family
Family can be our support system. Or they can be part of the problem. All about the complicated, loving, and difficult relationship with us and the ones who love us.
The Black Sheep Effect: How Being the Outsider in Your Family Shapes Your Mental Health. AI-Generated.
Growing up as the “black sheep” of the family can feel like living in a house that was never truly built for you. Maybe you were the creative one in a family of pragmatists, the sensitive soul among hardened hearts, or the one who saw the cracks in the foundation when everyone else insisted the house was fine. Whatever the case, being the outlier in your own family can leave scars—scars that don’t always fade with time.
By AD Solstice10 months ago in Psyche
Memories
My name is Michael Zimmermann. At least that’s what the man standing over my hospital bed called me. It didn’t sound quite right but since I didn’t remember what my name was, I accepted it. Michael Zimmermann. It sounded kind of strange to me. But I had no idea who I was. I had no Idea who the man standing over me was. I don’t know why I was in the hospital. I had a vague memory of, nope. It was gone. The only memory I had was Gregory Zimmerman standing over me. He said that he was my father. Without anything else to go on, I went home with him.
By David E. Perry10 months ago in Psyche
Transformative Moment from Rylee's Emotional Journey
**Transformative Moment from Rylee's Emotional Journey** Rylee sat on the edge of the couch, her back hunched, the soft fabric of the cushions almost swallowing her in their plush embrace. The room was quiet, almost painfully so. The only noise was the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background. Her fingers traced the rim of her cold coffee cup, a habit she had developed when her thoughts became too overwhelming to grasp. She stared blankly at the family photo on the coffee table—Ashlee, her daughter, laughing, Rylann, her son, grinning as they hugged her tightly. The picture felt distant now, a frozen moment from a life that felt like someone else’s.
By Dakota Denise 10 months ago in Psyche
My Disabled/ Partially Immobile Mother's Mental Health Is One Of My Top Priorities.. Content Warning.
The feeling of powerlessness. It's a feeling I am growing accustomed to when it comes to caretaking for my sick family. Between a sister struggling with her first round of chemo, a brother who can't eat solid food anymore, and an almost completely bedridden mother with Multiple Sclerosis, being powerless is a feeling that I have been forced to acknowledge a lot lately. And that is a feeling that can destroy someone like me. Or my poor mama.
By Hope Martin10 months ago in Psyche
Why I Believe Our Autistic Children Are Earth Angels
He was just a boy, a little boy, my Elijah, when he insisted he was an angel receiving his wings. Of course, I chalked it all up to a child with an overactive imagination, but the mother in me listened while he told his tale. "I feel them trying to push through my back," he cried joyously, lifting his shirt, and directing my attention a few inches below his shoulder blades.
By Marilyn Glover10 months ago in Psyche
What to Expect in Your First Relationship Therapy Session in NYC
Relationships are complex, and every couple faces challenges. Whether it's communication issues, trust concerns, or recurring conflicts, seeking the help of a therapist for relationships in NYC can be a significant step toward resolution. Many couples hesitate to begin therapy due to uncertainty about what the process entails. If you’re considering relationship counseling in NYC, understanding what happens in the first session can help ease any apprehensions.
By Connection Counseling10 months ago in Psyche
Chapter III: The Painter’s Paradox — Creation as Annihilation
There is a man whose artwork is not composed with a brush dipped in paint, but rather dipped in existence itself. The bristles of his paint brush, dipped in a white so bright it worships the very idea of painting, are believed to be the extract of the very marrow of the soul itself. Each stroke is not just light on canvas, but light imagined; he contains the power to release light into the fathomless void lurking around the periphery of life. He is a painter of the endless dark, a witness to a subjectless mute whose silence speaks louder than any tangible utterance. Language fails here; any word on the edge of the subject's tongue is siphoned away, absorbed, dissolved, and regurgitated onto the dried slick of basanit slate as pigment. What else could it be called but a sacrament? His brush as chalice; his white, the dictated libation of a soul grasping at meaning in its own frailty.But as the light escapes his brush, the shadow is also introduced.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH10 months ago in Psyche
