The title of this post is the very thought I had when I walked into a room I’m about to become very familiar with – the therapy room.
I had my first visit with a therapist yesterday.
Wait, I should pause for a moment to add this disclaimer. I’m sure some of you are thinking, DOODE. You’re just going to put that out there? For everyone to read? Even people you work with or like, barely know? And the answer is, YES. I almost didn’t get help because I was embarrassed to admit that I couldn’t help myself anymore, that I couldn’t fix my problems the same way I had been. I can only assume there are other people out there, not just people who’ve had babies, who have felt the same way. I’m here to admit that I’m not embarrassed to get help anymore.
Okay, so yeah. First therapy appointment yesterday. Probably THE WORST day to meet a therapist for the first time. I got about 5 hours of sleep the night before and had spent the 5 hours before going to bed and after waking up working on a project for work that was launching at the same time as my appointment. (Can you say STRESSED OUT?!)
One of the many lessons I learned yesterday is that, NO…I CANNOT WORK FROM HOME. I mean, I got stuff done, but Abby was all “MOMMA LOOOOOOOOOOOOK” but instead of saying that she was all “BAAAAAAAA MMAAAAA DADADADAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” until I’d pick her up. And then she’d try to dismantle my work laptop via teeth and fingernails that needed to be trimmed.
ANYWAY, I showed up to my appointment without the papers she wanted filled out because I couldn’t find a printer that worked in the 30 minutes I had before my appointment. She didn’t mind, and escorted me into the therapy room.
It was small, felt like a den in someone’s home, and had SEVEN OPEN BOXES of Kleenex. I couldn’t believe it. I was like – WTF. Who needs this much Kleenex?
Within 20 minutes I had answered my own question. I cried so hard I couldn’t speak for almost 2 minutes.
I spilled everything I’d been bottling up for the last three or four months. Because I did feel better than I had a month ago, and I wasn’t as scared of my thoughts anymore, I admitted the horrible thoughts I’d had but was no longer having, even though I still had a fear she’d try to admit me to a hospital or have Abby taken away from me. I told her about how I was starting to have episodes where I felt like I might explode, and just wanted to sit down where I was, cover my ears and scream. That sometimes knowing I’ll be in certain situations makes me want to curl into the fetal position and rock myself into oblivion. That I am constantly full of worry and totally unable to verbalize any of this to anyone for fear of how they’ll handle my thoughts.
We went through the dreaded depression checklist. By the end of my appointment, she was leaning towards my having anxiety issues moreso than depression. We’re meeting again soon to discuss my pregnancy and labor. She wasn’t also ruling out the possibility of PTSD after my labor experience.
When it was over, I walked outside and took a big deep breath. The sun was out for the first time that day. I felt like, twenty pounds lighter. I know everyone says “it’s like a weight is lifted off your shoulders” when you talk to someone for the first time, but it was. That was when I tweeted this:
I’m just so looking forward to not feeling this way anymore. I think I was ramping up to this for a long time, and my pregnancy was just the trigger to make it unmanageable. I don’t even care anymore though. I just want to be better, and I feel like I might be able to now.
