Let it Go

 

Reframing... I was assigned two task before counseling this week. 

1. Return phone call - Schedule counseling with referral
2. Find space to journal one more time before next time we meet

Last week we talked about practicing a reframing mindset. Reframe my negative thoughts into positive ones. Reframe some of my anxious thoughts. She asked what I could reframe, and I hesitated. I hesitated in part because I was so exhausted from attempting to get Ashla to sleep through the night (trading in a short term loss of sleep for hopefully long term sleep success). Right as it seemed I was turning a corner with getting Ashla to nurse less at night, BAM, we all got RSV - we still have RSV. Having a nursing baby with RSV while also suffering the effects of RSV yourself is... well is sucks. I don't think I'm going to meet both of these goals before my session tomorrow. I'm just too... exhausted to do both. 

Making a phone call should be easy... but I just can't seem to do it yet.

But I can crack out a journal entry real fast because my mush-like, sleep-deprived, spacey due to being sick as fuck brain can always write something... even if that something isn't great. It's just a journal entry.

So thinking about reframing. I don't know why this one is so difficult. When I read about reframing things, it all makes sense. But coming up with a) what I need to reframe and b) what to reframe said thought as, all on my own, I come up blank. I suppose I could start with my anxiety triggers. Maybe make a list? Ok, so maybe this journal entry won't be super successful. I'm so tired and sick feeling, I can barely think. 

But one thing comes to mind. I've long said that I have a hard time letting things go. Letting go of the past. Letting people go. One thing I've struggled with losing my brother is the idea of letting him go. But maybe what I'm struggling with is letting go of the grief. Is that reframing? Or do I need to take it a step further? Is seeking out the ability to let go what I need to be seeking out, or something else? I don't know the answer to that. What I do know is there there is a part of me that is terrified of letting go of the grief. There is part of me that does not want to accept that my brother isn't coming back. I've already lost him. So why does it feel like if I let go of this terrible feeling, I'm losing him all over again? Why does it feel like I love him less if I let it go? Regardless of desire, I don't know if I could let this go, even if I wanted to.

Last week marked three years since we lost my brother. This is the first year I didn't write something up on social media. Not writing about it didn't ease it's passing. It just made my grief more private. Would it help others if I just stopped talking about it? I thought maybe it would, but I don't think that is actually the case. I think instead we all just grieved separately. It bubbled over though when my oldest daughter, while watching Frozen, asked me if I was going to die. Normally, I would have said "yes, but not for a very long time" or maybe tried to use the opportunity to talk about life and death. But I had just realized that the day marked the anniversary of my brother's passing, and through tears I said "No honey, I'm not going to die." Then she asked in her sweet voice "Because you love me?" I replied "Exactly" and I held her so close and started crying. Then I went into the kitchen where my husband, who overheard the exchange, embraced me as I cried for a while. 

It's normally very hard for me to cry most of the time. There usually has to be some sort of overwhelming combination of feelings and experiences going on simultaneously, causing me to hit some sort of breaking point, before I can finally let go and cry. That changed somewhat since my brother died. I've probably cried more in the last few years than I have during my entire life, and then some. But now that I'm a few years past it, crying has become difficult again. 

Logically I know that crying can be good for you, that tears can cleanse, can heal. But I was raised to believe that you should always hold everything back, and that's been a tough cycle for me to try to break. My ultimate goal is that even if I have a difficult time expressing these things myself, that I always make space to encourage it with my daughters. I will do anything to break the cycle, and enable them to feel comfortable with... well, with feeling. To be vulnerable with those they love. I never want them to go through anything like I've gone through, but no matter their hurtles in life, I want them to always be able to express themselves, and acknowledge those feelings. 

I don't have anything to end this entry with. Except for this damn earworm. 

Cha, Cha, Cha, Changes

Last week's counseling assignment was to come up with 2-3 goals and measurable objectives... Seriously, I have very few fucking clues here. But let's just start writing and see what we come up with, shall we?

1. Better manage my anxiety.

This one is the most obvious and probably the main reason for starting up counseling again. As far as measurable objectives, this is where I struggle. How to I measure this? I've been less anxious lately in terms of not having massive anxiety attacks, but I've also been living in a bubble. Aside from walking around my neighborhood, I haven't been anywhere in over a month. It's easy to manage things when I have a fairly controlled bubble around me. But maybe that's what I need for the moment.

2. Deal with my past feelings so that I can learn to be present

Yikes. Also, again, how do I create measurable objectives around this? I guess my goal to start journaling will start to address this. Hello journal!

3. Stop having massive anxiety attacks when I drive, specifically over bridges

Can that be a goal, or is that just a super deep desire to stop this, and something I'll never actually be able to achieve without some sort of medication? 

4. Never have to medicate for my anxiety.... 

Ok, that one might be unreasonable. I've only tried medication once years ago, and it didn't go well. It's kind of shitty to make this a goal since I always encourage other people to take care of themselves and medicate when necessary. I know what my hang up is though - it's my mom. I hate that so many things come down to my desire to avoid being like her at all costs. But watching her medicate throughout my life - the side effectives, the dependency, the lack of results - It's just so frustrating. I've seen her fail to follow through with any sort of counseling or therapy time and time again. I've seen her go through periods of deep depression and extreme mania, followed by periods of self-reflection; only to watch the cycle continuously repeat. I've seen her go through countless medications, always expecting a combination of pills to fix her everything. I've seen her expect those around her to fill in the gaps and make her happy. And nothing works. I hate the way she criticizes everyone around her. But also, I'm not her. I might have anxiety, but I know she has so much going on that I can't even fathom. I know that her lifetime struggle is so far beyond what is going on with me. That doesn't negate what I'm going through, but it's perspective I need to keep in mind when it comes to medication. So I guess my goal isn't a "never" so much as it's a "I'd like to try counseling first, and then if that doesn't work, think about what else I need to help me." But even writing all of this out, I still can't shake that desire to avoid medication. I just can't put myself and those around me through that. 

5. Accept the things I cannot change, have the courage to change the things I can, and obtain/have the wisdom to know the difference...

Obviously this isn't a goal so much as it is a journey. But acceptance. What things do I need to accept? What can I change? And what can I do to learn the difference, and move on? I'll think about how to word that into an easily digestible goal.

Fuck, that's more than the 2 - 3 goals I was asked to make. I suppose like most things in life, I need to figure out the first and foremost priority in those things.

Landslide

 

It comes down to this. If I really want to stick with this counseling thing, I need to journal. And while this blog wasn't started or intended to be a journal, even without the intention, that's what it has become. And since no one but me reads this anyway, here we are.

So journaling... writing with personal intention has always been difficult for me. It's easy to write when I broach a topic like I would a school essay. Main topic and three points; small fish, middle fish, big fish. Arguments in support or against said topics. I did best in school when I was allowed to write. For the last few years, however, writing has been difficult. 

Maybe it's because when I write lately, I feel. Maybe it's because when I write lately, I go into long tangents that pull from the depths of things I'd rather not think about. Maybe it's because when I write lately, things flow through me, pulling me down like a landslide. And the thing is, I don't want to deal with those difficult feelings. Life feels too short to deal with the past. I want to be present because being present is good for you right? Not if you're avoiding dealing with the past do deal with those difficult feelings. 

Can I say "you" a bunch so that it seems like I'm not actually talking about myself? I think that's always enabled me to maintain some sense of detachment in my writing "when 'x' happens 'you' may feel this." It's logical, it's easy to fall into. 

I love my logical brain. The illogical part of my brain... not so much. Feelings are messy and illogical. Anxiety is illogical. If only my logical side won more than my illogical side, everything wouldn't feel so out of control when I allow myself to actually FEEL something (you know, other than the things I want to feel). 

And that's it in a nutshell. I spend so much time unconsciously shoving down my difficult feelings... that... that what? What is the endgame? But it is somehow reflexive. It's not intention at this point, it's just something I've been doing for so long it's hard to stop. And I think that's one reason why I get anxious. Because even if it feels natural to shove down difficult feelings, they're still leaking through, hitting me hard. Shattering my ability to stay present.

So what's the endgame? I need to sit with these difficult feelings. I need to let them wash over me like a landslide, and fall down the mountain so that I can finally deal with them, and come up the other side... So that eventually I can be present. So that eventually the here and now is where I'm actually at, instead of simply where I struggle to be.

 

Sitting on the Dock of the Bay

 

One of the hardest things for me to do at times is to stay present. And yet, it's one of those things that I should be doing in order to effective manage my anxiety. Even more difficult is for me to be present when I'm feeling emotions that are difficult for me to sit with. I would prefer to put off feeling those things, or find ways to distract myself from these feelings. Anxiety is a familiar feeling for me lately - a little too familiar. I started back to counseling because I've recently determined that I'm not managing my anxiety as well as I would like. 

Yesterday, I went through the process of giving my full background to my new counselor - it was harder than I thought it was going to be. I haven't been to counseling in at least a decade, but the process is familiar for me. I figured this would be more like a tune up, but it's possible I've been needing some major work. 

When talking about my past, I'm usually so capable of going into robot-mode and just talking about my past in a super detached way. They may be my stories, but after so long, they've just become stories to me with little emotional weight... or so I thought. This time, in an effort to get out literally as much as I could muster in one sitting so that my new counselor had every piece of history I could find to make sure she knew why I am the way I am... talking through my stories felt different. My voice was shaky. My hands were shaky. She checked in with me a couple of times to make sure I was comfortable continuing to talk about everything. 

At the end of the session, I brought up my cousin Paul, who died by suicide when I was 14 years old. This morning, I realized for the first time this week that that this is World Suicide Prevent Week. It seems almost fitting that my deep dive counseling session would coincide with this week since this time of year always makes me think about Paul. This is the week that reminds me that I'm still living without him. I'm terrible at letting people go, but even over 26 years later, I'm still haunted by the idea that he should still be here. I worry that I will always be haunted by those that I've lost, but this loss in particular stands out. The night he left still stands out in my mind as the most traumatic night of my life.

So today, the feeling that I'm sitting with is that I'm feeling depressed. This is a difficult emotion for me to sit with in particular. Outside of major life events, it doesn't come up that often. I think I'm having a little bit of an emotional fall out, an emotional hangover of sorts, after going through the process of talking about things I haven't thought about in a while. Coupled with thinking about Paul, I'm struggling. And it feels like I don't have time to struggle. I need to work, I need to be productive. I need to take care of my family. But right now, it's really fucking hard. 

Putting off this feeling isn't working... and I realized a few moments a go, that I probably shouldn't put this off. I need to sit with this feeling. I need to feel the weight on my chest. That doesn't mean I should let myself drop into the pit of despair. Sitting with these feelings doesn't mean I need to be consumed by them. But writing about them? Taking some deep breaths and recognizing them? It's probably better than trying to distract myself, or pretend that I'm alright. For right now, I'm giving myself permission to feel this way and to let myself feel it, in order to move through it.