Going to the gyno is a necessary part of staying on top of your health…but it’s not exactly what I’d call fun. Besides the obvious, “Wow, I really don’t wanna be here,” there are so many things buzzing through my head on a trip to the torture chamber gynecologist’s…
“Jo and I are happy, I say, my voice unsteady. We’ve had our ups and downs like all couples, but we’ve managed to get over the bad times. We have two lovely children, a pretty little house, friends, we go on holiday twice a year.…
Heeeeeey! What’s uuuuup? It’s me! The flu your colleagues at work gave you. Are you gonna let me in or what? You’re hoping I leave you alone? Impossible because everybody comes to work sick as a dog. Sneezing and coughing around you and I am inside of you. You booked a trip to the zoo this weekend? A show by Ildiko von Kürthy that you already have tickets for? The deposit is nonrefundable? Fuhgeddaboudit my friend! You are not going anywhere!
Listen, I just KO’ed two dozen other co-workers like complimentary chips and dip at Senhor Vinho (this is a Portuguese Restaurant down the road in Vienna btw which you won’t go to for a while), and now I want my entrée, capisce? Vis-à-vis for the next week or so, you are my house. And let me tell you something—Michelangelo had marble. Da Vinci had paint. I have fever, a body rash as red as your local fire truck, vomiting, and diarrhea. And in three days, your GI tract will be my magnum opus.
Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I’m way too contagious to pass you by. I’ve literally spent a millennia evolving my DNA to inflict maximum carnage on your system. The fact we’re even having this conversation means I’m already prancing through your upper respiratory system, painting the walls with flu.
What I’m saying is the chain reaction has begun. There’s no stopping the shitstorm descending upon your world. Think of me as Franz Ferdinand, the flu.
Not a WWI nerd?
Okay, or picture me as crappy music flu. Write me off as underground, then boom: I’m headlining Rave Parade, encoring my crappy hit “All Who Live at Your Address Are Getting the Flu” on repeat 1.
I infect everyone. And everything. I’ll straight-up give your belongings the flu. I’m talking inanimate objects. Your chair. Your brown shoes. Your favorite T-shirt that always seems to fit just right. All about to come down with a raging case of flu. I out-pizza’ed-the-hut (I have a thing for food and restaurants) and gave it the flu.
To be clear, you’re a rich kid, and I’m the Bahamas bonfire spreading out of control throughout the entire island. This is the place your parents always take you on their private plane. And all your friends. Daddy can’t stop this flu.
It would take an act of God, whom I infected with flu, by the way, to keep me away from you. The laws of physics would have to be rewritten. The theory of relativity would be null and void. The universe as we know it would have to be altered for you to get through this week without catching me.
Get the picture?
Look, I’ll be real with you: I get no joy from seeing your family watch you suffer in such explicit and demeaning ways.
I’m kidding. That exact scenario brings me joy. SOOOOOO much joy.
Aw, don’t look so down. You and I, we’re gonna have fun. You’ll see. When was the last time you suffered vivid and utterly terrifying fever dreams? Some people pay good money to hallucinate like that.
Think of it this way. This one colleague at work gave me to you (you know the one who sneezed and blew his nose constantly? Yeah, this one. I think his name is Ralph). I show you the fragility of your mortality by keeping you nude on the bathroom floor, cycling between fits of indescribable humilities; you tell your God he has forsaken you.
Because make no mistake, for the next few days, I am your God.
‘Unless I’m cured, normal people will expurgate me.’ Sayaka Murata’s novel Convenience Store Woman is a darkly comic look at the life of a 36-year-old woman working in a convenience store and the many ways she is looked down upon by ‘normal society’. Having surpassed a…
You may know by now that I love to read. There are so many good books out there and time is limited to read them all. Every day thousands of new books get published. So what can you do? Usually, I will give a book…
Psychologie interessiert mich brennend. Ich liebe es mein Wissen zu erweitern denn nach oben gibts es keine Grenzen. Das Buch welches ich heute rezensieren möchte ist von Sandra Konrad und heisst “Nicht ohne meine Eltern”. In diesem Buch findet der Leser heraus wie gesunde Ablösung all unsere Beziehungen verbessert – auch die zu unseren Eltern.
Um was es genau geht:
Gesunde Bindungen durch gesunde Ablösung?
Das Verhältnis zu den eigenen Eltern ist nicht immer leicht. Manchmal ist es das genaue Gegenteil. Vorbelastet, schmerzend und vielleicht sogar gefährlich.
Dennoch ist die Ablösung von den eigenen Eltern oft nicht einfach. Warum sie aber unglaublich wichtig ist und auf welche Arten wir und unsere Beziehungen davon profitieren können, zeigt Konrad in ihrem Buch ›Nicht ohne meine Eltern‹.
Vor allem aber berichtet Konrad, wie gesunde Ablösung überhaupt funktionieren kann, in welchen Schritte diese erfolgen kann und was dabei hilft. Dabei setzt sie sich unter anderem mit Schuld und Schuldgefühlen, kindlichen Erwartungen, psychischen Erkrankungen und Geschwisterkonflikten auseinander.
»Es erklärt, wie der Grad unserer Ablösung unser ganzes (Beziehungs-)Leben beeinflusst. Vor allem zeigt es Wege aus der Verstrickung. Es stellt Ihre persönliche Entwicklung in den Vordergrund, ohne Ihre Familie in ein schlechtes Licht zu rücken.«
›Nicht ohne meine Eltern‹ will durch eine gesunde Ablösung helfen, Frieden zu finden und eigene Beziehungen zu gestalten. Dafür geht das Buch auch der Frage nach, ob man seinen Eltern verzeihen muss und untersucht unterschiedliche Rollen. Auch Selbstfürsorge spielt für Konrad eine zentrale Rolle.
Konrads Buch ist kein Anti-Eltern-Buch. Es geht nicht darum, Menschen für ihre Fehler zu verdammen, sondern zu schauen, wo mehr Ablösung notwendig ist und wie sie auf gesunde Weise gelingen kann. Ablösung muss nicht den Kontaktabbruch bedeuten. Dass die Eltern-Kind-Beziehung sogar an der Ablösung wachsen kann, zeigt Konrad vielfach.
»Ich spreche von wachsender Selbstständigkeit, von altersgemäßer Unabhängigkeit, von der Fähigkeit, eigene, selbstbewusste Entscheidungen zu treffen, kurz: das eigene Leben zu leben. Das eigene Leben zu leben – nicht jedem gelingt dies.«
›Nicht ohne meine Eltern‹ ist sensibel und klar geschrieben. Konrad ist eine gute Beobachterin der verschiedenen Eltern-Kind-Beziehungen und der Probleme und Herausforderungen, die daraus erwachsen.
Im Regelfall ist die Eltern-Kind-Beziehung die erste Bindung, die den Menschen wirklich prägt. Es überrascht nicht, dass damit allerlei Hürden verbunden sind und dass die Konsequenzen sehr weitreichend sein können, wenn es hierbei zu Problemen kommt.
»Abschied von den Eltern zu nehmen bedeutet, sich von elterlichen Erwartungen und Aufträgen zu lösen. Sich von ihrer Zustimmung so weit unabhängig zu machen, dass eigenständige Schritte überhaupt möglich werden. Was sich so sinnvoll und einfach anhört, ruft in vielen Familien Konflikte hervor.«
›Nicht ohne meine Eltern‹ ist für mich ein wunderbares und tief gehendes Buch über die Ablösung von den Eltern. Ich habe lange an diesem Buch gelesen oder eher damit gearbeitet – nicht wegen des Umfangs, sondern weil ich vieles erst einmal sacken lassen wollte. Vermutlich werde ich es zu gegebener Zeit noch einmal lesen, um so viel wie möglich aus diesem Buch mitzunehmen. Sehr viele Passagen wurden unterstrichen, annotiert und hervorgehoben um auf diese nochmals schneller zurückgreifen zu können.
Dieses Buch fasst wunderbar zusammen, welchen Anteil ein Kind und ein Elternteil an Ablösung haben kann. Besonders gut fand ich all die Beispiele. Diese regen zum reflektieren und nachdenken an.
Fazit: Hilfreich und inspirierend für die eigene, gesunde Ablösung – nicht nur von den Eltern.
I hate going to the dentist. Hate it! With a passion! And I am always scared and avoid appointments like the plague. There were times when I was in so much pain but I still didn’t go. Every thought of going to a dentist’s office…
“Heroes go forth. To be alive is to go forth.” What this book is about: Johannes is a free dog who lives in a park on a small island. He loves running and keeping track of everything that is happening in the park including human…
Okay, fine. You caught me. Congrats on catching the real Easter Bunny in the act. Yeah, I’m real. As real as Santa Claus. You know what else is real? My hatred of Santa Claus. Seriously, screw that guy. Like his job is any harder than my job. You know how long it takes to hide two dozen eggs? How much creativity? What I do is much more complicated than throwing a bunch of presents under a tree.
But please continue to regale me with tales of wonder about Santa and his elves, the hundreds of talented elves making and wrapping the toys for Santa, happily taking care of all of the details that make Christmas so… Christmas-y. Such a plentiful support staff. And every last one of them is abso-fucking-lutely delighted to make Santa’s job easier. None even entertain wishes or dreams of their own. Nope, they’re just there for Santa. What else could they even want? So don’t think for a moment that they’re being exploited, that they’re an indentured workforce, trapped in a frozen wasteland, working off a debt they know they’ll never fully repay. Don’t think that because it’s probably not true. Only maybe I’ve heard some shit. From very reliable sources.
This is not my point, though. My point is, whether there’s a secret North Pole Elf Dungeon or not, Santa’s got people doing all his shit for him. But take a wild guess at who helps the Easter Bunny make Easter happen. Ever wonder who’s raising and feeding the chickens that lay a septillion eggs? Or who’s decorating those eggs? Ever wonder who weaves the Easter baskets and makes the treats that go inside them? A legion of helpful elves? Hell no. It’s just me. And I don’t even have opposable thumbs! Okay, I’m exaggerating. Not about the thumbs. That’s accurate. I’m a rabbit. Truth be known, I outsource nearly all of it. I’m not a fucking idiot. But who has to make sure the Excel Spreadsheet is up to date, and that the vendors come through in a timely fashion? This rabbit. And this rabbit alone.
Oh, wait, silly me, you probably want to see my Quantum Rabbit Hutch in person, right? What do you mean you’ve never even heard of it? It’s the vehicle that makes it possible for me to do what I do. I designed it. I built it. It bends fucking time and space. And absolutely no one gives a shit about it. But that’s cool. I guess a faster-than-light vehicle is ultimately not as interesting as a sled driven by pack animals.
Look, sorry to vent. That’s the cost of catching me. Because there’s no Mr. Bunny back at the warren to rub my feet, bring me a cocktail, and listen to my tales of woe. Yeah, that’s the other thing: I’m a lady. Don’t even get me started on the sexism at the center of all of this. I don’t have the time. These eggs won’t hide themselves, and I still have half the world to cover, including the North Pole.
Can you believe that shit? I still gotta make Santa’s Easter special. Just fucking typical.
“She had repeated this trip every August 16 at the same time, with the same taxi and the same florist, under the fiery sun of that destitute cemetery, to place a bouquet of fresh gladioli on her mother’s grave.” Until August (Wir sehen uns im August)…
