This is a tough post to write, but because I believe in being honest, I can’t not write it. And it’ll be choppy and vague in parts and I’ll do my best to explain as much as I can but some of this just isn’t my story to tell, so fill in the blanks, I guess. Or just give me the benefit of the doubt that I’m not being an asshole.
Today I called a therapist.
I alluded to it a week or so ago, but I’m not in a good place right now. I’ve seen signs of it for a while now, but I’ve dismissed them as random occurrences. Truth be told, I haven’t really been okay since June.
Talking about June will bring down a bit of a wrath I’m not sure I’m ready to handle, but that’s where this starts, I think. Maybe it starts before then. I’m not entirely sure.
In June I saw myself how other people saw me instead of how I saw myself. And I didn’t like what those people saw. It wasn’t who I wanted to be. It isn’t who I am.
It’s weird when that happens.
Even though I think the things said about me were born of some sort of personal conflict of which I remain unaware, previously discussed in private, and not from a place of legitimate concern for my well-being, I took note of them. There they were in black and white. How could I not? Absent the context in my real life, it was pretty miserable to read.
I know that I skew toward the negative. I always have. And Dan spent May and June preparing for a big thing at work and we fought quite a bit because he was stressed and I was…alone. My friends work or have lives of their own or are scattered hither and yon. It was just me. And I’d gotten so bogged down in my negativity and loneliness that I couldn’t see anything but that.
I had the internet. I turned to it. It bit me in the ass.
Eventually, I saw some truth in what was said about me and took steps to fix it. Not to be dishonest, but to shift my personal focus.
I focused on good things and good moments both online and off. (The snark kept coming anyway, so fat lot of good that did, you know?) Things got better.
July was a good month. Dan’s work pace slowed down. We took an amazing vacation. I thought I’d handled things.
And then Daddy died.
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I called my OB, the only doctor I’ve seen in the past two years, the day after he died and asked for a prescription for something to help me with anxiety because every time I thought about it, I felt the panic building.
He said no. Or, rather, he said he could give me something else. A different medication than the one I know works. I didn’t fill the prescription because why start something that won’t work?
We buried Daddy and I felt like no one understood just how different my world looked. Because no one did. Because no one could.
I looked around last week and realized that I didn’t know when I’d last done laundry. It had been at least a week. (Thank God for uniform rental companies!)
I didn’t care if I showered. And not in the “I’m conserving water!” sort of way which I don’t actually practice. In the “I haven’t showered since I don’t remember when and I don’t care if my hair can actually stand up on its own.”
I’d stopped eating. Dan mentioned it Friday morning, that I wasn’t eating our leftovers for lunch, and I realized that I wasn’t eating our leftovers because I wasn’t eating anything. I told myself it was because of State of the Weight. I was watching my intake. Well, yeah, if by watching my intake I meant not eating anything except dinner and living off of coffee.
Friday afternoon I called our insurance company to find out about copays and deductibles and referrals and all that adult insurance stuff. I got the names of a few clinicians in my area and then had a really great Friday night that sort of screwed with my head a little.
If I can be that kind of mom, do I really need the help?
Well, yes. I do.
Sunday morning I saw the chaos around me and realized it mirrors the chaos inside me. And then this morning is where it gets to the part of my story that I can’t talk about because that story isn’t just my story, so writing that story without taking care not to hurt others is complicated.
I’ve been in my head a lot. I’ve done a lot of thinking. And I’ve realized that I’m not in a good place right now and I need help beyond what I’m capable of doing for myself with a good night of sleep and a few hours at Starbucks every few weeks.
Today I called a therapist.
I’m proud of you. Good job. Hugs and love and prayers, babe.
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That is the hardest part. Good for you for taking care of yourself.
Lots of hugs and support for you. You matter.
xoxox… you are doing a good thing, my friend. Love you.
You should be proud of yourself for your honesty. Praying and wishing the best for you!
Hang in there, Miranda. Best of luck to you getting through this time. Xo
You took the first step..that is good! My Mother struggles but she won’t admit it or let us get help for her. So glad you are doing this. Btw, wish I was nearby to meet you and see those precious children!
(((())) I’m a tweet away if you need an ear.
i’m proud of you. not always easy, but definitely a great first step into becoming the person and mom you know you are.
Oh Miranda, you never have to go it alone. So glad you reached out. And want to punch the Internet just a little bit.
There have actually been studies that show just scheduling the appointment can make you feel better! Any shifts in Emma nursing? That has thrown me for a loop.
Only if by shift you mean nursing ALL THE TIME. LOL. I do feel better even after making the appointment.
Hugs. Good job, strong brave amazing lady.
So glad for you. We’ve all been there. It will totally be worth it.
I didn’t know you were hurting so much. Which is okay, but I just want you to know I have your back. So proud of you for reaching out.
And the Internet can be stupid sometimes. I think you are beautiful and talented and amazing. I am so sorry anyone made you feel like you needed to change.
Yeah, I didn’t really talk about it because I didn’t feel like I really could. Thank you for being here.
It takes courage to make that call. Proud of you. Hugs and love being sent your way!