Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Snoopy and Psych Ward Coloring Creations

I went to a yoga class yesterday, the first one I've been to in months. My body isn't as strong as it was when I practiced every day, but yesterday, in class, I got a glimpse of what my body could be again. It felt good to experience my physical strength and flexibility, which, may be, a reflection of the possibilities that lie within my mental and emotional worlds. Strength and flexibility.

My husband gave me a Snoopy coloring book on the first night of Chanukah. I don't enjoy coloring because I don't do it well. I color like an impulsive and impatient 7 year-old. A dear friend of mine bought me a box of crayons and a Snoopy coffee mug. She told me to let my inner child express herself and not be too judgmental with my coloring.

I've never enjoyed anything that I couldn't do well, which means that I have missed out on a lot. There are plenty of things that I am less than mediocre at doing. I never colored when I was in the hospital, although many of the other patients seemed to enjoy it; I see its therapeutic value for focusing the mind. Our hall in lock down was adorned with pictures colored by the adult patients: pictures of children crossing the street to get to school, squirrels with acorns, and other childlike creations. I have joked that I saw some of the finest coloring I've ever seen while in the hospital from my fellow patients.

I've colored Snoopy's doghouse and it did quiet and focus my mind. I'll see if I can find it within myself today to color the lights on his house. I'm a 46 year-old woman with a Snoopy coloring book, and I feel proud of that. If my childlike nature weren't so evident, I probably wouldn't have been given those items as gifts. Although I'm hard on my inner child, I love her and her playful and mischievous ways. Yes, I'm proud to be a grown woman, not in lock down in a psych ward, that owns children's toys.

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