mentalhealth
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Fibromyalgia is a bitch. Being a male diagnosed with fibromyalgia is an even bigger bitch. I do not wish this illness upon my worst enemy, as it has consumed a significant part of the last six years. For those of you who are not familiar with this asshole of an illness, fibromyalgia is characterized as
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I’ve been burning the candle at both ends. I actively took steps to alleviate stress, engage in self-care, and utilize my support system. However, it might have been too little too late. To no one’s surprise (including my own), I am burnt the fuck out. Between a promotion, a second part-time job, and a new
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People do not like change whether it is good or bad. We like to have control. We like knowing potential outcomes and feeling like we have some influence over it. However, reality demonstrates time and time again that we possess little control over anything. Recently, my agency promoted me. I went from being a middleman
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This week’s therapy session took a deep turn. A few days prior, I fell into a funk of sorts. Feeling overwhelmed by illness, work, and family stuff compounded on top of one another. By the time therapy rolled around, I pretty much pulled myself out of it. This funk though sparked a different conversation though.
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This week kicked my ass metaphorically and literally. The shit show started off with a stomach bug that knocked me on my ass. For 48 hours, I was bedridden and blowing chunks. I could not sit up for more than a minute without feeling lightheaded and breaking out in a sweat. I missed two days
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Our lives present quite the conundrum. Throughout our entire lives, we learn that change is the only constant. However, as a counselor and through personal experience, I came to find out that the most human beings do not cope well with change. We possess an innate desire to feel in control and like to know
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Honestly, things have been going pretty well in the world of the Caring Counselor. Work has been busy, but I am doing what I set out to do over a decade ago as both a mental health counselor and adjunct professor at my alma mater. Just as of last week, I procured another significant credential
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Dating has never been my strong suit. My relationship history looks like something off of Jerry Springer. I’ve been cheated on, lied to, and manipulated. If you open up the dictionary to “codependent,” you’ll see a picture of a malnourished, zombie-esque me giving a thumbs up. To say the least, not a great track record.
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This will be your second birthday that you will not be here in your corporeal form. As your birthday nears and I see the date growing nearer, I am served this constant reminder. Has it gotten easier since we lost you in the physical world? No. Absolutely not. Has the intensity of the grief subsided?
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I pulled up to my client’s apartment building and just sat there. I sat dazed and confused. Pressure built up across my forehead. I mapped out how the rest of my evening would go given that this was the first of three in-home sessions on a Friday evening. It wasn’t the fact that I was
The Caring Counselor 