It's Kind of a Long Story... about THE KING OF WANDS (Part I)
I don't believe in tarot cards. Until I do.
I went back and forth about what to post this week. Should it be light and fun after last week’s heavy dose? Or keep it serious? Perhaps another chapter in the story of my ex?
I decided to continue down the heavy path, but don’t worry. There will be fun and funny stories coming up, and there will absolutely be more about the ex. I’ll let you know ahead of time so you can pop the popcorn.
I’m so glad you’re here,
-Lara
Pick a card, any card…
Short story:
After a tarot card reading, I made a life-changing decision to take a mental health leave of absence from work. It was one of the bravest things I have ever done. Sharing the story here is among my top-ten acts of bravery as well.
Long story:
“Welcome to a place of rest and rehabilitation for women suffering from overwork and exhaustion.” — Agnes Richards. Founder of Rockhaven Sanitarium.
I’d been joking for weeks that I wanted to retreat to one of those Victorian Sanatoriums for Nervous Women. Fresh air. Long walks in the garden. Bland, nourishing food. Reading affirming poetry. Wearing a long white nightgown while attendants attend to me in hushed tones. Embroidery is the most stimulating activity of the day. Maybe ceramics.
I started telling people about it and women would get this dreamy look in their eyes. They got it. They want it. They need it.
For better or worse, those places don’t exist anymore. Mostly for the best. They were less like retreat centers than asylums. Women were sent there against their will for all manner of ailments that were really reactions to their horrible, oppressive, restricted lives. They were subjected to experiments and brutal treatments.
And while all of that is true, I can imagine that some of those women looked around at their too-many children and horrible husbands and lives of misery and banality and played up their “hysteria” for some respite, however unrestful it was.
The path of this daydreaming did lead me to discover Rockhaven, the first health facility in America founded by a woman. Billie Burke, who played Glinda the Good Witch in The Wizard of Oz stayed there. So did Marilyn Monroe’s mother. From a blog:
The All-Women facility was a calm and restful place, where the residents were treated with respect and allowed to recover at their own pace.
There were no padded walls or jail cell–like rooms.
The only requirements were that the ladies had to dress every day and attend all three meals.
Get dressed. And eat. That’s it. Can you imagine?
My fantasies about retreating to some stress-free fantasy land started to preoccupy me about a month before I moved back into my house, from which I had been displaced for two years and 13 moves after a giant oak tree fell on it in the middle of the night.
I knew that when I moved back in, it wouldn’t be all rainbows and lollipops. It was strange to be among all of my things again. Every object seemed to vibrate. The movers had put almost everything back where it had been, so when I walked in, it was like I had never left. Had that even happened? Was it all a dream?
My concentration and focus was really suffering. I was struggling to keep up at work. Every email felt like pushing a rock up a hill. Even the spam emails were landing like rocks through my window. I couldn’t just delete them and be done. They sent me into a spiral of thinking about the awful people who send spam and what do they even get out of it and why do they they want what little money I have. The world is full of awful people doing awful things.
My sleep was suffering too. I have had Restless Leg Syndrome since I was a kid. It’s not like it sounds. My legs don’t twitch or thrash. For me, it’s an ache in my shins, shoulders and elbows that I get when I am tired but can’t sleep. It comes and goes, and in June 2023 it came on like a ton of bricks.
I was spending all day feeling overwhelmed and under-productive, all night not sleeping, and the time between with a constant loop of very negative self talk.
I was between therapists. I’d been dropped by one the previous January. She said there was nothing more she could do for me. There was one I saw only twice in March before I had a schedule conflict, and the last one I called Dr. Home Goods because she was very basic. She had the depth of a “Live, Laugh, Love” poster. I will be writing more about her.
For the last two years, people had said often, “You are so resilient!” “You’re doing so well!” “I don’t know how you’re doing it!”
I usually just said, “Thank you,” but the few times I said, “I’m really not” it mostly fell on deaf ears. No one wants to hear that. They want the plucky heroine.
I gave them that for a long time, as best I could. But once I was back in the house, my brain, soul and spirit, knew I was in a safe place where I could break down. All of the stresses and change and uncertainty and trauma and disappointment had caught up with me. Now that I was home, I could really feel it. And boy did it.
In addition to navigating moving back into the house, logistically and emotionally, I was also reeling from learning that the ex boyfriend I thought was just an alcoholic, was also a deeply disturbed liar. I was having a challenging time communicating with my mother. My best friend coldly dropped me like a hot potato.
It was a lot.
And in the last two years, I had also lost a second job, a significant romantic relationship, and the beloved matriarch of our family. I had new bosses at leadership at work, my son moved across the country, and there was a period between September and November 2022 about which I have said, “David Lynch would say. ‘Naw. Too weird. No one would believe it.”
I was not doing well.
Several friends suggested a leave of absence. I rejected it without really even considering it. It’s not the kind of thing I do. I’ve worked since I was 15, sometimes two jobs and for many years seven days a week. I show up. I hadn’t even taken a sick day in more than ten years.
I did make an appointment with a General Practitioner and explained my sitch and symptoms. She suggested upping my dose of Zoloft a little bit, and a sleep test. I knew in my soul that wasn’t what I needed. She said the antidepressant would take a few weeks for full results. I thought, “I don’t have a few weeks.”
I wasn’t in any danger of harming myself or anything like that, but I knew I couldn’t go on the way I was. I knew I didn’t want to.
A few days after the doctor’s appointment, my friend Nicole offered to read my tarot cards. I took her up on it.
Like astrology, I don’t believe in tarot cards until I do. My son is a textbook Libra. My late husband was a classic Scorpio. My ex boyfriend was the Geminiest Gemini to ever Gemini.
Unlike most Pisces, I’m not especially woo-woo, but I’m enough of a fish to believe that there are things we don’t know, and like all of us, I am always in search of answers. I want to know.
We did the reading remotely, on the phone. She asked me to get something from the house that meant something to me. I chose two pieces of jewelry, one given to me my my mother, and one by my grandmother. I chose a color for the altar cloth. Then I chose another one because she didn’t have green.
I don’t remember the full reading, but I absolutely remember the King of Wands.
Nicole said, “Look at him. He has the power in his hands. But he’s just sitting there. Looking away. He’s not doing anything with it.”
I got the message. I had the power to change my life and take care of myself, but I wasn’t using it.
She went on, “You are driving on rims. GET. ON. THE. OFF. RAMP!”
I said, “Yeah… you are not the first person to suggest that. I will consider it.”
She challenged me to, “DO. IT. TOMORROW!”
Readers, I did.
To be continued…
Lara sez…
Listen!
80s deep cut of the week! Teens who listened to LA’s KROQ in the 80s will remember this song. They’re the only ones. The band members don’t even remember it.
Follow!
I came for the culinarain cutie, stayed for the food, and lingered because Levi’s dad’s hands are super sexy.
Read!
The Weight of Ink is a sweeping saga that seamlessly slides from modern-day London to the time of the plagues. The writing is rich, the characters beautiful and heartbreaking, and it’s nice and long so you can really sink in and savor it.
Buy!
Tubing Mascara will change. your. life. The shizz does. not. smudge. The goop forms little tubes around each of your lashes like they’ve been dipped in latex and stays there all damn day! It easily washes off with warm water.
My first tube of tubing mascara was the internet-famous Thrive Causemetic brand. It’s great, and $25. Lash Flash from Ulta is just as good for $11!
Watch!
You’re the Worst on Hulu! This British screenwriter and American music publicist really are the worst, but the show is the best.
Eat!
My Great Grandmother spent all day in the kitchen making stuffed cabbage. This yummy soup has all of the same good stuff but can be whipped up in a jiff!
Before I let you go…
It’s strange to transition from writing on Facebook, where my friends have been following me for a long time and know the cast of characters and general facts of my life.
I’m trying to tow the line between enough backstory for context, but not so much that the thread is lost.
If you have any questions about anything I write (or just wanna say you liked it!) please comment below or reply to the email.
Your voiceover work is my new favorite podcast.
So weird...Weight of Ink is my current book club book & we are discussing on Sunday! Will share thoughts when I am done. Great so far! Looking forward to Part 2 of this & am with you on the sanitorium front!