About the IST

I’ve had a few recent readers ask me about the IST and where that came from. Here is my original post, when I first started visiting and discussing that process. (My new blog theme isn’t highlighting hyperlinks so if I try to link to this in a post, it doesn’t show up as a link unless you roll your mouse over it, working on that this weekend.)

In any case, so here was the IST visit, early August, two weeks before my 4oth birthday and about a week after my hair was totally Kate-Gosselined when I cheated on my hair dressed (I swear Brandi, I am never cheating again.) So any references to the hair cut are for that reason. And, the photo I included is my mom, grandmother and aunts. No need to laugh at my hair, we can laugh at theirs!

For the record, I’ve had people ask me about why I would make this part of my life public. After all, most people are not going to just pull up a martini and talk about their therapist.

The reason is very much the reason behind every single post I write: because I know from talking to other women and moms, being out in the work force and at middle school football games, that I am not alone.

I’m just one of the few crazy enough to talk about it.

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I had my weekly IST visit this week.

Not the pedicurIST or the acupuncturIST, although I clearly saw a hair stylIST if you’ve seen my head.

If you’re new to my blog, I’m referring to the therapIST (I hate to use that word, since I’m so private and all, so I refer to her as the IST) I recently started visiting, as a way to get a third party opinion on how to find my life again, without using drugs, too much alcohol, or a straight jacket.

After this week’s visit, I believe she might have just dropped some sort of listening device into my purse last week when I wasn’t looking.

Get this: the woman has me pegged after speaking to me, well, more like letting me speak mostly, for less than two hours total, half of which was spent with her contorting her chart to accommodate my lengthy lineage.

But, somehow, she’s very quickly figured me out. It’s a little creepy. I’m thinking someone I know surely found her contact information and e-mailed her the Wiki report on Shannon.

I’m actually kinda surprised she didn’t see my cuckoo haircut and immediately write me some sort of anti-anxiety prescription.

Now that I think about it though, that hair cut probably went right along with the personality she had sitting in front of her gabbing away: ‘where did she get that hair, never mind, it makes total sense’ is I am sure what she was writing in my chart.

Crazy hair or not, she already has me thinking about things in a different light.

Working mom, at home mom, single mom, 39.9999999999 year old mom-I’m not sure the titles matter that much, at least not to me.

If she can help me find the recipe for some work life balance, throw in a dash of higher cause type fulfillment, sprinkle in a way to have a healthier lifestyle while working 80 hours a week and raising teenagers, and ensure I don’t go broke or get divorced in the process (that’s a joke, honey, if you’re reading this), I will go in there with my head shaved.

Well, maybe not.

Oh, who knows, my head is half way there already.

And no, I’m not posting a photo.

The IST might not think that’s good for me.

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