This is really awkward to talk about. I wish there wasn’t such a stigma about mental health and I know it’s getting better. I know more and more people are coming out and talking about their anxiety and depression and other mental health issues, but it’s still awkward for me to talk about. In fact, another time I tried to open up and “get real” regarding my using donor eggs for Olivia and was told that maybe I needed I keep some things to myself and maybe the whole world doesn’t need to know something so private.
So naturally, I am writing very publicly about personal things again. This time on my own blog and not for a freelance piece, because I notice you guys are much nicer in the comments section here.
I only started thinking about seeing a therapist seriously in the last month, mainly after all of Olivia’s stomach bugs. I realized after talking to a friend, that I have a wicked phobia that needs to be attended to, but it’s so much more than just that. And as wonderful as my friends are, as caring as my husband is, what I actually need is for someone to help me learn to cope with things, to give me some practical advice and homework to do, so that I can start moving forward. I need to do it to be a better wife and mother, because sometimes, I’m not so good at those things.
I chose my therapist from the input of a friend who has worked with her before, and I’m so glad I checked her out. And insurance covers therapy at just a copay. Chris was able to work from home one day a week in order for me to get to appointments. Double win.
My first appointment was last week and was basically an epic word vomit, or as my therapist referred to it as, “an intake.”
I was actually pretty impressed that we could cover everything on a very high level basis in an hour. I ended up walking out of there feeling…liberated? Yes, liberated. It felt so good to get things off my chest and cry and vent.
And weirdly, I looked forward to the second appointment all week. I don’t know. I’m a class A attention whore, so maybe it’s that I enjoyed talking about myself for a change. (And yes, I do realize I have a blog.)
Today, I word vomited again and realized two things.
- I can talk a lot when I get going and
- I realized how much infertility and my pregnancy with Olivia, along with our prolonged hospital stay has invaded my ability to live my life on the other side. I mean, of course infertility has affected me. I was never naive enough to think this wouldn’t spill over into motherhood. But I guess I never realized how much healing I still have to do.
She gave me a writing assignment, and being that I’m a writer, I feel pretty motivated that I can do that.
She wants me to write down every wonderful, miraculous, beautiful thing I can think of that happened during my pregnancy and delivery with Olivia.
And, crier that I am, I teared up when she said that. Because I can tell you all my fears, my worries, my dark thoughts during those nine plus months. What I’m not so good at, is talking about the good stuff.
So here we go. Therapy. I think this will be a really good thing.