I don't have a particular theme for tonight's blog. I have a lot on my mind, and most of it to do with the risky business of psychology.
I have applied to college as an undergrad to catch a course that I missed the first go-around so that I can continue on to my graduate work. Once upon a time, I intended to continue with my graduate degree immediately after receiving my undergrad, but then life happened. Instead, I have been making ends meet and providing for my family.
Yet every spring I get depressed. I think of what I want to be doing, of what I feel is my true calling. And then I wonder, what the hell is my true calling?
Last spring, I asked my mom what I was passionate about as a child. She mentioned my penchant for writing my name on my things. I had to laugh. As the youngest of four, I often found myself in arguments with my brothers. One in particular went like this:
Amber gets up to go get something to eat, or the like. When she comes back, one of the brothers is sitting where she had been sitting. She walks up to him and says, "Hey! That's my chair!"
"You weren't sitting in it so it's mine now!"
"Mom! <X brother> stole my chair!"
Mom: "It doesn't have your name on it so it's not yours. Sit somewhere else!"
After that, I wrote my name on EVERYTHING!
By the end of Spring 2013, I came up with three things that I was passionate about: Writing, Stories, and Happy Endings. I determined that I could do anything that I wanted to, and that I have done many things that, while enjoyable, were simply done to pass the time. Then life intervened again and I was caught up in the whirlwind with little to no time to even think about dreaming.
I have toyed with the idea of going back to college for the last several years. When asked what I would go back for, I always say psychology. But psychology is a diverse field, and there are many concentrations to consider: bio-psychology, developmental psychology, clinical psychology, abnormal psychology, etc., and within each of those there are concentrations to consider as well! It was overwhelming to think about, so I simply didn't.
And in ignoring the niggling desire to go back to school, I ignored something that I didn't realize I could really be passionate about: religion. Not religion for religion's sake, but the affect of organized - and unorganized - religion on the psyche. Particularly, on a woman's psyche. But not just any woman.
The affect of religion on my psyche.
After all, people go into psychology not out of a desire to help others, (though that may weigh heavily on the decision) but out of a desire to understand themselves.
You see, one religion held me back for the bulk of my life. The interpretations of generations of patriarchal society weighs heavily on the (protestant) Bible, and indeed, many other walks of faith. I wonder how I would interpret the teachings found in each if there was no one there to influence me? If I had never read the Bible and picked it up and read it front to end, what would I take from it?
Would I, in 2009 when I first began this journey, have ever dreamed that I would want to study religion? Certainly not! I wanted nothing to do with religion at first, and locked my feelings away. That's how I deal with difficult emotions, after all: I shut them up, shove them down, lock them away, and refuse to think about them. I didn't know that I could - and should - let those emotions out. I never learned that I had a voice and a choice until recently.
Religion was a huge part of my life for a long time. I left it because I felt like a hypocrite, singing songs that I didn't believe in, and evangelizing when I didn't even want to be there. Instead of pretending, I left and have dabbled at studying a couple of different paths since then.
Now I am faced with a startling truth: the only way to center myself again is to face the fear of being sucked back in to something I don't believe in; of being subjugated to the point that I forget that I am worth the effort it takes to maintain my feminine core.
I don't know where this journey will lead me, and that worries me. But will I ever forgive myself if I don't take that risk?
The answer is simple: No.
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