Reclaimed Revival: 27 Years in the Making…

I’ve sat through many hours of therapy in my 27 years…

My first time in the therapy chair, I was 11. My mom had just recently packed up her stuff and left to chase after some fairy tail dream man who lived in Illinois (A story in itself that shall be saved for another time). This meant my Dad was left behind to take care of all 3 of us kids, and for some reason it also meant we had to be put into therapy. Why? I don’t know. It wasn’t traumatizing to have my mom leave. It’s not like she was Mother of the year, so her not being there didn’t take much adjusting. It was actually kind of relieving. I wonder if I ever told the therapist that. ” Yeah, I’m glad she’s gone. Now I wont get yelled at for screaming outside when my brother found me during a game of hide and seek”, or “Yeah its nice, I wont have to see her throw my brother around anymore during one of her outburst when she was trying to prove she was “in charge”.”  Honestly, I can’t remember what was discussed during those therapy sessions. It could have been my obsession with walkman radios or scented lotions for all I know. What I do know is that they were meaningless to me,I didn’t want to be there, and I’m not surprised that I don’t remember them.

The second time I was in therapy was when my mom decided to come back from her little “vacation”. My dad (who I can’t blame, because as I grew older I realized you do stupid things when you love someone) took her back after everything she put him and us through. Apparently because the therapy sessions went so well when I was 11 ( I hope you can hear the sarcasm) we decided to go back as a family. Luckily, my mother decided to go off the deep end again and the family sessions were over and done with before the therapist even had time to remember our names.

The third time I had to sit through therapy, I was 16. I was living with my mom at the time (Yes, I moved in with her. What can I say, I was young and naive) and didn’t even know why I was put into these therapy sessions. My mom claimed I was depressed and that I needed to go.  She even went as far as taking me to a psychologist so I could be put on Zoloft. It didn’t help, as a matter a fact, it didn’t do anything. I was a perfectly fine, overly dramatic 16 year old, who just wanted her way. Yeah, I’ll admit it. If I have a daughter and she’s anything like me, we will have our hands full.

The sessions were always the same. How are you feeling this week? What’s new with school? How is living with mom? My answers, just like the sessions, were like a broken record.  Everything was the same week to week. Never better, never worse, and never helpful with any issues.These therapy sessions were as bogus and scripted as a bad reality show and I didn’t want to be any part of them. So luckily after many months of the same questions over and over, I was finally able to stop participating in therapy. I was finally allowed to stop taking my meds. Why? Well, I’ll tell you why. Because my mom stopped her therapy sessions and stopped taking her meds! You see, she had this vision to make me out to be just like her.

I didn’t need therapy or antidepressant pills to make me “better”. What I did need though was a mother who didn’t tell me I was the reason she never had any money and I was lucky that she even gave me $2.00 for lunch everyday(mind you, that was the only meal I ate because she never kept groceries in our house).

My Fourth time in therapy, was my last time in therapy. It was after my break up with SBF #3 (if you remember him from my last post). I was depressed, I was lost, I was unhappy, I was confused, and most of all I had not come to terms with my past. You see, even though it wasn’t bad having my mother walk out, what happened in the years to follow, definitely left scars. Scars that I carried through life with me and handn’t come to terms with. Scars that wreaked havoc on my relationships, on my life, and on myself. Scars that needed someone, a therapist, that could help me heal them.

Now, I don’t know how many of you that are reading this blog have ever been to therapy, but just like in any profession, there are therapist that are good at their jobs, and their are ones that suck. Matter of opinion I suppose, but I was lucky enough to stumble upon a therapist that was amazing.

She was an older lady, very soft spoken, and her presence was welcoming. She had a tiny little office that was decorated with things that always kept me thinking. Things like, why did she own a prius when her dog was a Mastiff? Why did she stack her books on her bookshelf instead of standing them up in a row?… I never asked though because she seemed to know what she was doing. I also spent time memorizing those books on her bookshelf so I could head to the library after our sessions and grab them. I figured if I read the books she read, one day I would be able to help people. One day I would be able to be as calm, collected and put together as she was…..

I bet by now you’re wondering how all of this therapy talk ties into me starting Reclaimed Revival, be patient, I’m getting there.

I spent two nights a week with this new therapist when I first started going. She spent most of the time trying to get back to the beginning. She wanted to find out what happened and how it came to be that I was sitting in her office. Little by little, session by session, she was able to turn around every doubt I ever had, every worry that ever crossed my mind, and every negative thought that kept me upset. You see, I used to spend a lot of my time worrying. I would worry about what would happen tomorrow, I would worry about what happened yesterday, I would worry about what people thought, I would worry about why I was worrying. Needless to say, if I could have been paid for worrying, I wouldn’t have had to worry about money anymore.

Then one day, she told me to stop. Yep, just stop! (Yeah right lady, just stop? Just stop worrying, that’s your plan to fix me? How much am I paying you to tell me this?) She always said, “What good is worrying? If you can’t change something, why are you worrying about it?” …..She had a point.

“Worrying is like a rocking chair, it gives you something to do for now, but it doesn’t get you anywhere”- One of my favorite quotes. I like to throw out there once and awhile to the people I love.

This ultimately lead to her giving me a task. Every time you worry, every time you think of something negative, every time you think you’re not good enough, every time you have a bad memory, STOP! Picture a big red stop sign in your mind, and just stop. “You control your thoughts, which ultimately control your feelings.”

Well, what did I need to continue going to therapy for? She cured me of my worrying which cured me of my frustration! Which led me to being a happier woman!

I suddenly felt like a brand new person! I thought I could do anything at that point… That is until the day I was sitting in her office, wondering why she was nice enough to spend the extra money on the puffs plus with lotion and she asked, ” What do you like doing for fun? What is it that you enjoy and like doing for yourself?”  Just like that, a curve ball, an earth quake, a HELLOOOOO WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING WITH YOUR LIFE slap in the face.

Have you ever been in class when a teacher asks a question and you purposely act like you’re reading the book so you don’t get called on because you have NO IDEA what the answer is !? Yep, that’s exactly how I felt, except I didn’t have a book to look at, and there was no one else in the room to answer for me.

I was 22 years old, 22! (Yeah I get it, no one in there twenties has their life put together, but how did I make it this far with out having something that I genuinely loved doing?) I was depressed again… She went on to tell me, “take some time, just think about it for a little while”. “Build off things that you already enjoy and let it change your life.”  And so I began my journey…

It began with little things, like reading more. I love books! I love how they feel in my hands, I love getting lost in stories, I love creating the scenes and characters in my head, and I love creasing a page to see how far I’ve read from the last time I stopped. It allowed me to escape and relax.

Reading was good for awhile, but it wasn’t enough. Yeah, I loved it, but it wasn’t something I wanted to consume all my free time with. That made me think, what could I do that would bring me joy, relieve stress, keep me occupied? Yet again, trying to find a hobby.

“Build off things you already enjoy and let it change your life”

RUNNING.

 

Was not one of those things, haha.  I had ran once and awhile in high school with my best friend Jessica, but I never had passion for it. This wasn’t something I would have considered a joy of mine that I was building on. I didn’t understand why people actually wanted to run. Like, yeah, if you want to run to the party store and grab some cheddar and sour cream chips, I’m down, but no I don’t want to run to the nearest subdivision and then turn around and run back home!

I started running anyway.

Running was my time. It was my time to think about everything, or not think about anything at all. It was my time to reflect on my past, or make decisions about my future.  It was something I learned to love. I loved the high I would have after any run. I loved the feeling of accomplishment after going that extra quarter of a mile. Most of all I loved that I had finally found something to love. Something that was a part of me, something I could be proud of, and something that allowed me to say ” Yeah, running is my hobby” It has helped me become more social, a lot healthier, and has helped me realize I can accomplish things that I didn’t think possible.

Now…..running really is great. It’s one of my absolute favorite things to do, when it is warm outside! You see, I HATE treadmill running, mainly ’cause one slip up and you’re being shot across the gym like a rag doll, and because you don’t go anywhere! You’re on a continuous track, there’s nothing to look at, and I am not coordinated enough to watch t.v. and run at the same time. This pretty much left running during the winter months completely out of the question; which everyone knows Michigan winters last from November until May, so this was a problem.

I knew it was time to find something else that I enjoyed doing and let it change my life and I knew it had to be an indoor activity.

This time it began with a board. Yep, an 88 cent board that I found at Home Depot in the bargain bin. I brought that board home and quickly put it in my basement, where it sat, for months…

When I finally decided to do something with it, this is what I got…

not terrible, right? Not great either.. I’m one to be hard on myself in anything I do and that’s where my husband comes in. He was right there telling me how great it was and that I should post it on Facebook.  I, of course, was skeptical.

What good would posting this do? I’d get a few likes, maybe a comment or two…and it would be over with the next day.  Boy was I wrong.  It did a lot of good actually. People started messaging me asking me to make them signs, asking what else I could make, what else I could do. They started asking if I could make nursery signs or bridal shower gifts. It was a bit shocking to say the least, but I loved it. I loved the fact that I was creating things for people and making them happy at the same time.

I was doing something I enjoyed and letting it change my life.

I finally agreed with Matt. ( This rarely happens so I am sure he has it written on some hidden calendar ” The Day Heather Agreed With Me”)It took a lot of brainstorming, a little leg work, and a tiny bit of courage, but I did it. Reclaimed Revival was born.

Some nights and weekends I spend countless hours in my basement (garage and driveway during the summer months) and I will refinish, re assemble, or craft anything that gets in front of me. I’m surprised our dogs aren’t bedazzled and our lawn mower repainted.

One of the best feelings is putting hours and elbow grease into a piece, posting it online to be sold and hearing other people love your work just as much as you. The pride and accomplishment of a job well done on these pieces will far surpass any career advancement during my lifetime.  I’m working on making others happy with pieces they can place in their home and cherish for several years to come. It has honestly been one of my most rewarding hobbies.

What’s in the name though, why Reclaimed Revival?

revival

[ri-vahy-vuh l]

noun
1.
restoration to life, consciousness, vigor, strength, ect…

1. reclaimed; past participle: reclaimed
1. 1. 
retrieve or recover (something previously lost, given, or paid); obtain the return of.

Just like I worked on myself to recover from my past, I am restoring and recovering old bargain pieces of wood and furniture that had been left as trash. I never thought doing something I love could turn into so much more, but I have always kept what was said to me in the back of my mind, and it led me to doing something great.