So I have a new therapist. (Shout out to TalkSpace and The Read for the hook-up). After all the emotional, mental, and physical toll my last pregnancy took on me (and my relationship) I decided I probably had some work to do. I didn’t know what kind of work I needed to do . . . but I was determined to do it.
I started therapy when I became a caregiver for my mother. That shit was stressful. Having to deal with the changes in the dynamics of our relationship, plus the realization that I had given up a life I was really starting to look forward to. I don’t DO . . . Grief. At least, not when it has to do with the loss of a person or family member. I’m not the sit around and cry type person. I worked so hard to avoid my grief when My Mother died, I had a mental breakdown 1 week into COVID. COVID made me sit . . and think . . and grieve . . . and think. I couldn’t handle it. All the memories and feelings and thoughts and sadness and guilt. Escape seemed the only out.
I didn’t have the kind of breakdown where recovery is ice cream. I had a “I took myself to the ER because killing myself while 4 months pregnant with Karma was sounding like something smart to do, ” type breakdown. I had to attend a mandatory 3 week, all-day, In-Person Group Therapy.
THAT was pregnancy hormones. They can literally drive you crazy. With Karma, I only dealt with it from March 2020 until about October 2020. Almost nothing crazy happened while I was pregnant with Dallas (unless it did, and I forgot because pregnancy brain and memory loss is REAL.). This last pregnancy tho . . . wrecked HAVOC on my life. I knew I was pregnant less than a week after I got pregnant. Morning Sickness all day long, having seizures because of my high blood pressure, back aches, migraines, literally every symptom they say can happen . . . did.
I was DIRT BROKE, after having been told by my last surviving parent that my children needing lights was not his problem . . . and to not ask for help again. I found a job I thought was going to take me to the next level . . . got fired after being off a week because I had another seizure. (That was the 3rd one in 2 months). Found ANOTHER job, thought it was going to be a piece of cake. WRONG!
I lost the last 2 elders on my Mother’s side . . . and I wasn’t even able to grieve their deaths with my ‘family’ because . . . I had to work. My inability to do things created chasms in my relationships with friends and family. I was at the end of my rope emotionally, mentally, and financially. And I still had a toddler and an infant to take care of . . . and in a whole ass relationship.
I’ve spent so long faking the funk.
Pretending things don’t bother me, pretending that I have everything together. The need to control what it looks like on the outside is something left over from my Mother. Our lives were in constant crisis, but I had to keep that shit to myself. It was no one else’s business that the light were out for 2-3 days until payday. Nobody needed to know we ate Baked Beans every day for an entire summer. Nobody needed to know what the house looked like on the inside, we lived in West Bloomfield. That was enough.
Needing to solve every problem has caused an enormous amount of anxiety in my life. I am constantly figuring out several ways to solve problems. Well if this happens, then I’m going to have to do this. I’m always in my head, planning out the steps to everything. I do it so much, I started doing it to my Person.
I started trying to solve his problems too. To run his life too. To criticize the way he chose to handle his life, because it wasn’t the most efficiently solution. Without talking to him, without explaining my thinking or rationale. Just making all the decisions. Because I had to solve the problems. It had to be perfect. It must look as good on the outside as it can.
Controlling the outcome/results of everything is impossible. I’ve been working on accepting this year. I can’t control how my cousins feel about me. I can’t control how my father feels about me . . . or whether he even give a damn about me at this point. I can’t control unforeseen expenses. I really can’t control much of anything. Realizing that was SUPER painful. But letting go of the reins . . . might be even harder.