“Side effects”

Beth Childress
Teacher, author, and parent of adopted cat, Peeks -- read below for more :-)

Apr 13,2018

In this world, there is beauty and wonder and delight and deliciousness. I believe there is evidence all around that we were designed to love and crafted to cherish this beauty and silliness and warmth and comedy. I could google more impressive nouns, but you get my point, surely.

 And, by the way, “Don’t call me Shirley!!!”

Hee hee.

But here is another perspective that is inextricably linked to this “point.” Because we were made for imagination and wonder and beauty and all accompanying synonyms, when our world delivers us something other than beauty and love and warmth and [insert interminable list of synonyms], including but not limited to

…losing a job, losing a reputation, losing a friend, losing a loved one (emotionally, spiritually or physically), losing your fortune [this list is also, perhaps, interminable] this is not beautiful. It’s neither silly nor warm nor comedic nor delicious….

In fact it’s… devastating!

So, when we face one of these potentially debilitating factors, it is normal for us to feel that the sky is falling!

Because…in some ways, it is, and has – indeed – begun to fall.

Friends, it is natural for us to be depressed, anxious, paranoid and even hopeless if any of these horrific events has affected us.

I may divulge (at a later date) what our ancestors’ customs for mourning were.


(If you cannot wait any longer and insist on reading it now, I suggest that you start with

MOURNING by Cyrus Adler, Judah David Eisenstein.)


Otherwise, suffice it to say that I have been a willing participant of today’s “move on; you’ve got work to do” mentality (as evidenced in the title of the first book I published and in some of the articles I’ve written).

I was one of the “lucky ones.” I wasn’t forced to take a pill – then.

I had beauty and wonder and comedy and adventure waiting for me. I could put off “mourning” because I had an alternative universe awaiting me to engage me in its wonders (gorgeous male cheerleaders tossing me in the air and cradling me was not exactly torture).

But what if I didn’t?

Or even more likely, what if I was forced (I was, indeed, underage when my father died) to see a psychiatrist for help because I had been through such a tormenting life event?

And what if I didn’t have my world of wonder right in front of me, participating alongside of me with adventures?

I have nothing against psychiatrists! I am now seeing a psychiatrist. Please don’t get me wrong – many of them are brilliant and accommodating.


Ladies and gentlemen, statistics show that had I (as a teenager) been linked with a “typical” psychiatrist I would likely either not be alive to tell you this story or I would be in prison for homicide, violence, or mass murder.

Am I being extreme?  Of course!

Is what I am suggesting to you a lie?

Sadly, according to health journals and medical manuals,


You’ll see why I make such bold statements when you read my next article.

To be continued


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