Apparently we’re transmitting…

I don’t know if any of you have had the pleasure of read Rhonda Byrne’s The Secret. For those who haven’t, it’s basic premise is that we are all transmitters, and whatever vibe we put out into the world comes back to us. So… if you put out only positive thoughts, words, feelings, good stuff will come your way. Conversely, if there’s negativity about you, more of that will come your way.

Yeah… I’m sure you can guess how I regarded it. I only read it ‘cos a very dear friend insisted I did, but I had to do some fancy footwork to make sure I never had to tell her what I thought of it.

Don’t get me wrong, we’ve all experienced those days when something goes wrong at the start and, in frustration, anger or distress, we experience more going wrong as the day progresses. The thing is if you can think back calmly and logically, you can generally track those happenings down to rushing because of that late start, or being careless because of emotional excess, and the like.

In my coaching work, I’m all about the reframe, but also about self-care, nurturing and patience while going through tough stuff. But boy… Himself and I must be transmitting all kinds of bad stuff to account for the challenges we’re going through.

It’s probably my fault. I took a few months off blogging with the intention of clearing some decks, of getting some of the more urgent or irritating stuff on my to-do list done. I knew that dealing with the sale of my mother’s UK home would be coming my way, so I wanted my decks clear – or as clear as they could be. But, if my past experience is anything to go by, that’s when stuff happens…

When my mother left for the US, she and my sister literally walked out of her apartment leaving it looking like the wreck of the Marie Celeste. My brother’s family are also using one of the rooms to store all the furniture items my mother has gifted them, except the property they were buying fell through, as did the next two. Being the sort of person who gets things done, sorting it out ended back with me. Just as it was shaping up nicely for sale, my mother offered it as a temporary home to her good friend who’s temporarily homeless post divorce. At the same time, the building’s management company showed someone around it (without permission), but resulting in a very good offer. Of course, my mother wanted to both accept the offer and still provide accommodation for her friend, and I don’t need to tell you who has been handling negotiating that peculiarity with buyers, selling agent and lawyers.

All this against a background of being dragged into sorting out my mother’s US tax return, her UK banking arrangements, US medical insurance and investing her savings. As they’ve got so much spare time (neither my sister nor my mother work), they’re going through old photographs, and scanning them for digital storage (there’s a lot of them). But because neither of them can remember anything, I keep being sent pictures and being asked who, where, what’s happening and such like – hundred of ’em at a time. The reframe is that I’m getting copies of all the old family photos… 😉

Himself and I have both been run down and so ill on & off – nothing terrible, but enough to put us on the back foot. Himself’s work has been troublesome, and he’s put his back out badly enough to take a few days at home (I struggle to get him to take leave, let alone suggest not working by dint of illness). My day job work continues to be unreasonably demanding, and my anxiety has spiked, causing my depression to come back with a bang.

Finally, to add insult to injury, our bed broke… and do you know how hard it is to find a bed that doesn’t have a lengthy waiting list? It took the best part of a day with both of us searching, to find anything, and Himself is currently assembling it (the likely only temporary replacement), while I sit in my office in a vain attempt to distract myself from the fact that he’s probably doing untold damage to his only slightly better bad back. ‘Cos yes, he insists on doing it personally – refusing both my help or the assistance of a handy man.

I tell you, if anyone checked the household’s cortisol levels right now, we’d both be having to collect our – ahem – liquid excretions for delivery to hospital in order to test for Cushing disease. I’ve tried to forget my previous experience of that, but it’s probably safe to say I was scarred for life 😀

And yeah, I know it’s not yet September, but as I’ve not managed to achieve any of my stuff, I thought I might as well reclaim the positive enjoyment I get from blogging to balance things out. And I’m doubling up on my daily meditation practice in the hope that some Zen will positively influence what I’m transmitting! 😉

If The Secret’s theory of us being transmitters is true, what could you be transmitting?

© Debra Carey, 2023