I’ve identified the intense physical pain.

 

I feel it coming from my elbows, an electrical charge shooting down my forearms to the tips of my fingers.

 

My inner child screams, “Get it out! Get it out!” And yet, his screams are muffled under my adult curiosity.

 

I want to investigate. Understand what it is. Figure out what it means.

 

In the past, I’ve let him take control.

 

I will admit, running from these uncomfortable sensations to get them to stop is so much easier. I mean why would anyone subject themselves to physical pain?

 

I lie in bed trying to comfort my terrified little child. “We know what we need to do to help release this. Let’s try and figure out how to explain what is going on within us first.”

 

“Who cares! It hurts. Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!” Then under his breath, “it’s her fault.”

 

How do I say this gently without getting Little Phoenix so upset he takes over? He always blames her.

 

“The actions are the trigger. It’s nobody’s fault. We need to figure out what’s going on in our body so we can better manage this trigger.”

 

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. I just want it to stop!” Little Phoenix is pleading with me, begging me to do anything to stop this ache.

 

“We will,” I comfort. “Until we know more. Let’s be a scientist and experiment.”

 

“NOOOO!!” my little boy is getting ready to throw a tantrum.

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Happy Wednesday my fellow Fledglings.

 

Do any of you know the best place to find cloth masks? It seems that in two days the county I live in will require anyone that is out of their homes to wear face masks. When I checked on Amazon, those skull cloth ones aren’t available for delivery until June. Maybe they’ll be deemed “essential” in the near future.

 

I was listening to some podcasts on The Mission Daily last week about Fantasy Bonds. Chad Grills talks about the book, The Fantasy Bond: Structure of Psychological Defenses. He put this book down two years ago, then picked it back recently. After listening to this podcast, I’m adding this to my other long list of books I’d like to eventually read.

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Good morning my Fledglings.

 

I never thought I’d title a blog of mine similar to a movie my youngest daughter was dying to see only a year ago.

 

She purchased the book, 5 Feet Apart, a month before the movie came out because the celebrity she had a crush on, Cole Sprouse, was staring in it. Her sister and I also devoured the book, each in a day, which increased our excitement to join my daughter’s Hollywood boy obsession.

 

This led me to learn about Cystic Fibrosis, and to realize that today, with the Coronavirus, all of us have the opportunity to live in the shoes of many of those who have this disease. (I just found out from my daughter that the reason the movie was titled 5 Feet Apart was because Stella made the decision to “steal one foot back.” Is this where we got the 6 foot rule?)

 

What we are all being asked to do is pretty much a daily routine for someone with Cystic Fibrosis.

 

A life where we must stay conscious about washing our hands, mindful of our health, and learn to maintain distance from not only those who are ill, but those who appear to be healthy as well.

 

To not know if the person you’re talking with, a grocery store clerk, your next-door neighbor, or your spouse, is currently contagious.

 

To not know if the railing you touched, the shopping cart your pushing, the gas pump your holding, or the clothes you’re wearing might be contaminated.

 

And even if you’re feeling ok, there’s also the idea that you could be walking around with a bullet in the chamber of a gun that has the ability to kill someone if you get too close; an invisible burden that becomes heavy to carry. (That’s like Will in the movie)

 

So, what do we do?

 

We follow the protocol of Shelter in Place. We go out only when it’s essential.

 

We practice Social Distancing. We limit our life of physical contact with one another.

 

Due to people performing essential services outside the home, many families must also continue to maintain this social distance within their own household.

 

If your Love Language is touch and quality time, like mine, this is one of the most painful feelings of all. To crave touch, to desire connection, and yet to be denied that opportunity on a daily basis can be excruciating.

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