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Hey friends, going to share in the event others find it helpful. Like many of us, I have trauma. The last year has reminded me that ignoring trauma is not a tenable path...
My traumas: caring for my late husband during the nine months as he lost his mind and body to a brain tumor in July 2006 and then July 2018, finding my best friend dead on her kitchen floor and performing CPR on her unsuccessfully in front of her daughter.
After Mike died I did therapy twice/week for a year and weekly after that, then every other week. When Michelle died I started therapy again.
Her death and my intimate experience with it was far more acute and disruptive than Mikes death. It was unexpected. And because Michelle had been one of the key people to help me put my pieces back together after Mike died, I didn’t know who I was without her.
But I worked through it and did therapy and all the things you’re supposed to do. I continued to honor my grief for Mike, make room for that loss... And I was feeling like I had a hold on things.
But my beloved therapist retired in February... of 2020. After 14 years together I wasn’t in a rush to find someone new
And I thought... I’m ok. I’m successful in my work. My kids and husband and I are good. The political world caused me great distress but I felt like I was above water enough to handle it.
And then the pandemic hit and we all went upside down and...stayed INSIDE THE DAMN HOUSE. And the reality of the world was so uncertain and immediately scary that there certainly was no room for past trauma or grief.
So we all just kept swimming. And I didn’t look for a new therapist. And even with months and months of dedication to yoga and healthy eating and early bedtimes and efforts towards routine... I was still having a terrible time.
Since the fall I’ve felt so untethered and distracted and unable to concentrate that I’ve questioned my mental health. I would have disassociative moments when I felt like I was outside looking in on myself. Often during talks or meetings.
And my older sister did what big sisters do: she told me she was worried about me, suggested I was working all the time to distract from trauma and suggested I find a new therapist... and as I talked to her on the phone, knowing she was right, I just silently wept.
And after we hung up I continued to weep. I wept for hours. I wept in the shower and I wept as I got dressed after. I wept for Mike and for Michelle and for the pain of those awful moments and for the pain of missing them so much.
And then I went on an annoying goddamned website for my health insurance and wept as I looked for therapists who specialize in grief and trauma. And I wept as I left this one lovely older woman a message.
And when she called me back within minutes, I quietly wept as I told her my situation and we made an appointment. And when I hung up I felt. So. Much. Lighter.
This. This is what I would feel when I would leave David’s office all those years. A little tired, a dull headache, and puffy eyes... but like I had made ROOM. Room for the banalities of life.
