The Doctor is In
I don't know why I waited so long to start seeing a therapist. My Aunt Tammy frequently says that everyone should go to a therapist, and I've thought about one for years. Then when we got John's diagnosis I knew that we both probably needed to see therapists, but every time the clinic asked him John said he was fine, and I felt like I was too busy trying to work full time and take care of John to go to one myself (I know, I know, "in the event of an emergency put the oxygen mask on yourself first").
John died and a week later I went back to work. I needed the consistent pattern of a teaching schedule.
11 months later Mom died and again, a week later I went back to work. Consistent pattern.
Or at least, that's what I told myself. In retrospect I think I wanted to stay busy so I wouldn't get bogged down in my thoughts and feelings. So for a year after Mom died I threw myself headlong into work - during the school year I was teaching and during that summer I was traveling and working my side gig (I managed to be in 5 different states over the course of a month). That flowed right into the next school year and it was full steam ahead on project "stay busy so you don't have to face your feelings".
And then we had a pandemic.
Now I know that the whole world has been thrown by this thing. It's shut down travel, schools, jobs, etc. We've isolated ourselves from our families and friends to keep them and us safe. We've learned (well, most of us) to wear masks when out in public or around others. But the timing of this pandemic was the perfect storm for me. Initially I could throw myself into learning to teach online, figuring out how to develop and post lessons, and producing social-emotional learning tips for our School Family. But then spring break happened, and that meant no schedule, no teaching, no purpose. No hiding from feelings anymore.
It just happened to coincide with the 2 year anniversary of John's death. The perfect storm.
I hit the lowest low I'd ever seen. I'd never felt so down. Luckily a long lost friend popped up that week who first talked me through my insomnia, then eventually encouraged me to start seeing a therapist. I'm fortunate. A search on the Psychology Today website lead me to send an email to a grief counselor. A few hours later we'd scheduled our first meeting. She was a perfect fit.
Yes, I know that it's very unusual for the first therapist you meet to be the right one, but I guess the good Lord knew I needed to get help sooner rather than later. My therapist and I have met almost weekly over the last few months to talk through my grief, yes, but also my trauma. And so here at the things she's helping me work on now:
- I get to feel my feelings. When they bubble up, instead of pushing them down like I have all my life, I get to feel them. I get to express them. And other people don't get to decide whether or not my feelings are justified. They're mine and I get to own them.
- For a good portion of my life I've been known to either be overly calm (I've been told I'm the person you want around in an emergency for this very reason) or incredibly jumpy (John could walk into the room and I'd startle - he'd say, "I don't understand. You know I live here, too"). I've also been told at times that my reactions are overly emotional and unjustified (see #1 - I get to feel my feelings). What I know now is that I'm not choosing to be this way - it's a trauma response. That doesn't mean I'm making excuses for my actions, it just means that I can now give myself the same grace I would give to others when I find myself doing these things.
- I get to choose. I get to choose how I respond to things. I get to choose how things proceed in the future. Others don't get to control me - I get to make my own choices.
- Likewise, I get to set boundaries and keep them. It's healthy to let others know my limits and to hold them to those limits. I get to let my yes be yes and my no be no. I have the right to say, "that's not good for me" and to expect other people to respect that.
- This is a hard one: I can do what's best for me. I can choose myself. And that doesn't mean I'm taking away from anyone else's power or worthiness. It just means that constantly doing what's best for everyone else while not pausing to take myself into account is not at all healthy. I can do what's best for me while also giving you space to do what's best for you. Serving to the point of weariness doesn't make me a better person, it just makes me a more tired person.
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