the mean wolf is nasty

After spending a week of vacation in the forest and lakes of more-northern-than-me Ontario the return to the concrete jungle of suburbia was a bit like a smack in the face with a heatwave.

Actually it was exactly like a smack in the face with a heatwave.

I’m not a city girl, I’m not even a suburban girl. I like green spaces and trees, lots of both. Concrete and asphalt are my sworn enemies.

All this to say – Boy, I’d sure like to move.

Are you rolling your eyes? Go ahead and roll them, I deserve it. I’m practically begging you to click away with my on again off again moving debate.

Please don’t click, stick with me, puh-leeze. I have a point, promise. I’ve come to the crux of the problem, the hurdle that I can’t seem to get over in the whether to move or not debate. It’s happiness.

Happiness does not come easily for me, I have to work at it. And I have to work hard.

Source: tumblr.com via Kristin on Pinterest

Happiness has long been a destination for me. I am in the process of changing that.

The truth is – a new house, in a more rural area, with a pool would add to my happiness. But when I start to get excited about the lifestyle changes a new house would bring the mean wolf barges in and sticks her nose in my business saying -

What kind of person needs a new house, with more debt, to be happy?
You should just be grateful for the house you have. Some people have nowhere to live you know.
You’re a terrible mother for even suggesting that your kids change schools for your own happiness.
I know you, and you are a miserable complainer. You’ll be unhappy wherever you are.

When I write it out like that it makes sense why I am totally mixed up and can’t make up my mind. There’s a war in my head. This moving debate is only one of many battles.

Crazy? Yes, I am. However did you guess?

The debate is not over whether we move or not, it is about me believing that I am worthy of happiness. It’s about me choosing happiness and ignoring the mean wolf. It’s about me working to build the life I want to have. I will make all that happen. One day.

Source: frenchbydesign.blogspot.com via Kristin on Pinterest

In the meantime I am breaking up with Pinterest and getting back together with MLS. It’s not you Pinterest, it’s me.

We’ve all seen the cartoons where a character struggling with something has an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other and they debate it out while the character waits to see who will win. I never really thought I had those angels and devils in my head until…

Recently my mental health support team told me a story about living with wolves.

A little boy told his grandfather “I live with wolves. I have a nice wolf, who’s a good friend. And a mean wolf, I don’t like the mean wolf” and then the little boy asked “Which wolf will survive?” The very wise grandfather answered “Whichever one you feed.”

It was that “AHA” moment the mighty Oprah speaks of. There’s a mean wolf in me and I’ve been feeding her. (My mental wolves are ladies, even the mean one) This nasty she-wolf has the run of the place and her dominance is starving out my nice wolf.

Letting a mean wolf take over isn’t the way to peaceful happiness. As far as I can tell, it’s the fast train to Mean Town, popular 1. Am I crazy living with these wolves? Maybe but even crazy people don’t need a mean wolf.

Faced with a future with only my mean wolf as company, I say “I don’t want to be your friend any more, you are a mean wolf.” Said mean wolf rolls her evil eyes and laughs in my face. Mean wolf has bad breathe.
I search out my kind wolf, she must be around somewhere. Last I saw her she was planting peas in the garden in May 2004.

I find her curled up under the table. I offer her a piece of bacon to come out and play. What’s wrong? Who doesn’t like bacon? Oh no, she’s sick. Quick, call 911, she’s not breathing and really gray, even for a wolf.
In the ambulance on the way to the hospital my nice wolf starts to breath but she’s still dangerously thin and I worry I’ve killed my nice wolf forever.
The ER team race her to a trauma room and get an IV of fluid into her and an oxygen mask on. She smiles at me.

I think “Boy, my nice wolf is really nice. I nearly killed her and she’s smiling at me. I sure like her.”

As I watch the doctors work their wolf saving magic I feel an evil stink breathing down on me. It’s my mean wolf, she’s followed us. “Guess it’s just you and me now” she says showing all her yellow teeth. Ew, my mean wolf is a smoker. I stand firm “No way Jose, you’re a jerk. Get outta town.” And I walk away.

That’s right, I walk away from that smoking evil smelly wolf, straight into the smiling face of my forgiving nice wolf.
After the doctors are finished, they tell me that my nice wolf will make a full recovery but she’ll need lots of tender love and care, for all the rest of her days, also ice cream. If she is to survive I must treat her with kindness and forgiveness.
I’m scared, with good reason, I did just nearly kill her. My nice wolf reaches for my hand and says “We’ll do it together.” I think again “She is so nice. I will be her best friend forever.”

Outside the window my mean wolf is standing in the rain glaring in with a smirk on her face. I get up and pull the blind and return my attention to my smiling nice wolf.

Uh, no, that’s not some kind of crazy internal dialogue. It’s a dramatic re-enactment of a…uhm…a tv show I saw once. Ya, that’s it, a tv show.

The Biggest Hurdle

Don’t Feed The Mean Wolf

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