#i need physical and mental therapy before i even truly attempt at furthering my career

[honey-beebo]

hey guys when do we get a break. how do we cope and keep doing things without getting a break

[shhhhhskars]

See You Again

This is a new piece I have been working on that’s been floating about in my head. I’ve broken it up into two pieces...It’s set a little further into their relationship. Stay tuned for Part 2 and enjoy.

Long days that bled into the evening were typical as of late. As bodies began to flood the streets in the city, eager to get home during that awful, congested five o’clock rush hour- she was just taking a quick break from the office to grab another coffee at the cart on the corner, so she could get some caffeine in her to finish up. Things in her life came in waves, and right now, she was drowning at work, and usually, she didn’t mind the high volume. It was actually soothing to her, to have more to do, something to focus her energy on. But there was a catch. Alexander was off right now, and the timing couldn’t have been much worse.

New York City was his home-base, but his career was a glowing beacon that he followed through and through. His work was pressing, and required a lot of movement and rigor on his part, and she loved being over worked when he was gone. Right now, however, she couldn’t believe the universe was coming for her neck like this. He was always up to something. If not on a new project, he would at the very least be absorbing a new script. But right now he was free- a nice, long two weeks with a vacant schedule, that he requested from his agent, just to get some quality time. Quality time. His love language. She learned quickly that his way of receiving love was her un-filtered, undivided attention. Perhaps it was the fact that he had to travel more often than he even wanted at times, or maybe it was just him, a quality that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried. He craved it, he needed it, to balance him out. So, he developed a habit of requesting bouts of time off, that he could dedicate to being at home, just lazing around with her.

Usually, it worked perfectly. She had no problem sharing her time with him, even if it took some adjusting initially. She liked being around her giant guy. Unplugging from the world entirely, except for him. Shutting her phone off, or tucking it somewhere she couldn’t see for a while. It was a modern luxury, stepping away from the technology, and enjoying the company of someone else. Talking to them, and really listening. It was how some of their deepest conversations came about. How they slowly built their trust with one another, realizing that they had found a safe place within each other. That they didn’t have to perform, instead, they could just be. The Swede always had something to chat about, some interesting point to raise about the latest novel he picked up or podcast he had stumbled on. And those tiny little points would lead to hours of conversation, snuggled up in his bed, super late at night, stoned out of their minds.

But there was a first time for everything- and right now, her schedule was biting her in her ass. Her time with Alexander had been next to nothing since he’d been home, and she was aching to see him. But not just see him, she wanted to give him what he needed. It was biting at her, the fact that she couldn’t be as present as she wanted to be, but she was convinced she would make it happen. She would come through, with the S on her chest, and that was her prerogative when she clocked out for the day, mentally drained. Nevertheless, she persisted, heels tapping away at the sidewalk, stopping in at Magnolia Bakery to grab his favorite Tiramisu. The man had such a sweet tooth, it was a shame, but she had a thing for appeasing him, and his naughty little habits included.

She had absolutely no plans of stopping at her favorite lingerie shop, but, it was just few paces down from Magnolia....oh fuck, who was she kidding? Of course she was going to drop in there, she was a well known customer, if we’re being honest, and when did a little retail therapy ever hurt anyone? She opted for a lacy little number that she was sure he would adore on her- a high cut on the hips that would accentuate her waist, with crisp, black lace woven into the edges. The top was much more simple, much more her style. Alexander was the one who liked the bells and whistles when it came to the intimate pieces she chose, it amused him and his eyes lit right up. The top however, featured barely any lace, instead, it was mostly a soft blend of cotton and spandex, which revealed an overly generous, lifted cleavage. A tight garter belt completed the number. Black was beautiful, and always timeless, and she felt anxious to get into it tonight for him, to see his reaction to her curves in the damn thing. As far as she was concerned, she was wearing this piece one way or another, tonight.

She wiggled her key into the latch, finding the the sweet spot and entering the large Brownstone, nestled on a quiet street in the East Village. Work tote straining on her shoulder and hands full of bags, she shut the door behind her with a soft thud. “Hooooney, I’m home,” she yelled out, eager to hear him call back to her.

Instead there was an eerie silence that followed, and she paused in the foyer before slipping out of her heels, still awkwardly holding her bags. She felt a twinge of sadness, the place was inexplicably quiet, and she could feel that he wasn’t there, that he was somewhere else. Normally, the television would be running, or the Bluetooth speaker would be on, belting out some faint Lo-Fi to warm the space up. An incense burning, at the very least, or some sage. But instead, it was radio silence. 

She sighed, taking herself through the arched walk way, the high ceilings she loved so much felt suddenly much lower, more closed in. It dawned on her as she traveled into the sitting room that he might have truly just went out. The couch was perfectly assembled, pillows propped and fluffed neatly, the way she showed him. The throw was folded neatly, and clearly hadn’t been in use today...and still, there was no Alex calling back to her, or emerging from the office, or anything like that.She sighed deeply, taking a second to accept defeat. The bags felt heavier in her hands now, and she dropped them at the foot of the stairs before grasped at the banister to make her way to the bedroom to get out of her work clothes and take a rinse.

**

When she came back downstairs, she was feeling refreshed. The soothing cold shower made her sore muscles feel relaxed again, and she didn’t even bother texting Alexander. He hadn’t texted her, so she figured he needed space, or something. She couldn’t shake him the entire shower, and just stood in there for a while. Stood and wrapped her arms around herself, giving her self a hug, and a pat on the back, her attempt at physically transferring some self-love to her body. She maintained her pragmatic mindset however, and managed to talk herself down. She got out of the shower feeling better, that Alexander was a grown ass man and entitled to make his own movements, as was she. She slipped into a pair of his boxers and a baggy tee shirt, with some fuzzy socks for emotional support. A bottle of wine sounded about right, for this night.

She clicked on the kitchen light, heading to the fridge to put the dessert she had gotten him away, when she saw it. 

It was a yellow sticky note. Her eyes narrowed, and she realized she hadn’t stepped into the kitchen since she got home. She felt relief, and a little smile creeping on her lips- he had at the very least left a note explaining his whereabouts, which was cool with her. She resumed putting the cake away and snatched the note off the counter, shocked at how eager she was to read his infamous scribble. Meet me on the terrace at 9. I miss you. It was such a simple request, scrawled on the tiny post-it note, and pasted for her to run into. Her brain was so fatigued that she couldn’t even remember what day it was, let alone the hour, and she couldn’t help but shake her head and let out a soft sigh of relief, he was home, he hadn’t left without warning, and he was most definitely up to something...

[spilledkauffie]

Sammy Support System

Pairing: Sam Winchester x college!reader Word Count: 2.1k T/W: anxiety? fluff! A/N: This was actually stupid hard to write, but it’s solely, and slightly embarrassingly, a therapy fic !

Vigorously the keys of your laptop clicked and ticked with every tap and push your fingertips gave them. It had become such a common sound over your college career that you had hardly noticed how long the continuous clicking had been going on for, let alone that the sun had gone down without you noticing either. There were papers and extra credit reports to write, group projects you knew no one else was going to actually do, emails to send and so on. 

With the numerous things calling your attention, you hardly noticed your boyfriend lean in through the doorway to check on you. He found you just as he expected, and just as he had left you three hours ago, sitting criss cross on a chair in one of his hoodies, some plaid pyjama pants and white fuzzy socks, huddled at your computer, devoutly working on your homework. A clutter of papers and notebooks swarming you at every angle. Pens and highlighters of all different shades were clustering under loose leaf pages. Leaving you wildly upturning every piece of paper until you found the correct colour for further highlighting. 

“Where did I put-“ you mumbled to yourself, scanning the table for your favourite highlighter. 

Checking the clock on the wall, which was ticking in between the clicking rhythm you were making yourself, Sam decided to give you another thirty minutes before intervening. Aware of how stressed you had been acting and feeling lately, whether you’d admit it or not, Sam wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself regardless of the taxing demands you put on yourself for a degree. He always tried his best to back off when it came to things you felt you needed to handle on your own, but one thing he would never give up on is taking care of you when you refused to do so yourself. And finding you in the same position after four hours, nearing one a.m., was not up to his standards of a healthy self care routine. 

Returning after thirty minutes, which seemed so much longer to him and so much shorter to you, he decided to take action. Clearing his throat and entered the room, he walked over to the desk where you were preoccupied. Head switching between a book you had a strict finger holding open and the laptop screen your free hand was making words appear on.

“Wow,” Sam said, staring you down, an amused smile playing across his lips when you didn’t even acknowledge him. 

You truly hadn’t heard him, and were far too focused on your work to have seen or heard him come in. 

“Wow!” Sam said a little louder, simply trying to gain your attention. 

Jumping a little in your seat, you lifted your head to find Sam sitting opposite of you across the small table you had so easily filled. He reclined back in the chair, waiting for you to say...something. 

“Hey,” you quietly said, it had to have been hours since you actually talked to another person, not just mumbling to yourself. 

“Hi,” Sam leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, gentle smile as he heard how small your voice sounded, “do you have any idea what time it is, Honey?”

Looking to the corner clock on your laptop you winced, knowing he wouldn’t be very approving of how long you had been at it, but more so how much longer you intended to stay working as you were. 

“It’s late...ish,” you tried to be cute and ignore the bigger problem he was alluding to. 

Over the past few weeks, you had been pushing yourself and pushing yourself to the point of  exhaustion, both physically and mentally. You didn’t sleep reasonable, human hours, you ate maybe a meal a day and hardly left the bunker for anything other than classes. As much as he loved  your enthusiasm for college, he hated seeing you self-destruct over it. Mentally blocking every natural resting plea your body gave, you pressed on nonetheless. 

Ducking his head, Sam didn’t want to come across too parental, “it’s, yeah, it’s... late.”

“I’m fine Sam,” you assured him sweetly and proceeded on with typing. 

“But you’re not-” he countered only out of concern, frustrating you slightly as you glanced up to glare at him, “I’m just saying,” he retreated his hands in defense, “I haven’t seen you get up to refill your water, you haven’t said a word to anyone and you-“

“Sam!” You interrupted, fanning your hands across your keyboard, as he tested your nonexistent patience, you took a deep breath, “don’t worry.”

“It’s kinda my job to worry about you,” he lifted his shoulders, “I mean, is something going on that you’re not telling me?”

“No, nothing,” you tried, to utter failure. 

“Y/n, what’s going on that you’re not telling me?” He repeated, in such a soft, caring tone you swore he could draw every emotion you’ve ever had out from you. His puppy dog eyes didn’t help your resistance either, Sam genuinely was concerned and lying to him would only further his anxiety over you. 

“I just,” you avoided eye contact, “need to do this, okay? I need to finish this, start the next project, schedule my next classes: Spring, Summer, Fall. I need to prove that I can do it.”

“Prove what?” Sam asked, “to who?”

“That I can do it!” You repeated, the beginnings of tears from seemingly a million different emotions filling your eyes, “I have to prove I’m worth something...even if that’s just a degree.” 

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, seeing you upset always hurt the worst. Wanting to help or to fix whatever was wrong always seemed easier on the other topics. He knew he couldn’t stop this, it was something you’d been relentless about since day one.

“I’m so tired of getting told to slow down...and you don’t need to,” your building anxiety caused a hiccup, “you don’t need to,” you blinked, letting a heavy tear slip passed your eyelash, on the brink of a breakdown you could feel yourself shaking, “but I want to, why doesn’t anybody care about that?”

It was like a knife to the heart when your eyes met Sam’s, now knowing you felt no one cared on the matter. And the moment you allowed yourself to fall apart and cry, Sam came to your side. Crouching down so you could hug him, you tightly wrapped your arms around his neck.. Feeling his strong arms around your waist made you feel like a child, but you didn’t care at this point. It was days, weeks, months of continuous tension, stress, lack of sleep and nutrition all coming undone. 

“Sam,” you breathed, eventually pulling back from his tear stained shirt, “if I can’t do this, I don’t even know who I am anymore. This is all I’ve ever done.”

Nodding, understandingly, his lean fingers pushed back some hair that had fallen down from your twice dried shampooed bun and  into your face. He listened to you, knowing you just needed someone to truly listen, not to scold you for your aspirations, but to hear you out. 

“I’m nothing if I can’t prove this,” you wiped your eyes, reverting to a more reclusive position of anxiety, isolating yourself away from him, “I’m just a failure.”

Sam’s arms still held you, despite your retreat, “hey, hey,” he caressed your cheek lovingly, and you embarrassingly leaned into it, a touch you had truly missed in your absence of his presence, “look at me.”

You hardly wanted to be seen at all right now, but you did as he said, slowly meeting his gaze. His ever sparkling eyes made you feel a bit better, especially accompanied by his smile of reassurance. 

“You are not a failure,” he told you with a convincing stare, “you never have been, and you never will be, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, looking away, with a few stray tears falling down your cheek. 

“You can do this, you are doing this,” he explained, “I fully support your goals and dreams, but I cannot support how you’re treating yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you turned back to him, wearily shaking your head. 

“You’re really not; you’re just saying that so I’ll leave you alone,” he corrected you carefully, “but that’s just not happening. I care way too much about you to stop.”

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded, pushing at your hair and looking down.

It was a brief silence between the two of you. 

“C’mon,” Sam stood, holding your hand, “time for a break.”

“Sam,” you sighed as he gently coerced you into following his loving pull, “I can’t, I have to finish this group project.”

“If it’s a group project someone else can work on it right now, come on, Babe,” his tone a little more stern and his point valid. 

Knowing that if you said no again he’d just pick you up out of the chair, so you stood to follow him over to the couch. Lazily you walked behind him, hand still holding his. He sat at the end and you followed suit, sitting at an angle into his side, your feet slightly tucked under you, but still spread out toward the length on the couch. For a moment you breathed. It was quiet, no tap of your keys, no rustling of paper-  

“Well, good break,” you said and quickly made an attempt to return to your desk.

“Uh, yeah, no ma’am,” Sam leaned forward and grabbed your hips. To your frustration he brought you back down, this time seating you across his lap, “that was not an adequate break.”

Groaning reluctantly, you felt him secure his hold on you. One arm reaching across your thighs, the other settled around your waist. You gave up and gave in, slouching into him, resting your head against his shoulder. Fiddling with your hands in your lap, you looked down. The scent of his cologne made you feel safe, as you nuzzled the bridge of your nose against his neck. His hair tickled where strands of it brushed against your forehead. You hummed when you felt him sweetly rub your back.

“Sam?” You started, closing your eyes. 

“Yeah, Baby?” He answered bringing his hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear as he looked you over. 

“I’m so tired,” you finally admitted in a sigh of defeat, which told him that you were officially calling it a night.

Trying not to laugh at the very obvious statement, Sam smiled, “yeah, I bet you are,” slight amusement slipping out. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” you pouted, looking up.

“Promise I’m not,” Sam raised his eyebrows, watching you struggle to keep your eyes open in his arms, “you’re just really adorable when you’re tired.” 

Finally breaking into a smile, you closed your eyes, realising how much you’d been missing out on even the littlest of things. Caressing the side of his neck with your hand, you brought yourself up a bit, met with his gentle eyes, that were almost asking sweetly, “what do you need?” You just stared for a while, until your eyes dropped and you brought your lips to meet his. It was soft and sweet, but when you pulled back, you still wanted more. Knowing your body language, Sam slid his hand up to the back of your neck, carefully bringing you back in for a deeper kiss. Practically melting into his kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck. When you decided you needed air, you pulled back, resting each other’s foreheads together.

“I love you so much,” Sam said, still stroking your neck.

“I love you more,” you smiled, showing you were really getting sleepy, “thanks for putting up with me, Sam.”

“For that I love you most,” he hugged you closer.

You bit your bottom lip, about to ask him to carry you to bed, when you were interrupted by a familiar voice, making you turn your heads immediately. 

“What the hell?” Dean almost yelled out of shock as he picked up a random piece of paper off the table you had been working at, “what is this?”

The genuine confusion and disgust of Dean’s tone made you laugh, burying  your head against Sam.

“That is her homework,” Sam answered with a smirk, not shocked at his brother’s behaviours.

 “No, no, even Einstein couldn’t figure this out,” Dean stated.

“Dean...that’s not even math,” Sam corrected with a witty smile, as if saying ‘this is why you didn’t go to college.’

“Well...whatever,” Dean shrugged, taking a hand out of his pocket, “get off my couch anyway!”

[nobantucelemyot]

Just because my path is different it doesn’t mean I’m lost : Powerful lessons I learned during fieldwork practical

There are important characteristics for an individual that wants to be successful in occupational therapy, those are dedication and striving for continued excellence. It includes commitment to making a positive change in a client’s life, being positive and making a positive impact on the field of occupational therapy. Being aware of the purpose, knowing why you are helping people, and realizing that true rewards come from seeing a client leave in a better physical and mental state than on your first encounter with them (Kashdan,2004 ). This psychosocial block was very demanding, it had a lot of ups and downs . Many lessons were learned . Some lessons were learned through trials and tribulations while some were learned through experience. No matter how I have learned my lessons, they will stay with me forever and help me  through other adventures of my life

Everly, Poff, Lamport, Hamant & Alvey (1994) studied the perceived stressors and coping strategies of occupational therapy  students. Most of the students mentioned their top stressors to be examinations, lack of free time, amount of work and marks. It is great to read that most of the student’s strategies for coping with these stressors usually included perseverance,  perseverance being something that is keeping most of us going.  It was perseverance that helped me  to continue trying even when I felt like I was failing . it was perseverance that told me “ do it differently next time “  when I tried new methods and they did not work. At the beginning of the fieldwork practical,  I had struggled with providing treatment that was meaningful to one of my clients as I was not aware of his strengths and weaknesses. I forgot things that should have been a priority  such as  knowing his level of creative ability. This was important as it would have reminded me of his capabilities and deficits when planning treatment. Considering and understanding the client’s culture and his  background was one of the challenges I also faced . This affected the effectiveness of some of the interventions provided to him  , some of the activities were unfamiliar and made him less keen and less motivated to continue with treatment. However,  what was also challenging with this client was  finding ways to communicate effectively with him  as he had poverty of speech and he gave monosyllabic answers . Therefore, as his interests were not truly known ,some activities were used as trials to see his response , this would have improved his engagement in leisure activities if he enjoyed the activities introduced to him.

I have grown  as an occupational therapy student as  I have learned to  immediately build rapport with my clients, and this influences how well  they comply with the treatment provided to them. I have  gained some skills in communicating with other health care professionals while working towards providing the best treatment for my clients. At the beginning of fieldwork , I struggled with asking for help from other health professionals such as background information  or the treatment they were currently working on with the client. I only focused on my treatment and did not understand the importance of  correlating  with  other health professionals . I was wrong, I only realized the benefits recently when I visited the social worker and the psychologist about one of my clients who was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Unfortunately, this client was suddenly  discharged and there were a lot of unanswered questions regarding the treatment she received before going home  especially since her readmission to the hospital was due to discontinuing medication. She lacks intellectual and emotional insight into her condition. These discussions with the psychologist and the social worker helped me to further provide treatment to my client even after her discharge. In the discussions it was highlighted that the client has a supportive brother that lives near her home.  I recalled that the client mentioned that her brother also owns a tuck-shop.  The client was returned home where she believes her neighbor is using witchcraft against her and she was usually alone during the day. Therefore, my treatment involved asking the client’s son to negotiate with his  uncle to allow the client to assist in the tuck-shop during the day . This would reduce her  encounters with her neighbor, it would prevent her  from being alone in the house and would increase social participation.

McKenna, Scholtes, Fleming & Gilbert (2001) studied whether the students’ attitudes, perceptions and career plans are changed through the undergraduate OT course. Clinical placements were seen as having the greatest impact on the students’ career plans, the clinical experiences of the participants were described as potent influences on future career plans. Earlier this week ,one of my classmates mentioned that she has found her niche and that is in the psychosocial aspect of OT. Indeed , fieldwork has impacted my career plans; the placement settings, the client’s, the treatment planning and the effectiveness of treatment has revealed to me which setting is good for me. This has been the most emotionally draining fieldwork block, but I still managed to pull through because of the support I received from colleagues and the supervisor. My dedication and perseverance were also very important . This block has helped me to realize that I also need coping strategies for my academic life and not to let academic stress paralyze me. Taking breaks and being away from work is essential.

My growth as an occupational therapy student can also  be measured by my ability to take in feedback provided by the supervisor and attempt to use it on future interventions for my clients and not only accepting the feedback provided but also being able to question aspects of the feedback that was not understood to ensure that previous mistakes are not repeated. Feedback is an essential part of effective learning; it enhances learning and improves performance. It has assisted me with understanding what is expected of me as an occupational therapy student and it continues to guide me on how to improve my skills in treatment in a clinical setting . Therefore, with all the feedback received whether good or bad,  it is important to remember that it is  meant to promote your progress.

With fieldwork completed together with our tests that is half the battle won, now one must tackle those exams and head off to summer vacation to replenish and recuperate for fourth year ( The finale year )!!

(2019 to 2020 jump, 2019)

References

Everly, J., Poff, D., Lamport, N., Hamant, C., & Alvey, G. (1994). Perceived Stressors and Coping Strategies of Occupational Therapy Students. American Journal of Occupational Therapy, 48(11), 1022-1028. doi: 10.5014/ajot.48.11.1022

Kashdan, T. B., Rose, P., & Fincham, F. D. (2004). Curiosity and exploration: Facilitating positive subjective experiences and personal growth opportunities.

lesson learned in life ironspringdesign.com. (2019). [Image]. Retrieved from https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwiywbmD-ZjlAhUEuRoKHVIhDcMQjhx6BAgBEAI&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.ironspringsdesign.com%2F5-major-lessons-learned-2017-digital-marketing%2F&psig=AOvVaw3DcH0rP0OPtjCL5X1GbJ4y&ust=1571046120443146

man jumping from 2019 to 2020 stock photo royalty vector. (2019). [Image]. Retrieved from https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&ved=2ahUKEwilkMH295jlAhUJCxoKHQGHBHcQjhx6BAgBEAI&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.fotolia.com%2Fid%2F253063849&psig=AOvVaw159IZliNZSz7aePrJa2-D6&ust=1571044564027516

McKenna, K., Scholtes, A., Fleming, J., & Gilbert, J. (2001). The journey through an undergraduate occupational therapy course: Does it change students’ attitudes, perceptions and career plans? Australian Occupational Therapy Journal, 48(4), 157-169. doi: 10.1046/j.1440-1630.2001.00248.x