write where i am
I ended 2020 by creating my first vision board. Practically bursting with positive energy, I was more than ready to step into the new year to put to work all that I’d consumed spiritually in 2020. With goals that overlapped each other, I could hardly wait to wake up in 2021 and get to work! And then…
“We’re placing you under investigation” — January 2021
“Aunt Edna Mae passed away” — January 2021
“Floro passed away unexpectedly” — February 2021
"She’s gone,” words I’ll never be able to unheard my husband say as he cried hysterically to share with me his mother’s passing. — March 2021
“You’re having a depressive episode.” My therapist casually dropped this d-bomb on me a few weeks ago as if my life didn’t feel explosive enough. — May 2021
If “be careful what you ask for” was a year, it would be 2021 for me!
It started with the kind of fireworks that I would have never imagined. The kind that is changing who I thought I was, threatening my mental health and livelihood. I’d been telling myself that I was feeling discouraged or just plain uninterested. I chalked it up to being no big deal. Well, the disinterest and discouragement snowballed into daily tears and visions of me seeing glimpses of life, but without me being present. That scared me even more.
Since September 2019 I’ve been in therapy and making progress. Initially we met bi-weekly but starting this January we were planning to meet every three weeks. Although I could tell progress was being made in my decision-making and coping skills, the change in our meeting schedule was even more proof that I doing well. Those plans never manifested, we stuck to the bi-weekly meetings and recently upgraded to meeting weekly. Initially this upgrade made me feel like I was failing at therapy. No sooner than I was able to get those words out of my mouth, my therapist popped that myth bubble: increased sessions does not mean therapy isn’t working. I was time shaming myself. Placing my healing on a schedule to prove to myself that time heals wounds. Forgetting that it’s the work that heals the wounds and sometimes I may have to double back, move slower, or even stand still while doing the work.
Coasting into our second month of weekly therapy sessions, sometimes I can tell that the lights from life’s fireworks have purpose. Not being able to control when and how change occurs is overwhelming for me. One day my therapist asked me what did I think I could learn from what was happening. For sure I am learning (forcefully, crying, kicking, and screaming) how to relinquish control (that I actually never had) and embrace trust — in God, myself, and my community. These meetings have been impactful in me increasing my emotional intelligence and have challenged and encouraged me to be more reliant on the people that love me.
Naturally I am a drifter when I’m in a personal crisis. Emphasis on natural because it’s a defense mechanism that was learned at an early age to try to protect myself from being disappointed. I shut down and try to handle things on my own. It’s not that I don’t want to let people in, it’s that I don’t trust that they want to be let in or that they’ll choose to stand once they’re in. This way of thinking can’t be further from the truth, but it takes separating feelings from truth to realize it. Though it feels like my heaviest thoughts and feelings may weigh others down, the truth is those that can handle me will and those that care but don’t have the capacity will communicate it. It’s okay to lose people. It’s normal and happens to everyone, none of us are exempt. What’s not okay is isolating myself without warning or pushing away God-sent help.
Therapy is a God-send, but so are my friends and husband. I don’t want to continue to live a life that only feels safe to share when I’ve paid for an hour of time or requires internet access. I deserve to be emotionally safe in real life, and I’ve robbed myself of that safety for quite some time. We were never purposed to do life alone. Whether it’s a romantic life partner or besties for the resties, help is intentionally placed along the journey. I can’t be the friend that others need but never allow friends to be called on when I’m in need; I can’t be a safety net for my husband and now allow him to be mine.
Almost a week ago my husband I took a trip together. I am a habitual over-packer! While waiting to board our departing flight, I separated from him so that I could rest my stuffed to the brim, barely zipped overnight bag on a stool. Keith came over to me and suggested (for the second time) to switch bags. He was carrying a saggy backpack that barely had five small items in it. Finally, I released my shoulder from having to carry my carry-on bag and myself from having to carry the “I got it” mantra. I didn’t realize that Keith’s small gesture was the support I needed to have a weight lifted off me, literally and figuratively. I didn’t need to roam off to my own corner to get relief. I could’ve leaned into the support that was standing next to me. I could’ve trusted that Keith wanted to help me the first time he asked instead of unnecessarily insisting that I could carry my own (literally and figurative) baggage.
In a separate instance, just a few days apart, I was on the phone crying almost uncontrollably because I needed someone to remind me to breathe (thanks Teph).
I needed someone. Again. And honestly, I’m slowly but surely becoming okay with it.
If you’ve made it this far (thank you), my challenge to you: even if it’s uncomfortable to lean into your support system, try it (at your own pace) anyway.
