In the Morning... Joy: A Personal Journey to Wholeness

By Mary Kathryn Clark

In her uniquely crafted memoir, In the Morning...Joy, Mary Kathryn Clark plays dual roles as she shares her own journey of self-discovery in the form of a dialogue between a seasoned counselor and Makai, a client seeking wisdom and guidance to help her through her own challenging life experiences.

Just like many other women, Cl

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gotham Books
• Release date: Sep 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887751078

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In the Morning...

Joy

A Personal Journey to Wholeness

Other Books by Mary Kathryn Clark

Colors of His Grace

Fifty inspirational readings based on the theme- Tapestry

Colors of His Abundance

Devotional readings that provide challenge to daily living in God’s Abundance

Do You Want to Get Well?

A 31 Day Guide to Daily Devotions

In the Morning...

Joy

A Personal Journey to Wholeness

by

Mary Kathryn Clark

Gotham Books

30 N Gould St.

Ste. 20820, Sheridan, WY 82801

https://gothambooksinc.com/

Phone: [phone]

© 2023 Mary Kathryn Clark. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by Gotham Books (September 13, 2023)

ISBN: 979-8-88775-106-1 (P)

ISBN: 979-8-88775-107-8 (E)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Dedication

To my clients and special friends who have shared their stories with me for the past twenty-five years

Acknowledgements

To Anne for her creative design for the cover

To Jeanie whose presence lives on in her art sketches

To those who read the manuscript and gave encouragement

To Darryl and those who assisted with computer skills

To my prayer warriors who prayed me through the writing

To Nancy who gave time and encouragement in editing the manuscript

To Beverly for her professional proofreading skills

To Winsome who provided the catalyst to complete the manuscript

To Ryan Allison and others at iUniverse for their assistance

To Bill who supported me through the good days and the bad

Introduction

The author shares her life story in a narrative dialogue between herself as a counselor and herself as the client. The words of the counselor are in italics.

The client, Makia, is the prototype of a woman who represents the following real-life experiences:

A woman who is a perfectionist and compulsive about details

A woman who did not receive emotional support as a child

A woman who was not taught independence

A woman who was starved for love and used inappropriate ways to find it

A woman who used busyness to fill a void in her life

A woman who wore a tight mask to avoid feeling her pain

A woman who had a May-December marriage

A woman who was married to a professional who put work before a relationship

A woman who had no natural children but had stepchildren

A woman who was a caretaker for a spouse with dementia

A woman who suffered physical and emotional abuse

A woman who experienced the pain of divorce

A woman who found serenity, peace and hope through God’s love and Christian counseling

At the end of the book, there are questions which are appropriate for group discussion or individual reflection.

My prayer is that you will connect with one or more of the faces of Makia and discover that God is the only One who can fill the void in your soul.

But to all who believed and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God. They are reborn! This is not a physical birth resulting from human passion or plan — this rebirth comes from God.

John 1:12-13

It was 8:30 on a crisp October morning when I turned the corner at Wolfe and Market streets past the old steel-blue Victorian house with burgundy shutters. Glancing at the sign in the front yard, Counseling Associates, I looked with pride at the list of six to find my name, Jane Breckenridge, Licensed Professional Counselor. Parking the car on the back lot and climbing the stairs to the second floor, memories burst with clarity of the high price and sacrifice made to become licensed as a counselor. In my early fifties, the decision was made to change careers from education to counseling. A wise advisor at the university suggested the licensing procedure be completed first, which would enable me to see clients; and if the doctorate were completed, that would be icing on the cake. Though coming within seventeen hours, the doctorate was not completed, and was one of the few life goals never accomplished. The weekly one hundred and sixty mile commutes to the university, getting home at midnight, and the two long, hot summers in classes to complete twenty-four more hours of graduate credit, are still remembered. Counting down to the completion of six hundred hours of supervision, the lonely hours spent in the attic bedroom studying for the board examinations and the orals were all a part of the arduous four years.

All my life there has been a burning passion to know who I am and why I behave as I do. Why am I obsessive-compulsive? Why am I anxiety prone? Why am I a perfectionist? Why am I intrigued with analyzing my own thoughts and others as well? Why can’t I be like those who never analyze and never think about why, and who seem free to live each moment without looking back or ahead to the future? But slowly and painfully the realization has come that I have to be content with who I am and that God had a purpose in making me just the way I am. The Apostle Paul learned that same lesson years ago when he wrote, Not that I complain of want, for I have learned in whatever state I am in, to be content. (Phil. 4:11) Do we all go into professions to meet our own emotional needs in order to find contentment?

Unlocking the door and entering the cozy room, the sun was streaming through the one long window that almost reached the ceiling. The room was large enough to hold a small couch which could be turned into a daybed, in case there was a snow storm; a comfortable chair, two bookcases, a desk, the blue handmade sand tray table and my chair. This chair had been purchased especially with a support to ease the back pain from sitting during the sessions. The valance at the long window and the chair cushion for the desk chair were made of matching sateen cotton material with soft tones of blue, rose and tan. There were several lamps with low wattage bulbs to create an atmosphere of comfort and safety and a small clock which I could see, but the client could not.

The appointment book lay open on the desk revealing my schedule for the day. There were five appointments, and two were new clients. Having a new client presented the challenge of a unique journey and the issues brought forth would lead to new discoveries. There was always the possibility that this person might be one of those clients with whom there would be a strong connection and would be remembered for years, or it could be one soon forgotten and the chart would have to be reviewed for hints as to who they were. I always wondered why there was such a strong connection with some and not with others, but each client was accepted as a gift and his or her story was honored.

Plans were always made to get to work early before the appointments began, in order to center, meditate, and seek God’s guidance for each person who walked through the door.

My thoughts went to Jesus being the ideal counselor and His knowledge about good mental health. He ate when He was hungry; rested when He was tired; healed some, but when His energy was depleted, He left many more to be healed (without any guilt) and went apart to pray. He had a small support group, and being Jesus, you would think He would treat them all the same, but He selected three out of the twelve with whom He was especially intimate. When He was with those disciples, they shared their stories and the daily problems that confronted them.

Many of my former clients flashed across my mind and the issues they had brought: codependency, physical and emotional abuse, early childhood rejection, and marriage and family problems. They had shared wonderful and sometimes frightening stories.

I prayed for guidance and wisdom. In a few minutes, a new client would arrive, and we would begin a new journey. God, in His ultimate wisdom and boundless creativity, made each of us unique, and Makia, one of His special creations, was about to become part of my life.

Session One

Bows on My Shoulders

Somehow, I knew from first glance that Makia would be one of those clients whose life would intertwine with mine in a positive way. After being seated, she said, I appreciate you pronounced my name correctly, few people do. She was not offended when she had called for an appointment being asked twice the pronunciation of her name. It had been phonetically spelled in my appointment book, Muh-ki-ah. The rhythmical, lilting sound of this name never heard before was intriguing. If I had a daughter, that name would be considered.

Her beautiful white hair styled with a modern cut made me guess she was in her mid-sixties. The matching denim jeans and shirt complemented the dangling earrings of blue and silver elephants. The soft tones of her make-up lessened the depth of the smile lines on each side of her mouth. Warm and genuine was her smile. She wore comfortable walking shoes. Observing her, contrasting ideas were in my head. She was attractive, had walked in with an air of confidence, giving the impression she had mastered life in a meaningful way. Why was she here?

And what brings you here?

She spoke in articulate tones. Having read many self-help books and been in counseling twice previously, identity and relationship issues still plague me. At times depression and anxiety are my demons, and these have been with me all my life.

She had succinctly described her problem and seemed to know the answers herself but needed time to process. Is not that true of all of us? The answer lies within ourselves, but we need someone to assist us in clarifying our thoughts. My hunch was there was more beneath the surface that Makia was cleverly hiding and maybe denying. Her presenting problem seemed well thought out and almost memorized. How long would it take and how difficult would it be to get to the real Makia?

Tell me a little about yourself.

I live alone in a condo here in West Point. My time is spent volunteering at the local food bank, reading, and weekly enjoying Scrabble with a few friends. Three times a week I exercise at the wellness center, and am meticulous about eating healthy foods. Oh, I don’t always follow the health rules, because at least once each summer a hot fudge sundae is enjoyed! My friends ask, ‘Why don’t you travel more?’ Having had the opportunity to go to Europe twice, Bermuda twice, Mexico, and seeing memorable places in the United States, travel does not interest me.

You have had an interesting life, and oh, I wish I could be so disciplined about sweets. That is my downfall.

What is your favorite part of the United States?

"Maine. When we were first married, the vacation month was spent at a small cottage on an isolated lake named Little Rattlesnake Pond, which was a tributary of Lake Sebago. I never saw a snake there, but loved to listen to the loons at night as they sang out over the waters of the pond. There was no hot water, and we took our baths in the lake using a bar of floating Ivory soap. Our walk was a mile and a half to the mailbox and a twenty-mile drive to dispose of the garbage.

"We were married in November, and the vacation to Maine had been anticipated for many months; the long drive of over six hundred miles was unending. After one day of rest, my husband said, ‘Today I am going fishing.’ ‘Not without me,’ I replied. He responded seriously, ‘If you want to go, there are rules. You cannot talk if you want to catch fish. You have to bait your own hook. And you have to learn to clean the fish.’

These rules did not discourage me because ‘first’ experiences always challenged me. I learned to cast well and to bait my hook with worms, minnows, but not frogs. They were the best bait, because when they landed in the water with the hook in their back leg, it caused them to jerk; a bass was almost sure to strike. Since the other rules had been obeyed, John was good about baiting my hooks with frogs. We fished every day from 4:00 in the afternoon until dark, and never came back empty-handed. A small motor for the boat had been purchased and stored there in the winter. My husband supplied our neighbors in the other six cottages on our side of the lake with fish for one month, either July or August. The quiet of the water, the blue sky over the lake, the thrill of catching a fish, the adventure of never knowing what the catch of the day would be, all filled my soul. As I look back, it is done with fear. The lake was probably thirty feet deep, and there were no life jackets in the boat. I could not swim, and my husband could not swim well enough to save him or me. Ample was my naïve faith in the boat and in my husband’s handling of the boat!

The expression on her face and her animated words indicated she had enjoyed the time in Maine. Though a bit naïve, she liked adventure. My thoughts went back to the list of presenting problems of identity issues, relationship issues, depression and anxiety. Going to the filing cabinet, I pulled out a sheet entitled, Characteristics of a Codependent. Relationships being one of her issues, this would be a good place to begin. She was asked to check those statements which were true of her. My hunch had been correct, as she was making many check marks.

When she finished she asked, How can you know me so well? I have checked eighteen of the twenty statements.

Before she gave her responses, I suggested she go back and mark the ones that were most true of her. She took a few moments, and then shared the following:

"My good feelings about who I am stem from receiving approval from you;

"My mental attention is focused on pleasing you;

"My self-esteem is bolstered by relieving your pain;

"I am not aware of how I feel, I am aware of how you feel;

"I am not aware of what I want; I ask what you want;

"The dreams I have for my future are linked to you;

My fear of rejection determines what I say or do.

Wow! Her feelings on the inside are very different from her demeanor. We were on the right track.

In order for me to better understand the beginnings of some of these feelings of dependency; let’s look at your family of origin.

Reaching for a pencil to sketch her genogram, I discovered her family tree did not take much space. She was an only child. Both sets of grandparents were deceased. Her mother and father were both living, and there was no history of serious illness or drug dependency.

I am sure you have heard or read that the first eight years of our lives are paramount in the development of our personality and character. What are some of your memories of those early years?

She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a small book. This was my baby book, and it reveals interesting facts about my birth and early years. For some people, their last days are lived in a nursing home, but life began for me in a large, red brick home known as Mrs. Johnson’s Nursing Home located in a small community of perhaps less than five thousand people. There was no sign out front and no blinking lights for an emergency room entrance. Mrs. Johnson was a midwife and if there were difficulties, Dr. Grubbs or Dr. Kipps, the only two local doctors, would be called to assist.

Picking up the baby book, she read, Weight was five and one- half pounds, and the birth time was 1:15 a.m. on the fifth day of May, 1937. First tooth came in at five months and first outing was at two months and 14 days after birth.

I was surprised at her birth date; with her attractive dress and healthy body, she looked younger.

"Immediately after leaving Mrs. Johnson’s Nursing Home, my mother went to her mother’s home to receive assistance in taking care of the new baby. I have heard the story often that my grandmother came into my mother’s room after the first night and asked if she had fed me. Mother said, ‘No.’ Grandmother said, ‘You are going to let this baby starve?’

"My parents had a son five years earlier, and a degenerative heart disease had claimed his life when he was five days old. This was a loss I grieved many years later because my life would have been so different had he lived. His death was never discussed, but I knew he was buried in an orchard at my dad’s family home. Because of his untimely death, it was natural that I was overprotected.

When I was eighteen months old, my mother had a nervous breakdown, and we returned to Mrs. Johnson’s Nursing Home for care for two months. Daddy visited us daily after he got off from work. Though this event was never talked about in later years, my mother’s illness had a significant impact on my life and was the beginning of my feeling the strong need to take care of her. Another counselor told me this was the beginning of my separation anxiety and my strong fear of rejection.

I agree. To leave your home at that early age and not to have the emotional support of your mother was traumatic.

When she returned home, she was very thin and often made milkshakes with vanilla and raw eggs for extra nourishment. She was not in good health, either physically or emotionally, until daddy began his own business, and she began working with the public. Apparently, mother was not happy staying home with a child.

What feelings do you have when you say your mother was not happy staying home with you?

Very sad, it was my earliest rejection. I have longed for a mother who loved children and wanted to be with me.

Apparently not wanting to deal with feelings, she quickly began, I was given a double Southern name and not until making application for a passport did, I discover that mother had changed my name. The name on the birth certificate was Mary Kate, but she had it changed to Makia. This having been done prior to my entering school, I never knew the name was not official. This incident was related to someone a few years ago and the person said, ‘Your mother was a courageous, creative woman to change your name.’ My perception was she was playing around with my identity and keeping secrets.

It is apparent your identity issues have long been with you.

In the entire baby book, reference is made to me as Baby, not my name. Perhaps mother had identity issues, also. Another entry in the book states, at fifteen months, she enjoys a book more than any toy. Baby made her first visit to the home of one of her little playmates when she was twelve months old.

That is incredible! Today children are taken to social occasions at less than a month.

Makia acknowledged that socialization was sparse in her early years. There were no nursery schools or public kindergartens, and if there were, my parents would not have had sufficient funds for tuition. The only group experience was at a small rural church. Annually there was a Christmas ‘entertainment’ and Santa visited, presenting each child with an orange and a small box of candy. When I was either three or four, I said this recitation, ‘Bows on my shoulders, slippers on my feet, I’m mother’s darling, don’t you think I am sweet?’

Already I was beginning to sense a disconnect. How can I be so sweet and be referred to as Baby and have a mother who doesn’t want to stay at home with me? Who am I?

And these questions have plagued you for many years.

From my birth until I was five years of age, we lived in a frame house with no indoor plumbing. There was no grass in the yard, just hard dirt. I remember mother hanging a cardboard sign in the window indicating the number of pounds of ice needed. One of my earliest recollections was sitting at the kitchen table listening to my parents discuss how daddy’s $15.00 per week income could be stretched to pay the bills. He worked as a clerk in a hardware store and later in a grocery store. Even then, I felt responsible. Was it somehow my fault they were so poor?

Codependency and care-taking were in the grass-roots stage early in your life. You seemed to feel responsible for all of the adult decisions in your family.

"Yes, that is right. I never had a childhood because everything was serious and tough. The only game remembered was Old Maid, and the only fun time was dressing up in adult clothes and clunking around in high-heel shoes by myself.

"When I was four, mother planned a birthday party and invited the children in my Sunday school class. I remember hating being blindfolded to play ‘Pin the Tail on the Donkey.’ My parents attended church with me with regularity. They were not religious; it was just what good people did on Sunday morning. And later when daddy was in business, he said it was good for business to be seen at church.

After my birthday party, I was standing in the front yard one day waiting for the bachelor who worked at the local bank to pass my house. He usually spoke to me, and on this day, he appeared to be interested as I related to him ALL the presents received for my birthday. When I told mother about telling Jim Bob about the presents and was repeating the list to her, she said, ‘You didn’t tell him you got underpants, did you? That is something you don’t tell.’ Perhaps this was the beginning of my sex education. You couldn’t even talk about underpants to a member of the opposite sex. This is said in jest because there was no sex education!

Unfortunately in those days, sex was something not taught or talked about.

No doubt I was the typical spoiled only child who wanted her way and was usually chosen, for this reason or some other, to take the collection of pennies to the Sunday school superintendent. Each week he asked, ‘How old you are?’ ‘Chix’, I answered. One Sunday, the superintendent repeated the same question, and being weary of the question, I am told I responded, ‘I am chix, and I will be so glad when I get to be cheven, because I never could say chix!’ If I had gone to school in later years, speech therapy would have corrected the difficulty I had in pronouncing certain letters. Perhaps my being a redhead was beginning to surface in being a bit feisty.

I bet you were a feisty little redhead!

Sundays made an indelible impression on me in those early years. After going to church, in the afternoon we would visit both of my grandparents’ homes. When we left the small town, my mother would usually have a headache and would begin crying because she did not want to go to my daddy’s family’s home. We got to mother’s family’s home first and daddy would stay in the car. My tearful mother would go in the house, and her mother would console her and say, ‘Go on to Bryan’s home. Be nice. It won’t last long, and then you can come back here.’ Mother would straighten up, stop crying, and we would drive the remaining eight miles to my other grandparents’ home. The visit would be tense and brief, and after we left, mother would not cry anymore and her headache would diminish. I adored my maternal grandparents and I KNEW they loved me. One of the fondest memories was sitting on my granddaddy Bill’s lap and sensing he was so proud of me. Grandmother Mollie has always been my role model. She worked hard, seemed to be confident of her tasks and who she was, and here I am still wondering.

"Yes, Makia, I hear your struggle.

But for now, we must stop. You have given much information about your early years and the events which have affected you for years. We will look at those next week.

After we made the next appointment and Makia went downstairs, I realized this was going to be a longer-than-usual case. She wanted to give details and enjoyed relating past events. At what point would the façade come unraveled?

Session Two

One Package of M and M’s

I anticipated Makia’s next visit because she was a good storyteller and the events shared were giving me valuable insights as to why she was here. It reminded me of family reunions where the same stories are repeated over and over by the same family members.

As Makia walked in and sat down, I said, I hope you have had a good week.

Knowing I would be talking about those early years; those experiences have been fresh in my mind.

Please share them.

Across the street from our home lived a wealthy elderly woman. Because she liked and respected daddy, she arranged a financial loan to make it possible for him to buy an old Victorian house. In the kitchen was a pencil sharpener attached to the ceiling- to-floor kitchen cabinet. When we would go look at the house from the outside, I would always ask daddy to lift me up to the kitchen window to see if the pencil sharpener was still there. At age five, we now lived in a house with indoor plumbing, but more important, I had my very own pencil sharpener.

Sounds like you were more interested in the pencil sharpener than toys.

In the parlor were a huge overstuffed sofa and two chairs upholstered with a short nubby-like material that would wear forever but was scratchy to the bare skin. It would take a derrick to move each piece. One of my earliest childhood memories was spending hours in one of those chairs looking at the Sears Roebuck catalog. The chair arms were wide and tall and seemed to enfold me in a caring way. Careful selections were made for the brother and sister I longed for, and toys were checked knowing full well there was no money to buy them. Being alone in a big chair is one of my lucid childhood memories.

"It makes me sad to picture you in that big chair with your fantasies. When most children of your age were playing with brothers and sisters,