Despite the title’s play on the name of one of those popular genetic-testing kits, I did not investigate my family tree in 2023. Even if I were interested in this info (I’m not), there was no space in my brain for it.
I enjoyed lots of blessings over the twelve months. However, because of the way I’m built—early in the year, a friend told me that I think too much. Yup!—one of my losses occupied so much time and space in my head that I found myself frustrated far too often.
The losses
Over many weeks of pondering this year-end piece, I find myself returning to the losses. Too many losses that have been too hard on my heart. Including the one loss that sent be back to a therapist.
I’ll get the losses out of the way, so that I can end on a high because, these December days, I’m riding a high of expectation for 2024—and, no, I’m not referring to the upcoming presidential election.
The first three months of 2023 brought the worst of the losses. In January, an old friend died. Sadly, he and I had been estranged since 2015. It was my hope to reconcile with him as soon as in the summer. The good news in this is that, after learning of his death, I took a chance and messaged his wife, also an old friend. She replied in a lovely way. And, when I saw her, we shared a big hug and warm conversation.
March brought the sudden and unexpected death of my sister. Here’s Sue, in the only photo we’ll ever have of all six children of John & Floye Eilers:
I wrote two tribute pieces about my only sister, with whom I had a splendid bond: Susan Mary Eilers Poynter and Snapshots of Sue.
Sue’s death was tough to take. It came a few weeks after the more challenging loss—the loss that sent me back to a therapist.
It’s a sensitive situation, with this beloved friend and me. I cherish knowing this person. Yet, things had to change.
Eventually, I will embrace that it was what needed to happen. I’d worn out Julie with my stories of where things stood, and how I was frustrated with a specific aspect of how we communicated. It wasn’t fair to Julie so, when we reached September, and after seven months I wasn’t able to talk about things in a way to show that I’d made any progress, Julie suggested I call the psychologist I’d seen in 2018.
My chief problem was twofold. First, the person continually popped into my head, throughout every day, literally dozens of times. I didn’t want it, and I couldn’t stop it; it just kept happening. When it did, I played around with it, attempting to come up with a way or ways to correct the things that continued to trouble me.
Irrational me thought I could contact the person, and achieve something beneficial. Rational me, thankfully, won out, convincing me that I was not going to do that and, if I did, it would blow up in my face.
It took Julie’s second suggestion for me to agree to call my psychologist. I have a lot of experience with therapists, because of my previous gender dysphoria. In Michigan, I saw one for a year. In Indianapolis, I engaged one for longer than that. I like writing about my seeing a therapist, because I see the value in talk therapy and like encouraging others, who might benefit.
Too many people stuff things, don’t address them, and suffer because of it. Even more, their relationships often suffer, all because they don’t put in the work to sort through things and find a way to improve.
In talking with my therapist about my current struggle, I needed to cover everything, do it efficiently, and not miss anything. Thus, I wrote an outline from which to tell him the story.
It took forty-five minutes to cover it. He barely had time to react to the copious notes he made. My next visit, he was ready for me.
Boy, was he.
His assessment came in two statements. His first assessment was the opposite of what I wanted to hear. His second assessment was worse. Harder to accept. One that I didn’t want to admit to myself, and even less to Julie.
Yes, I told her, then summed up things: “I just need to stop thinking stupid things.”
I knew it was true—what my therapist said, and what I need to do. What he told me, I know it’s why I’ve been hurting so badly over the loss of this friend. I just don’t want it to be true, because I can’t do a stinking thing about it except the hard thing: stop thinking about it and, when it pops into my head, don’t entertain it.
In November, I finally found that I was improving. I thought about the person a bit less often, and I found the edge not to be so sharp. Truly, it’s been the same as mourning the death of someone with whom you were intimately close: the sadness will always be there, but the memories tend to soften in a way that you can recall them and they don’t sting as they had.
The successes
I published two more books in 2023, my third and fourth novels. I completed a second memoir, which is in my editor-wife Julie’s hands, and another novel. I have ninety-percent written on yet another novel, a good start on another, and several ideas for more. I’m loving this new career.
For the fifth consecutive year, I surpassed 1,000 miles jogging and walking. In the eight years, since undertaking this year round, I’ve averaged nearly 1,100 per year.
I try to get out six days a week, but average around five. This has become such a part of my life that I miss it on days I can’t hit the road, typically in the morning. The health benefits are outstanding, not to mention the high I get both physically and mentally. Consider this my encouragement to you, to get out and walk.
In August, I made a trip to my hometown for the purpose of connecting with friends, some of whom I hadn’t seen in years. The trip was a total success. I wrote about it here: Mission: Montague.
The first stop of that trip was a visit with my oldest brother. I recognized it was the first time in my life I’d visited Jim by myself, which made it all the more precious.
The future
The day I returned from the therapist session in which I laid it all out, I had a phone chat with a pastor about the subject that is most dear to my heart: transgender education for Christians.
I’m at work writing this presentation, to be delivered this winter. I’ll leave it at that for now, with this final thought: I long for this to go well, to propel me to many more opportunities. When my gender dysphoria forced me into prematurely leaving the ministry at age 57, I was confident the Lord had something important for me to do for His Church. I so want it to be this.
Watch out, 2024. I might be turning 67 in the spring, but I am determined to accomplish a lot of good stuff for many years to come.
Eilers Pizza 