeated each time. The number of adult coloring books in my possession with half-finished pages is frankly embarrassing. Long had I marveled at the artisinal projects of my friends and family; my mom has never met a Pinterest craft she couldn’t conquer, a number of my close friends are supremely talented graphic designers and photographers, and at family holiday parties there is no shortage of homemade jams and embroidered dish towels.
By Katherine Elizabeth5 years ago in Psyche
Inside out
Out there it’s a hot Australian summer, but in here it’s freezing. I’m in the staffroom at work, listening to Dave shout over the coffee grinder about the problem with kids these days. The air-conditioning is set to arctic freeze, but crew keep barging in and out through the door, bringing blasts of tropical humidity that confuse the thermostat and make it colder still. One crew stomp in, hot and dishevelled. They’ve been at a road accident where the bitumen melted onto their boots, and some people died. Another crew are laughing and talking about the hoarder who lost their false teeth down the back of the armchair but called the ambulance because he was certain he had swallowed them. Nobody’s seen the other crew since logon, they got sent straight out to a seizure and were last heard asking for police backup. An out-of-town crew roll in, bitching about being sent so far away to cover.
By Aki Lark5 years ago in Psyche
To Bee or Not to Bee
WARNING: Themes of suicide are discussed. I have a garden overgrown and full of wildflowers. Bees of all sorts visit it daily. They bounce from one flower to the next, occasionally bumping into a leaf or another bee that has gotten in their way. The sharp “BZZZ!” that follows as they swirl in the air amuses me as they attempt to regain their path. This is what fills the pages of my sketchbook: wildflowers from the garden and their devoted little bees. Nothing more than what I see.
By Autumn Schmidt5 years ago in Psyche
How Mother's Day Makes Me Feel: Sharing my Grief and Sadness for the First Time
Sharing my grief and sadness for the first time is difficult and scary! Today is Mother’s Day and I’m sad and grieving. I’m sad because I don’t have my children. I should clarify, my children don’t live in my home and have never visited me here. I feel sad because Mother’s Day used to be a day that was celebrated with my children. They usually planned something special, you know, breakfast in bed, brunch, new flowers for the garden. I have these memories, as I’m sure other Mothers do as well.
By Felice Pawlowski5 years ago in Psyche
The social context
I am an autistic female in my early 40s and I currently live in the UK in a town an hour on the train from London, but I'm not British. I was only diagnosed autistic 5 years ago. I will be using both the term autistic and Asperger's in this story. I personally prefer autistic but I know for a lot of people who are not autistic themselves it means 'with associated learning disability' and that's not how I meant it.
By The Claimant5 years ago in Psyche
Everything you do prepares you for the next step. Top Story - June 2021.
When I was an art teacher, I taught an art camp for one week at my local children’s museum. I made a collage as an example for my campers that we didn’t end up using, but I loved it, so I kept it to use in my classes later.
By Jen Blalock5 years ago in Psyche
At Peace
To me words are persnickety; they never string themselves in an appropriate manner. I struggle to express myself accurately aloud, to trudge through the conflicting barrage of emotions and make a symphony of coherence. I envy those who can. The past year has brought a wave of anxiety, loneliness, and doubt, but I prefer to work out my sentiments physically. Perhaps that’s why I’ve picked up countless crafts. Just in the last year and a half I have taken up embroidery, clay crafting, sewing, painting, diamond painting - you name it.
By Lili5 years ago in Psyche
Per Therapist's Request
I have OCD. Yes, I'm obsessive-compulsive, but not in the way the mainstream media would have you believe. My room is unkempt at its best moments, the pictures I hang on my walls somehow always come out crooked, and I am a big believer that most germs won't kill me. While being diagnosed this year, I've learned that there is no cookie-cutter standard to having OCD.
By c5 years ago in Psyche
The Truth About Suicidal Ideation (SI)
This story addresses suicidal ideation (SI) and my experience in counseling to diminish these thoughts. A secondary purpose is to provide introductory insight on a psychotherapy method that has worked well for me. It is not advocating suicide or self-harm as a solution to current struggles or mental anguish. If you feel unsafe with your thoughts, please feel free to contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255, or visit their website here for chat options.
By Kat Sung (they/them)5 years ago in Psyche
My First Encounter With Death and How My Mom Explained It To Me
My mother and I approach the house in silence. Her sharp movements, the way she opens the door loudly ringing her keys, her strained back - this all promises an unpleasant conversation.
By Olya Aman5 years ago in Psyche
Tales from the Dyslexic Side: Part 3
Reading slowly and missing out on the meaning aren’t the only problems for dyslexics at school. We also try hard, making a huge effort only to end up with a chaotic mess. Even before I was allowed to use pens and let loose with bottles of ink (I still can’t believe they let primary schools kids use fountain pens), my school work was always a mess; my exercise books were a spaghetti junction of crossings out and smudges where some words floated off the lines and others sank beneath them. There was no uniformity of letter size from the beginning to end of a word and the whole thing was a battleground of arrows showing where certain letters had been inserted too late.
By Jodie Adam5 years ago in Psyche
Scissors, Glue & a Shattered Heart
I had no idea how much a pair of scissors, a bottle of glue and a bit of creativity could help heal a shattered heart ... until the days following January 20, 2021.
By Jennifer Roth5 years ago in Psyche