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[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

Why Music Therapists Should Care About Feminism Too

 Feminism is important and I think as a profession, music therapists undervalue it. Predominately female, we buy into the idea that we’re above gender inequalities. It’s a non-issue for us. Sure, we serve clients from marginalized populations - the elderly, the poor, those with mental health problems, the mentally or physically disabled. The list goes on and on. But as a population we aren’t marginalized. Girls run the world... Or at least the profession.

‘Glass ceiling’ is a term many are familiar with. There’s often talk of phenomenal women “shattering” glass ceilings. Essentially, the ‘glass ceiling’ refers to the unofficially acknowledged barriers that prevent the ascension of women and other minority populations into the top jobs.

But how does this relate to music therapy which is predominately female? Cue the ‘glass escalator’. When men enter female dominated professions, rather than encountering a glass ceiling due to their minority status as expected, they receive advantages and opportunities that promote them in their careers. It’s like they are on an escalator ushering them to the top. This occurs due to a myriad of reasons: they’re seen as more competent, they’re expected to want to advance, they bond with their male supervisors better, and they identify with the more masculine aspects of their job.

Only 12% of music therapists are male. However, men

comprised 24% of music therapists with doctoral degrees in 2004

held 27% of all music therapy faculty positions in 2004

authored 30% of the articles in the Journal of Music Therapy (JMT) from 2000-2005

authored 29% of the articles in Journal of Music Therapy from 2011-2015

serve as chief editors in 2 out of the 8 peer-reviewed journals published in English that have ‘music therapy’ in their title

comprise 31.25% (10/32) of the current Journal of Music Therapy editorial board

Furthermore, Edwards and Hadley found that the average male music therapist makes approximately $11,000 more annually than their female counterparts. (This was in their 2007 article Expanding Music Therapy Practice: Incorporating the Feminist Frame. It’s also where I got the first 3 statistics). Considering the the median salary for a music therapist in 2015, was $48,000, $11,000 is a LARGE sum.

However despite these discrepancies, many music therapists feel that gender bias and discrimination done not have an impact on their daily or professional lives. In a 2013 study, Sandra Curtis found that 46% of female respondents reported it having no impact. 46% of female respondents... They argued that progress had been made and that believing it had an impact was a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Based on the numbers and personal experiences (Have you not had a male colleague initially seen as more competent?) I argue that music therapist need feminism. Gender inequalities exist. Just because we’re female-dominated doesn’t mean we’re exempt. Perhaps it means we need feminism more. But that’s just my opinion.

(I would like to mention my thesis is on oppression, which is an umbrella term for all -isms. I’m exploring occupational oppression within music therapy as an explanation for negative workplace factors that lead to high job strain and subsequent burnout. It’s kinda cool.)

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

Why the Hike?

On this wonderful Valentine’s Day evening, I find myself sitting on the couch with the the old man watching one the the worst movies ever, Grown Ups 2. He’s spent the entire movie laughing, so that might say more about the quality of movie than anything. Fart jokes, explosive diarrhea, the works. I guess it could be worse. I could be sitting home alone watching multiple rom-coms while eating an entire heart-shaped pizza. That has definitely has never happened before...

As my departure date rapidly approaches, I’ve been doing a lot thinking and questioning about what I want and why I’m even considering thru-hiking. I also had a dude on Tinder judge me because I’m not a expert hiker. (Seriously dude? you’re on Tinder... On Valentine’s Day). However, sometimes putting thoughts into words is helpful and if I send it into the inter-verse, someone other than myself is holding me accountable. And without further ado... My thoughts.

I am thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail because...

I want to know that I can. Thru-hiking is the ultimate combination of the physical and the mental. For years I was an “I can’t” person when it came to the physically challenging. “I can’t run 5 miles.” “I can’t do a push up.” Rowing changed that for me, well made it better. I still struggle with the mental part of physical challenges. At Bow Ball last year, Jeremy (my rowing coach) made a comment about how I had come to realize how physically capable I was and he was excited to see what physical feats I would accomplish. I want to test that mental toughness and know what I am made of. I know that I’m going to hit breaking points, but the question is will I get past them? Or will they break me?

I want to know that I can live without. I have a closet full of clothes that I don’t wear, but need. A drawer of makeup I haven’t put on since high school, but need.  I need my car. I need my techno gadgets. I need, I need, I need... I am privileged and have so much while others have so little and yet seem content. I want to step away from my stuff and go to basics. I don’t need all of things I think I need. It’s easy to get wrapped up in keeping up with the Joneses. On Facebook this week 3 friends got new vehicles or engaged. I find myself envious. I don’t want to be engaged or have a new car, but how can I keep up being unemployed living at the Casa del Bybee (temporarily of course)? What would happen if I quit focusing on objects and started focusing on experiences?

I want to know who I am better. Thoreau went into the woods to find himself. But knowing what I am capable of and knowing what I need to be happy, will in turn hopefully solidify the image of who I am. (20-something angst right there)

I want to be better at being uncomfortable. 

I have the rest of my life to work. Why am I rushing into the labor force? 

When else in the next 30 years will I have less responsibility? No love interest (besides my mother), no job, no house payment, no car payment, no babies, no pets. I am postponing my thesis and paying $80/month in student loans [insert scary noise]

Life is short. Take risks. Make poor decisions. Do stupid shit. Create awesome stories.

I like the idea of being outdoorsy. (That might be a less suitable reason for hiking).

It’s a whole set of skills I’ve yet to acquire.

To fill the void that rowing has left. Rowing isn’t always fun. What makes it enjoyable is that we’re doing this terrible workout together.

When I successfully thru-hike the Appalachian Trail I will...

Fully know what I am capable of. I will know what what will or will not break me.

Have lived ~6 months with only what I can carry on my back. Perhaps it will put my need for stuff in perspective.

Have the story of a lifetime.

Have gained a new level of confidence.

Be in fantastic shape. Maybe I can run a marathon without having to really train for a marathon (if a 6 month hike doesn’t count as training)

Have a clearer understanding of what I want.

Have gained a whole new set of skills.

Be more authentic.

Have seen a great portion of the United States by foot.

Apply the skills and experiences gained towards relationships and daily life.

Be stronger, independent-er, female-er. (Well maybe not female-er)

Be more appreciative.

Have met and created genuine relationships with a wonderful group of people. Perhaps people that I would not otherwise consider getting to know.

If I give up on the Appalachian Trail I will...

Be incredibly disappointed in myself.

Not have accomplished everything that I hoped to when setting out on my hike.

Have to explain to every person that knew I was thru-hiking why I didn’t complete my hike. (embarrassing)

Have allowed my current limits/fears/worries to define what I can accomplish.

Have let the “I can’t” mantra win the mental battle when faced with physical adversities. I’m stronger than that.

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

So Now What?

First I’d like to start off this post with a story about prunes. More specifically telling of how I was eating prunes and one disappeared. I thought, “Wow, that was magic!” Two hours later, I noticed a lump in my shirt. It was the magic prune. I ate it. So if you were wondering how adulting is going for me...

But just call me Molly Bybee, Music Therapist, and yes I expect the full title. Just like if/when I go back to school for my Ph.D., I want to be called Dr. Bybee. However, let me take a step back. If you haven’t seen my super popular post, I passed my music therapy board exam Thursday. Got that MT-BC credential. The test was both more difficult and less challenging than I expected. Yes, knowing Debussy was an Impressionist composer will certainly aid me in music therapizing. But since getting that, “You passed” score, I’ve been telling my family how smart I am. “I’m just like so smart.” “You must be grateful for giving birth to such a smart being.” I bet this chicken tastes better because you’re sharing it with someone so smart.” *Promptly drops chicken down shirt*

So now what?

 I’ve become a professional thesis writer. It’s my goal to have the first three chapters (Introduction, Review of Lit, and Methodology) done by March 1. That’s like 50+ pages. And for the love of God, don’t dare care it a paper. I’m studying occupational oppression within music therapist. Like the everyday inequalities or lack of autonomy music therapists experience because of their profession. I want to know, does it exist? and what does it look like? It’s a really fascinating topic, trust me. I’d love to talk to you about it. But currently I just go to coffee shops, glare at annoying people, and look like a hobo.

Prep for my hike. I hit the trail in little over a month. How does one really prepare for a 2200 mile hike? Well, I have most the gear for my pack and it fits. That’s a big deal. I might carry it around a little bit. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking of what I want from this hike, but that’s time for another post.

Spend quality time with the ‘rents. Maybe I should add spend more time with friends on here.

Periodically have a crisis and send in job applications. I don’t want to be hired until August, but I figure if I can get interviews now, I might be able to get them then.

Life here is nothing but exciting.

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

Virginia in Postcards

After the epic trip home (ice storm Jonas), I’m finally home and partially unpacked. At one point I became so overwhelmed I had to sit down and eat some chocolate.... priorities. When one lives in the gargantuan room, you don’t realize how much stuff you have. Because there’s like, so much space.

But on to the whole point of this post. I like postcards. I like mailing postcards. I like receiving postcards. I like skimming through bins of old postcards. For years I’ve mailed postcards from my various adventure to friends and family. Here’s a compilation of postcards from the last 6 months. Some are blank because I’m becoming a postcard hoarder. I also think I mailed more home, but they’ve disappeared along the way. (Blaming USPS there).

“Hi family (mostly Mom), Trying all the coffee shops in town just for you. It’s been  an incredibly difficult task as you imagine. I must drink this great coffee. Had a banana rum bar just for you. It was great.” -Molly

“Dearest family, In case you were wondering, Appalachian State football is a read BFD (I’ll let you Google that). Luckily I showed up wearing black so I blended in w/ the natives.” -Your favorite daughter

“So... Appalachian State football is an acutal thing. Wish I cared more... or at all. Trying to blend in with the natives. Go Mountaineers!”

“I scrambled up the side of a mountain, at times climbing dangerous looking wooden ladders. This is further proof that I am definitely fit to hike 2000 miles. 12 miles = 2000 miles.”

“Scrambling over boulders. Climbing dangerous looking wooden ladders. Trying to scale rock walls, plus tons of just walking. All is made better by sleeping in your car the night prior.”

“Epic weekend. Random brothers. Giant house. Cheering on the Royals with other Kansas City transplants. Wine tasting, party of one. Great beer. Cool city. Good time had by all... but mostly me.”

“Not for you Kris and Mark Bybee!”

“Mumsy, I’d make a joke about how going to the Plaza lighting could be dangerous, you know groups of large people. However, that might be off. Weird not being home to not watch it. On thing can be said, KC damn hard to get in. Harder to get out.”

“Kansas City, not that bad. It might be kinda cool. Not sure if it ranks up w/ Austin or Portland (not that I’ve been to Austin) Home.”

“Old Man Bybee, ’Sure the roof has issues and there might be water damage, but it was such a great bargain.’”

“The guide told me, ‘Now you can point to a nickel & say I’ve looked out those doors!’ And by me, he was telling the little kids who kept standing on my feet. Nonetheless it’s nice to have a new party trick. The others were getting old. After the Biltmore, the house seemed tiny. But I guess pre-revolutionary houses were built on a smaller scale than the gilded age. Go figure. I’d never guess w/ the time period names.”

“Spent the day with my bud Thomas Jefferson, aka TJ. All in all he’s not a lively fellow. He does have a nice house and gardens though. I imagine it’s prettier not in November.”

“Today a 96 y/o man told me he was going to steal me away & take me home w/ him & lock me away. Another 93 y/o gentleman tried to touch my belt buckle (& not out of innocence). Later he bragged to everyone that such a pretty lady had come to his room & sang for him. Appamattox was cool too. Living history & history history.”

“Mother Bybee, SOS. I am out of stamps. I am afraid that I might begin to resemble Lee here without them. Dead & marble. PS Looking for stocking stuffer ideas... Postcard stamps.”

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

Farewell to Old Virginny

I’ve struggled to write this post all weekend. My brief sojourn as a Virginian is rapidly coming to an end. Four days separate me from the road back to Kansas City. Last week my supervisor asked me if I was looking forward to it and I said, “I don’t know.” And then she asked me if I was sad to go, and I said, “I don’t know.” Then she asked me what I felt and I said, “I don’t know, indifference?” (Actually I said “apathy” because I couldn’t think of the word “indifference” but I really meant “indifference.”) 

My emotions about this internship have been mixed at best. However, it’s easy to become sucked into the bad and let that cloud your entire experience. The last two months I have been profoundly unhappy and at times so angry I could scream. I’ve never considered myself to be an angry person, but the anger from injustice and lack of power festers and grows. I’ve told myself, “Let it go,” so many times...  And like Elsa I’ve been tempted to run away, turn a mountain to ice, and diva it up. However, unlike Elsa I don’t have the power to turn things to ice nor live in running distance to a mountain. Damnit...  Eventually the anger dissipates.

However, I don’t want you to think that my time here has been all bad because it hasn’t. In the classroom, they tell you your internship is a huge growing experience and I believe I have grown exponentially as a music therapist and a person. I’m:

significantly better at guitar/know a broader range of music

minorly better at piano

more confident when introducing myself to others and holding a random conversation (I might be okay ordering a pizza on the phone now)

better at listening, instead of just talking

more willing exude compassion and reach out and touch someone on the arm or shoulder if they need it, despite physical appearances

more in the moment

(just keep adding nice things about me)

When thinking back, what I will miss the most are the relationships I have built with the Veterans here and knowing that I have a purpose and am making a difference. It’s being told “you bring light into my life,” or “I always feel happier after you’ve come.” It’s performing a song with a client and them stepping outside their comfort zone and them singing for the first time in front of an audience. I have met so many wonderful people and will miss the random stories they provide. I can do so little, and yet it can mean so much. Bringing joy into others lives brings joy into your own. I’ve always kinda liked music therapy, but it hasn’t been until this journey that it ever really felt right.

I’ve also had the opportunity to explore the area around me. From sleeping in my car/house in Boone, to the Biltmore in Asheville, to Jefferson’s Monticello, to deciding I was going to hike all 2200 miles of the Appalachian Trail. Last weekend, I completed everything on the Virginia bucket list. 

As with the VA, I’ve met wonderful people along the way, have garnered stories of my (mis)adventures, drank some great and not-so-great beer, and have gained a greater appreciation of our nation. It’s easy to sit at home and watch Netflix or study or whatever excuse you want to make. It’s more difficult to get up and actually do something. I’ve always wanted to be a do-er but so often I find excuses. Even this weekend I was going to go to DC (you can take the Megabus for $15 round trip) but talked myself out of it (too cold, odd hours, I have a presentation to put together, etc...). But you don’t remember the Netflix movies you’ve watched or the trash novels you stayed in bed to read. 

As I pack, or at least think about packing. I look forward the upcoming adventures I have planned, returning to my friends and family at home, and even getting back to my thesis. I will miss the people here. Time adds a rose color lens. However, if I never see my co-intern again, that would be okay too.

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

Why Hello There 2016

I’ve attempted to write this post several times, however for whatever reasons they haven’t panned out. It definitely hasn’t been because I don’t have enough time. Although I am very busy binge watching terrible rom-coms on Netflix. So maybe the time factor has been a reason. Anyway the whole reason of this post... is like, whoah where did you go 2015?? (Insert a list of all the cool things I did 2015) (Skip down if you just want to see the photo montage)

Traveled to Seattle with the brother and did not kill him (Reminder Douglas you still owe me $200)

All things rowing. First athletic medal EVER. PR’d my 2k. Jen Jewett Oarswoman of the Year. Almost died because of the Michigan Men’s Novice 8. ACRA Midwest Regional Women’s 8. Grand finalist and 4th place finish in the Women’s Single at the ACRA National Championships.

Finished coursework for my Master’s.

Turned a quarter of a century old.

Ended my time in Lawrence and moved to Southern Virginia to begin my internship at the Salem VAMC

The local postwoman told my mother I was funny after reading my postcards (this might be illegal)

Adventures in Richmond, Boone, Asheville, plus numerous other places. I made a list of things I wanted to do, and did it.

Learned a ton about myself and as a music therapist

Decided I was going to hike the Appalachian Trail.

(cue photo montage)

...And the photo montage ends with me looking out toward the mountains for my future. Incredibly poignant right? I should just Photoshop a big 2016 right in there. 

I’m not one to choose to have New Years resolutions, but what do I want from 2016?

To chose to do, rather than hmm-ing and haw-ing. This also follows the line of making decisions.

Not die on the Appalachian Trail

Something all 26 year olds hope for, a job that comes with benefits

Finish this internship (only 3 weeks left) and become Molly Bybee MT-BC (music therapy-board certified)

Make time for friends and family (Netflix binge-ing only provides one so much satisfaction)

Choose happiness

Welcome 2016!

Also I made these really cool hiker cards. Just slightly proud of them. Also I have more than a reasonable amount to pass out. #overzealous

Check out my hiking specific blog www.trailjournals.com/ATBybee 

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

Not Quite A.T. Trials Yet

O.M.G. it’s been like totes forever. But seriously it’s been a while since I bothered to get around to blogging. I would like to say I’ve been busy (you know with the internship or my potential thesis writing) but that would make me a big fat liar. I’ve been busy if you call Netflix bingeing and Facebook stalking bingeing. The end of my internship and my sojourn in the great state of Virginia is almost at an end. I travel home for Christmas on Tuesday (Yipee!) and when I return I only have 3 weeks left. I have much to say on the entire experience and if you were wondering, yes I am quite popular with the 90+ crowd. Now if only I could transfer that popularity over to my own age group. But anyway I have more important matters at hand. I’ll get around to the internship stories at a later date... maybe.

Annnnywaaaay... [insert drum roll] if you missed my epic public announcement via Facebook (all important announcements obviously come via Facebook). My time spent in the mountains has obviously transformed me into an outdoorswoman and I’ve been inspired to hike the Appalachian Trail beginning mid-March. Part of this is ironic because only a year earlier my response to camping would have been, “Yeah I camp. Camp in hotels.”

But now for a brief explanation of the Appalachian Trail (you can skip to the next paragraph if you already know what it is). The Appalachian Trail (or known as the A.T.) is an approximately 2,220 mile marked trail extending from GA to Maine, passing through 14 states. It It takes about 5-7 months to thru-hike it (go all the way) and about 2,000 people attempt it each year (only about 10% actually complete it). It’s the oldest and most popular of the three long-distance hikes in the US, the other two being the Continental Divide and the Pacific Crest.

However, the why is the most important aspect. My reasoning (and the argument I’ve proposed to my mother), is that I want to test my inner strength. I want to know that I can get by without the modern “necessities,” that I can be self-sufficient. I want to experience life in it’s most simple and perhaps most authentic form. I want to go to sleep at night physically drained from hard work. However, at the heart of it all I want to know that I am capable of completing such a feat. Also carpe diem. I don’t know when else in the next 20 years that I will have the chance to live off the grid for 6 months. I don’t have a job, a house, a boyfriend, a pet, or really any responsibilities. I have a car that’s paid off and $80/month minimum student loan payments. Mid-July my insurance runs out. At some point I’m going to have to write me thesis to actually get my Master’s degree. But that’s it. 

As I’ve proposed my grand plan to others I’ve gotten two types of responses: the supportive “That’s so cool!” which is great and I love to hear and the more often skeptics/doubters/”That’s so dangerous.” I hate explaining myself to the second group because I have to repeatedly defend myself and my decisions. When I tell people, I really just want them to be excited for me that I’ve decided to undertake such a challenging adventure. But here are some typical questions and responses:

“You’re going alone??” [Insert incredulous look]

Yes, I’m going alone, and alone I meant with potentially 2,000 of my new BFFLs. I don’t have anyone super keen on joining me and I don’t want that to be the reason that I don’t do it. Plus who says I would like whoever I went with a week in anyway.

“Isn’t that dangerous/Aren’t you afraid of being attacked?” 

The world is a dangerous place. It’s probably more dangerous walking in the VA parking lot or going to Wal-Mart alone. I don’t think you can let fear define you.

“Aren’t you worried about bears?”

Truthfully I’m more scared of mice attacking me in my sleep. I feel like that’s probably a more logical fear too.

“Well carry a gun on you.”

Once I shot a gun and almost cried. I think the world is a safer place without me possessing a firearm. Plus I’m trying to cut weight. Guns are heavy.

“I would never let my daughter do that. Isn’t your mother worried?”

Funny they never ask about my father’s opinion. (In truth, I don’t know what it is.) But I’m fortunate enough to have parents who support (most) my endeavors. The world can be a dangerous place for a woman, but being aware of your surroundings and being smart go a long ways. And yes, my mother will probably (definitely/absolutely) worry.

But I’ll come back for more details at a later point. My departure date isn’t I’ve been obsession over camping equipment. I’m probably terribly under-prepared. However, I’m a jumper-inner and stick with things.

However, the invite is out should anyone like to join me. For a week, month, however long.

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

I Thought the Mountains were Calling

As I feel like I often start these posts, it’s been a while and I feel like I need to bring you up to speed. Well, more like I want to talk about my Labor Day weekend (just a little belated) and then maybe some other things. I don’t know. We’ll see where this post takes us.

Anyway, Labor Day weekend. I was lucky enough to have a three day weekend. The VA doesn’t let us work on national holidays such as Labor Day and Columbus Day but I may have to work Thanksgiving. Explain that one. I don’t get it... Government. But for my long weekend I decided I had to go somewhere exciting. Hostels in Asheville and Wilmington fell through (stay tuned because I’m going to Asheville over Columbus weekend), so my next thought was of course, Boone, NC. Actually I was struggling with coming up with somewhere and a buddy mentioned Boone was a cool town and I jumped on board. It’s approximately 2 1/2 hrs south of Roanoke. The game plan was to bum around town on Saturday, camp out on the Blue Ridge Parkway in a campground that night, hike Grandfather Mountain on Sunday, stay in a hotel and drink some beer and celebrate my hike (safely of course), and then bum around in the morning Monday and head “home.” Little did I know what a saga this would become. It’s one for the record books.

Appalachian State Football is Kinda a Big Deal... I Guess...

I stumbled into town about noon on Saturday to find that the entire downtown of Boone swarmed by fans decked in black and gold. And no, this wasn’t the black and gold of Mizzou or Iowa fans. I guess Appalachian State football is kinda a big deal. Being from the Midwest, these Southern-ish schools hold no relevance to me. Let me tell you about the Big 12... Probably incorrectly. So actually let me not talk about college football at all. Parking was not be found downtown and all eating establishments were packed. I was annoyed. How dare these football fanatics infringe on my Labor Day escapades! Luckily when the game started, downtown cleared out. However, they returned just in time for dinner. But the area sure was pretty.

Car and Tent All-in-One

With downtown once again crazed I began my hunt for dinner elsewhere. Unfortunately I didn’t find anything appetizing (mostly okay to eat at alone) and ended up sharing my dinner with Ronald. I also drove 35 min the wrong direction from the campground (it was a beautiful drive) and when I reached it, not only was it dark but all tent campgrounds were full. You know, Labor Day weekend, people might like to camp. On the Parkway there are overlooks you can stop with trails leading up to the overlooks. I was traveling with just a hammock and a tarp so I definitely could have just picked two trees and called it a night (they discourage this but whatever). However, I decided I would just sleep in my car. At 25 I am known for my wise decisions. After a brief chat with the mother I settled in for the night. In case you were wondering, I’m too big to sleep in my car comfortably. It did save me $16 though.

Tackling Grandfather Mountain

After a not-so-short drive to find a bathroom and water bottles (the weekend was filled with me getting lost), I was ready to tackle Grandfather Mountain Sunday morning. You can either pay $20 to visit the Grandfather Mountain attraction or hike the 7 miles out (according to the internet) and not pay. Hike fo’ free obviously. What they don’t tell you is that the entire trail is rocky/covered in roots and at points you have to scramble over/up rocks and climb rickety ladders and includes scaling two peaks, Calloway and MacRae. All in all it was an awesome hike. It’s an experience and the views were spectacular, but needless to say I did not make it the 7 miles to the Swinging Bridge (aka the Grandfather Mountain attraction) which is really closer to 8.5 miles. I got to the bottom of Calloway Peak, looked up to the top of MacRae and thought... I might die on my return if I make it up there. There was also a sheer wall of rock in front of me. So I sat down, swallowed a bit of my pride and turned around.

If you look close you can see the Viaduct of the Blue Ridge Parkway.

About 3 miles in. I was tired from my night in the car/tent. Also perfect time for a snack.

From the top of Calloway Peak looking to MacRae. Calloway is the 2nd highest peak in the Appalachians (fun fact).

Because I obviously needed a pic to prove I was there.

The last two miles of the hike were torture. I’ve never been so excited to see my car. Pampering myself after my big adventure, I treated myself to a banana cream pie shake. Yum yum.

AAA to the Rescue... Kinda

After my shake/mountain adventures I was ready for a long nap. Fortunately I had stumbled across a Hampton Inn for less than $40. What a steal! Honestly the price still makes me smile. (I sure do love a good deal). If the hotel hadn’t worked out, I don’t know if the weekend could’ve been salvaged. After a short nap, followed by a shower, followed by a longer nap, I was ready to forage for food. Deciding I was too tired to head out to the local brewery but not so tired I wasn’t willing to order/pick up a pizza. But oh! my keys were missing. A perpetual key-locker-in-her-car I called AAA. 2 hrs later they arrived and there were my keys. Unfortunately the pizza place was closed. I shared a Coke and cookies with Ronald, saving me almost $20 and some extra calories. I also got to watch a very exciting show about the fattest man in the world who is no longer the fastest man in the world.

Monday arrived and I visited the nearby town of Blowing Rock. It’s a middle aged woman’s dream town. I bought the mother some belated birthday gifts and finished the trip with a frosty beer. When in doubt and traveling alone... have a beer.

Last weekend I visited Richmond, which I may write about later... or not. And this weekend I’m planning a 30 mile hike on the Appalachian Trail. What I lack in friends here, I make up in adventures. You know, adventure awaits and all that jazz.

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

All I (Want to) Do is Win, Win, Win

Fact. I’m a competitive bastard. 

My dear darling brother can probably attest to that better than anyone else. Poor kid. Maybe I should apologize to him for that... Maybe. I had to be the “good” child, the “favorite” child. The ugly head of competitiveness rears itself in surprising ways. No, I don’t have to win that volleyball game (mainly because it’s a miracle when I hit the ball over the net) or have the highest grade in the class. My competitiveness never looks like that. However, I will sprint the final 500m on a run so I can “beat a dude.” Or continue eating until I’m sick so I can “win” that competition. I want to be the chillest girl in the room, or most of something. God forbid that I’m the least. I’ll be the first to tell you not to take me bowling or mini-golfing. I want to win, but lack the skills to do so. Especially don’t take me bowling or mini-golfing with people who have mad skills. Did I mention that I really like to win? Or at least not lose?

My competitiveness is the ugliest when I feel inferior. Show no weakness. I find myself bullshitting so I can “win.” This morning in a session, a physical therapist asked me if I had any experience working with rehab patients doing Rhythmic Auditory Stimulation (RAS, a music therapy technique). Opposed to telling the truth, (which is no, not really, I’ve primarily worked with those with developmental disabilities), I was like, “Yeah, a little bit, but we don’t call it that.” Then kinda backed myself into the corner because I didn’t know what we’d it besides RAS. But I was not going to admit that my experience is limited. This isn’t the first time I’ve manipulated the truth. It happens often. Afterwards, I’m always embarrassed. Why didn’t I just tell the whole truth? Because you show no weakness. 

Perhaps I need to step back and explain why I’m feeling inferior in this scenario. I feel like the bad/struggling/less talented intern. My co-intern is male and is more musically talented than me, on piano and guitar anyway. I have to work much harder in that sense. He worked clinically for 6 months at a rehab unit. So he has more clinical experience than me. He also uses a lot of medical jargon, but I’m too proud to often ask what it means. I feel as though he doesn’t respect the philosophic orientation at KU because it’s different from what he’s been taught (that may be all in my head though). Show no weakness. I hate appearing as the struggling one. Let me repeat that. I HATE appearing as the struggling one. So I lie and invent stupid competitions in my head. Because if I win, that proves them wrong. And by “them” I mean “me.” 

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

Charlie Kissed Me (Not to be Confused with Charlie Bit Me)

Last week I had an older gentleman kiss me at the end of our session. Don’t concern yourself overly much, we’re not talking mouth on mouth. He kissed me on the cheek, but it was unwanted nonetheless. (His name isn’t Charlie either. I’m not that bad of a therapist). I had gone to shake his hand and say it was great meeting you and he pulled me in. Despite trying to pull away, he pulled me in and kissed me. I was so taken aback that I didn’t say anything. My supervisor missed the entire encounter.

With me writing about this encounter a week later, it’s obvious that it’s still bothering me. However it’s not because of the encounter itself, but rather because I didn’t say anything. I didn’t stand up for myself. My lack of objection was almost a consent. I consider myself to be confident in who I am and able to exert myself, but I wasn’t able to say, “No, I’m not okay with that.”

However when I asked my supervisor how to best handle these situations, she gave an awkward laugh and said, “Oh, I just tell my interns to wear fake rings or mention a significant other.” I don’t want/need to have to hide behind an imaginary man to thwart unwanted advances. I want to do it all by myself.

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

I’ve a Feeling We’re Not in Kansas Anymore

I swear I’ve heard that quote so many times this week it’s not funny, not that it was ever funny to begin with... that and the Kansas City song. But my dear readers, I’m back. Hopefully for a while, but as seen in the past blogging can get one into trouble. Also rumor has it that it’s going to get pretty busy pretty soon. So we’ll see, no promises.

However, let me bring you up to speed since my last post if you don’t already stalk me on Facebook or any of my other forms of social media (LinkdIn might be kinda boring if you stalk me there though...). Anyway, I’ve recently moved to Roanoke, VA to begin my 6 month music therapy internship at the Salem VAMC (Veterans Affairs Medical Center). The mother and I had a grand cross country tour that included having an unrepairable tire outside of Saint Louis and me getting sick in the car while driving through the Appalachians (the mother laughed... it was traumatizing). If you’re unsure what my music therapy internship is all about, think student teaching but music therapy style. No, it’s not paid but I do get free room and board. Which leads me to my next topic...

Housing. For the next 6 months I get to live in the VA in a building (it’s a campus rather than just one building) that once used to be the psych ward. Not creepy at all, but deal of deals I have a GIANT room. Think 42′x13′ (I just counted the tiles) with a private bathroom. When we first moved in I rode my bike from one end of the room to the other. I was hoping that my new hospital digs would come with a “real” hospital bed. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case. However I do get free cable, and occasionally there’s internet. In addition to my co-intern,I share the building with med students from UVA and various other schools. Dream come true running around with medical students. I’m only mostly joking. Pic of the main building (I don’t live there though).

Anyway, the Roanoke Valley is beautiful and the weather is ideal. 

There are hiking trails, the Blue Ridge Parkway, tons of bike lanes, and craft brewers. It’s hip without being too hipstery. People make eye contact with you and are super friendly. Even growing up with “Kansas City nice,” the people are oddly friendly. The area is surprisingly more cool than I expected. We’re also only a couple of hours from Appomattox, Monticello and other cool historical places.

Last week was my first full week as an intern. It was interesting to say the least. Working 8-5 without a nap has been tough and I’m realizing I don’t actually like music that much. Like I enjoy performing and occasionally listening to music but it’s not my passion, not that I’m sure what my passion is (reading trashy YA novels and gossiping?). However, I struggle to name my favorite band when asked and please don’t make me talk about music. I listed to NPR, not music. We talk about music so much. I’m afraid that I’m going to hate it by the time I’m finished here. Another concern is that my supervisor has been at the Salem VAMC for 25 years and is still trying to make a place for herself and gain respect from coworkers. By many she’s seen as “that nice lady who makes music.” It’s disheartening. Music therapy is so much more than making people happy through music or providing entertainment. We received a consult this week because the patient was “bored.” Really? Because he was bored? I’ve thought that the VA is where I wanted to work, but I also thought the creative arts therapies were held with greater respect. I want to make a difference, but I also want people to acknowledge that what I’m doing is valuable. I am an asset. Is that something I’m going to have to fight tooth and nail for? Is it like this in all of the VAs? Would I be taken more serious if I was a man? (Probably, all but one of the supervisory positions are held by men). If so, how do I combat those gendered-stereotypes without becoming bitter?

This internship is not only going to challenge me as a therapist and musician but in how I view myself as as a woman and as a holistic person. My question is how can I be more than “the nice lady who plays music?” But at least I have beauty surrounding me as I struggle to find the answer.

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

A Little Meandering

Do you ever wake up and make a drastic change? It's days like that, that I cut my hair off or spend hours searching for apartments or flights to somewhere, anywhere not here. The future is so close and my planning self wants to define it. However, the funny thing is the future doesn't really care to be planned. Now doesn't that sound like a cliche. Remind add that to my Hallmark book of cliches that I'm going to write one day when I get really famous... or moderately famous... or I don't get famous at all and I'm having a mid-life crisis.

Change. It's snowing outside, and I'm sitting here watching Broad City (the jury is still out on that one... even though I've watched 5 episodes in a row) and reading about rape prevalence. No, not for funsies. I'm taking a course on Women and Violence because I thought it would be helpful should I end up working in a violence shelter. However, rather than being enlightened, we've just spent the last two weeks defining what rape is and what rape isn't. The most enlightened students (aka the women's studies majors) spend a lot of time arguing that it can be anything and taking up a large portion of the class with their opinions. Needless to say, I'm a little disappointed with the class. I should have taken another Italian course, because you know, so many people in the world outside of Italy speak Italian. Definitely a skill that's high in demand.

Due to the snow I probably won't be doing anything for the Superbowl... not that I was going to really do anything anyway but it makes for a great excuse. Amazon Prime (they have better TV shows that Netflix), rape prevalence studies, and maybe some outside homework. I live the life. I'm trying to make me being able to row lightweight fact instead of fiction, so I can't even eat a full frozen pizza anymore. It's a testament to my lack of will power. We shall see. Maybe I'll color code my wardrobe... that's change right?... at least I showered today. 

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

The Story of Creepy Brock

As usual, I have music therapy homework to do, a ton of reading and I promised I would finish the alumni weekend email for rowing tonight, but here I sit instead writing this blog post instead. Partially it's because I excel at productive procrastination but also because I needed to get this out. Thus I present the story of Creepy Brock.

Last weekend a couple of buddies from work invited me over to their house for a tailgate party. There was a keg and food and everything appropriate for such festivities. Several weeks prior, they had hosted another event (I was unable to attend) but I had listened enviously about how it was a great time had by all. Having the day off, I looked forward to Round 2. This is where we first meet Creepy Brock, although he had not yet acquired the Creepy title. Think average height, unnecessarily large clothes, receding dark hair covered by a fitted baseball cap, bad facial hair, and heavier than I find attractive. Overall nondescript (besides the terrible fashion choices. Not even going to go there though). You probably wouldn't be able to to choose him out of a lineup.

Initially I thought Creepy Brock was an okay guy. Graduated from Pitt State. Had a semi-interesting job. But he would ask me questions and then not bother to listen to my responses. In my opinion, why even bother asking me the question in the first place? But whatever, I let it go and found other people to talk to. I wasn't going to let one guy play any role in the amount of fun I had.

As the day progressed, I continuously found Creepy Brock by my side. He would insert comments about how I was a "beautiful girl," or that I was "gorgeous" into the conversation which I found increasingly awkward. Let me just throw this out there, I'm intelligent. I know I'm pretty. Are there girls out there that are prettier? Oh definitely. But I know I'm pretty. And I can certainly tell when guys are sincere in telling me they think I'm pretty versus just flattery. Telling someone they're beautiful as a form of flattery doesn't work, unless they have extremely low self-esteem. Just don't do it, it's not going to work... at least for me.

Creepy Brock's flatteries increased in awkwardness until it reached the point where I would pointedly seek out my co-worker whenever he would come around. It was at the point that Creepy Brock accused me of having a crush on said co-worker. I mean obviously that would be the only reason I would want to hang with him, instead of spending my time with Brock. I should have just said yes, I have big, fat crush, but instead I was honest and said no.

Short story, I decide I'm going to walk home. At this point in the evening it would have been in my very best interest not to drive, plus slightly illegal. It was still light out and the walk was less than 1/2 mile. Creepy Brock, still without a clue, insists on walking me home. This is despite  me explicitly saying, "I do NOT want YOU to walk me home." I would like to state there is a difference between me saying, "I don't want to be a burden to you by you having to walk me home," versus, "I don't want you as a person to walk me home." But after arguing for what seemed like whatever, I caved. I just really wanted to be home.

Needless to say the walk was awkward with me putting appropriate distance between us to make sure he got the hint (he didn't) and that level of awkwardness only increased exponentially once we reached my apartment. It was a situation where I was uncomfortable and unsure how to extract myself. He wanted my number so I gave it to him. I patted him on the arm turning to unlock my door but he wanted a kiss. So I gave it to him, just a peck. He was palpably upset because I didn't make out with him. But these things didn't "hurt" me, necessarily. Whatever it takes to get him to leave, I thought to myself. Yet my anxiety levels rose. I was doing things I didn't want to necessarily do just to extract myself from the situation. Finally able to get inside I locked the door. In the past few days I've received multiple texts, each one more frantic. They range from, "U r beautiful," (obviously a real winner on the grammar front) to "Molly????" He added me on Facebook which I've promptly ignored. My co-workers have tried to explain his actions, but that doesn't change my experience.

I'm a twenty-four year old woman with a college education. I was coherent and capable of expressing myself. I was modestly clothed and had been giving what I thought were appropriate signals all day. It was daylight out and my roommate was home. Yet despite all of those factors, I found myself in a situation where I felt threatened and unable extricate myself. I was forced to do things I didn't necessarily want to do either. This hasn't been the first time I've felt that way either. I joke that I attract creepers, but in all seriousness, it's serious.

In describing the situation to a guy friend, he stated that it must be scary to be a girl sometimes. It's scary to be a girl a fucking lot of the time. While #YesAllWomen is no longer monopolizing Twitter feeds, it doesn't make it any less true. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, Google it. Like seriously. Here's a great article http://time.com/114043/yesallwomen-hashtag-santa-barbara-shooting/ I love Time). We're taught "don't make men angry" or "don't dress or act a certain way" because then you'll deserve it. My anxiety level doubles when a guy starts walking behind me at night. I go out of my way to be frank with guys. So much is expected to be transactional. For instance, I feel like guys often expect to be "paid" for their niceties. They aren't nice for the sake of being nice. I often ask myself what's the hidden fee? Because trust me, there often are and just ignoring the fact doesn't make it go away. Dudes out there, that isn't very nice. And I don't hate guys. Not all of them are bad. Most aren't. I'm not overly jaded. But it's like those two kids that ruin recess time for everyone in elementary school. Experience does teach you to be cautious.

I would never call myself a "feminist." There are so many negative connotations attached to the word. I have no desire to burn my bras, I kinda like them. If you haven't read Emma Watson's HeForShe UN speech, you should do so. She voices what so many of us think. Perhaps that's why it's gone so viral. 

Yet here I sit, and I can't deny how I felt. I know I'm not alone. It's not okay.

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

ASA Until I Die

It's that time again. A time to reflect on the true meaning of sisterhood. A time to impulsively throw up cryptic hand signals for Instagram photos. A time to break out into song... (But seriously I've had "inlaid diamonds on the door, an Alpha Sigma crest right over the door. Gonna marry a man from _____. Change my blood from red to blue..." stuck in my head for the last week. If you want to know what I'm thinking when pounding the pavement? It's probably been that song.) A time to break down in tears is because you love your sisters so... damn... much.

What I was getting at is that it's recruitment week, at least for the sorority women of good ole Truman State University. For me, it's a time to reminisce.

Tossed in a picture there. Keeps people interested.

I hope I don't sound jaded. Two years out, it just seems so unbelievable. I hated recruitment. I still hate recruitment. Kinda ironic figuring here I sit at Crew recruitment chair. A friends made a comment about how it's ironic that they voted a girl who hates socializing to be recruitment chair. I just wanted to clarify though... I don't hate socializing. Just throwing that out there. Anyway back to the topic at hand, recruitment. I mean I enjoyed the innumerable bonding opportunities I had with these wonderful, interesting women, furtively stuffing your face with Oreo balls, the wantonless judging of girls I didn't even know. Just please, never ask me sit me in front of a perfect stranger (maybe she liked music. I always got stuck with the music girls) and expect to discover her deepest darkest desires. Whether she was truly meant to be an Alpha Sigma Alpha, or whatever line the recruitment chair gave. I can't small talk. There are rules to recruitment that even four years through the process manage to escape me.

As a freshman I went through recruitment "to have an opportunity to meet people" BRRRRR (that's a buzzer sound) wrong answer. One should only answer "to find their family away from home," or "looking for a strong sisterhood." I think I'm jaded. 

I loved my time in the Greek system. It opened doors for me at Truman. There was certainly pride in saying, "I'm an Alpha." I became friends with women I know I never would have considered being friends with. I took having 100 girls I had something in common with and were willing to hang out for granted. The absence was something I struggled with my first semester here in Lawrence. Were we 30/30? Most certainly not. I don't know how sororities at KU can experience "true" sisterhood when they have pledge classes of 90 and we weren't even able to be successful with 30. I was also challenged and became a better, strong person because of my decision to go Greek. I also engaged in "risky behaviors" but let's just gloss over that. 

I've also been told by people they don't see me as the sorority type. It's okay, I didn't either. But I also wasn't always the flannel toting, hiking boot shod Molly Bybee of 2014. Here's a pic for reference. I'm embarrassed that I thought wearing giant bows was cute for a period in my life. Shudder. We all make poor decisions.

But I need to wrap up. I have hours of reading that are calling my name. Ugh... Grad school life.

But yes, I do have lady friends... they're just lacking in Lawrence. A picture is worth a thousand words right?

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

I'm No Quitter

My mother and I had a nice chat today. We have lots of nice chats, and by nice chats I mean her sighing from exhaustion as I ramble about the 50 things that I'm doing or want to do or whatever popped into my head at that moment. But it was nice. My Old Lady turns the big 5-0 this Tuesday. How does that saying go? YOTFO? You Only Turn 50 Once (and then promptly right back to 39).

However, the conversation turned back to rowing as it often does. In a spur of control freakness last spring I ran for recruitment chair, and won. So here I've sat, my potentially first week of classes ever (Who am I kidding? I'll probably be back), leading 13 others in our mission to spread the gospel of rowing on campus one person at a time. And if it has caused me to promise my 2nd born child to several potential recruits? So be it. No one likes those middle children anyway. Anyway, after a week I'm exhausted. I don't know how it's possible to be hungover from a week without actually ingesting any alcohol but I've managed to do it. But it was a successful week in addition to my recruiting. I passed my 40 song quiz out for music therapy so I can do clinicals this semester, and PR'd my 6k time. However, don't ask me what any of my professors said this week because you know... priorities, duh.

Anyway, as usual our conversation meandered and my mother asked me, "Don't you remember when you hated it (rowing) and you said you wanted to quit? But that you weren't a quitter?" Now I don't remember those words. I don't remember wanting to quit. I remember every muscle in my body aching. I remember not really feeling like I belonged. But I don't remember feeling like I wanted to quit. It's funny. 

The big question I find myself asking is, "Why did I stay?" and I don't have an answer. I can tell you why I stay now. Primarily for the sense of accomplishment and the camaraderie I have the other guys on the team, even if I sometimes feel like the annoying younger sibling trying to tag along. But in those first few weeks, potentially even months, when I was at my worst, I don't know. Perhaps it falls within my identity that I'm not a quitter. I don't know. I don't regret staying. At this point, rowing has defined my experience at KU. I'm not the best or the fastest, but each day I see improvement. Looking at where I sit this semester in comparison to a year ago, the possibilities are exciting.

So the big question isn't, "Why did you join?" at least for me,although I feel like we focus on that. The big one is, "Why did you stay?" Why do you stay?

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

What If It Doesn't Get Better After 18?

The media is full of portrayals of people that peaked in high school. In movies they're often depicted as the high school hotties who later develop beer guts, work dead end jobs and suffer from premature balding. We often see this as a fit conclusion after spending years torturing the protagonist, either through unrequited love or just sheer bullying. It's proof that high school isn't the epitome of our existence. Can you imagine if everything was on a downhill slope after your 18th birthday? Just the sheer thought is overwhelming. People don't actually peak in high school. Right?

As my five year high school reunion approaches (I realize how old this may make me seem to some of you, and how young it may to others), I'm struck with nostalgia of a sort for my high school days. Each year I lament not being invited to prom, although the idea continues to become increasingly ludicrous with the passing of time. While looking back life seems so simple, it seemed complicated at the time. Perhaps, life always appears complicated in the moment. Years from now I'm certain that I'll look back nostalgic for my granny-like apartment, pizza roll dinners, and sitting in bed surrounded by instruments. "My, wasn't my life in grad school so simple?" I'll think wishing I could return. But in a way high school was more simple than today. We were on a level playing field. "Go forth and prosper," they said, as we walked across the stage in our purple caps and gowns. "We expect great things from you." And so we took our PHDs (Pleasant Hill Diplomas, get it?) and went out into the world

In the five years since we walked across that stage, the Pleasant Hill Class of 2009 has done many things, not all of them great but not all of them bad. I would consider myself one of the lucky ones. I had the opportunity to attend a four year university. I graduated from Truman State University, or the Harvard of the Midwest as it is occasionally referred to as, where I was filled my brain with a plethora of useless (but some useful) knowledge. Those four years away from home were devoted to personal growth, and I certainly grew, broadening my view of the world. Now I'm in grad school continuing that pursuit. I have left home, even if I barely left the state and would consider myself so over high school. At times, I think my high school self would barely recognize the person I've become. However, I think that's an accomplishment. Do you really want to be the same person that you were at 18? Besides my 18 year old self was a stuck up, know-it-all, who had terrible fashion sense (excluding my prom dress, still love that thing).

But what about the ones that didn't leave? What about the ones that still live in our small town? The ones who married and had kids? Or the ones who didn't marry but had kids? Or the ones that spend every weekend partying with the same clique from high school? Or the ones who have never been out of the Midwest? How do you define success? How would you define growth? Would they consider themselves having peaked in high school? How do you know? What do you look forward to if your high school memories remain the best? These are questions I ask myself. While I can certainly pass judgement from my high horse, and trust me I have, answering these questions are much more difficult. Perhaps we just cross our fingers and pray that we don't fall into this category.

For those who already identify with peaking in high school, go live. Make new memories. Fulfill those promises you made to yourself at 18. We're only five years out. We have our whole lives ahead of us. It's too early to settle.

[thenotsosecretworldofmollyb]

Don't Call Me Buddy, Bud

Buddy. Is there another word that is quite as obnoxious and that can be at the same time so devastating?There's such a stigma. Good. Great. Best. And yeah... some other words, are often attached to it. Not that any of them improve the initial word. Well... maybe some do. Whatever. Annnnd moving on...

Just saying the word annoys me. Well it could be the word or that I'm subjecting myself to "The Prince and Me." She gives up her hopes and dreams of being a doctor and travelling the world for a man. I mean he IS a prince and if Disney has taught us anything, if we're helpless enough and wait long enough our prince will come. You know, like it's totally a dream come true. But honestly if Prince Harry showed up at my door and was like, "Molly Bybee, will you become my princess?" I'm not sure I'd say no. Okay, I definitely wouldn't say no despite him being a ginger. But hey! he still has all his hair. It's not like this is really something I need to be worrying about now. I'd just like to get through the end of this semester intact. 

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. There are a lot of adjectives that I don't want used to describe me. I don't want to be sweet or cute or nice. While I certainly want to be those things, I don't want them to be The Words to describe me. I'm better than that. I want to be striking (woops almost wrote stinking there, don't want to be stinking) or captivating or exciting. I want to be witty or proud or intelligent. Actually I'd like to be all of those things. Back when College ACB was a thing I was on there for being the biggest bitch of Truman as well as biggest c*** (really hate that word). But honestly I would rather be those things than sweet and nice. At least that way you have some sort of personality even if it isn't positive.

Returning to buddy. Don't call me that. I'm not sure I want to be your buddy. We're not in 2nd grade anymore. I deserve a better description.