Month: November 2021

Daily Post 009: Therapy Journal and Dreams

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I didn’t write yesterday, but I did journal in my new “Therapy Journal”.

I’ve been going to therapy for a while now. Not sure if I wrote about that since I’ve been writing so infrequently. I greatly enjoy my therapist. She is supportive and accepting of a lot of my mentalities. I was nervous at first because she is a faith-based counselor and since I’m a follower of Freya… yeah… the chances of there being friction were pretty high; at least inside my head.

We’ve been able to talk about faith, spirituality, sexuality, grief, fear, tiredness, medications… just… everything. Anything. And when there is a difference or something new for either of us, we’re able to talk through it and find understanding with each other. It’s beautiful. It’s safe. It lets me be me and that’s what helps to find peace and acceptance with my emotions.

Well, one thing we tried in a previous session was me doodling and writing on a whiteboard. Since I’m a kinetic, visual person, and because writing is already something that I know helps figure out or clarify my thoughts, we gave it a shot. At it was amazing. It was one of the best sessions I can remember having, and that’s saying a lot for how many sessions I have had over the course of my life.

Her dry erase markers don’t get used all that much, and several of them were nearing the end of their life. Not that I tried every single marker that she had… but if I had tried every single marker she had… I may or may not have wanted to get her new ones… >.>;

Which brings us to this previous Wednesday. Normally I have my sessions on Thursday, around 10ish. This week we met on Wednesday though. Thursday was pretty booked for her. Since I typically leave the house with enough time to have about 15 minutes to wait in the lobby, I decided to stop at a CVS and pick up some dry erase markers. While I was there, I was left unsupervised in the Office section of the store… surrounded by pens and colors, and notebooks.

There was one notebook. A half-book really. Smaller than my normal to-do list notebooks, with a hardcover, tarnished golden rings on the side. The cover itself was a blue and white design. It was calming to look at. Pretty without being glittery or flashy. Without some dumb “motivational” message on the front. Just an open, welcoming designs and blank pages on the inside.

I decided to buy it, along with a set of G2 pens. The pens I love using so much because they write so smoothly. I also got a pen case. These would be special pens. Different and separate from my normal pens, even though they are the same brand, the same colors.

These would be my therapy pens, and I would keep them in a special case so they couldn’t get lost or mixed up. And this notebook would be my therapy notebook, so I could keep my doodles and writings and notes from therapy.

My therapist was so grateful for the dry erase markers. She wanted to compensate me for buying them. I refused, saying if I had expected compensation, I would have talked to her first before buying them. It isn’t fair to do something without another’s knowledge and then hold them accountable or responsible for the effort or resources you willingly chose to expend.

Me: If they are able to help me, then maybe they can help someone else. That alone is worth it to me.

I didn’t use my notebook during the session. It was more conversational rather than introspective, which I was ok with. Instead, I reflected on my session yesterday and wrote within my therapy journal the things I wanted to remember from it. Reminders for me as we go into the holiday season and this period of restful, cold winter.

I did a fair amount of chores and cleaning yesterday. I folded all my scrubs so they can be packed away. I don’t feel it is right to get rid of them just yet. Maybe in the future, I will. But for now, they will be packed away and kept. I cleaned up the bedroom. I swept. I did more laundry. Ox came home with a ham, and I cooked it for lunch. I made my own breakfast yesterday, an egg and cheese burrito. It was warm and tasty, and I ate all of it, rather than aimlessly picking until I threw it away.

I cooked ribs the night before, having dinner ready before Ox’s mom came home.

Mama Ox: Well, this is a nice surprise.

Part of me fluffed up and felt good about making her day better. Giving her something to let her know she’s cared for and not the only person contributing to the family. Another part of me hurts because it really has been forever since I have cooked for everyone. I used to do it all the time. But for so long I haven’t because I haven’t had the willpower to. It saddens me that all of us had to go through that period of my life. That I allowed myself to go through that for so long. That it affected people I deeply care about in such ways.

But at the same time, while I feel that heartache, I’m getting better. I’m doing more. I’m feeling more like myself. Ox and I are playful again. He tickled me the other day as I teasingly tried to wake him up from a nap. There are all of these little things, things I have missed and longed for, which are slowly coming back. I haven’t made it to the gym yet, but I know I’m getting closer to going. I can feel it building within myself.

Each day I return to another thing. Being consistent with meds. Sleeping without melatonin. Eating meals. Doing chores without crying. Planning a meal and cooking it… all of these dumb, little things that are considered part of everyday life which for so long I wasn’t able to do because of depression and burnout… It’s only a matter of time before one day I wake up, rested, restored, able, and willing to take on the day, and not just the day, but my health as well.

I’ll feel able to go to my kickboxing class and be around people and bow in before stepping on the mat. I feel able to make the drive there and back without wondering “how”? How am I going to be able to do ALL of that and still make it through the rest of my day?

I won’t have to wonder how. I’ll just know, I’ll feel, that I can, and I will and it will be amazing. I’m looking forward to that day. I know it’s closer than it is far away.

Today I woke up with a headache. I also had a dream.

It was about mom. She was there. She was so alive. She nearly glowed, vitality radiating from her with a warmth and beauty that words will never be able to do justice. We were together. She was smiling and I remember thinking that I love her smile.

At some point in the dream, she turned away. She was going to go get something. Food or some such. I remember she left and there was a noticeable change in the room/environment. Her glow was gone. The absence of her warmth and presence was physically felt.

I don’t remember specifically the events in the dream. But I remember being confused. How could mom have been here? How could she have looked so alive? Hadn’t she died? The thought tore at my heart. I knew I couldn’t “just ask” that question. In the dream, I needed to find a safe person who would give me an honest answer. I remember finding them. I don’t remember who it was. But I asked, “Did mom die?”

Instead of answering, they held me, and their answer didn’t matter because from their actions I knew. Mom really was dead, and I was dreaming and when I woke up, she wouldn’t be there.

Ox had been getting ready for work as I dreamed. He was running late and a little grouchy at me when I was slow to get out of bed. I hurt from the dream he didn’t know about. He didn’t know the depth at which I hurt. He didn’t know how his words made me want to cry.

While we were outside having our morning cigarette, he asked how I slept. I told him about the dream. He held me as I cried.

Me: I wanted it to be real.

Crying turned to sobbing and through it all he held me.

I do want it to be real. So badly. I want mom to meet Ox and his family and the people who have become important in my life. I want her to be alive and smile and hug her and feel her warmth. I want all these things and I’ll never be able to have them the way I want.

And while I’m sad and tears are running down my face as I type all of this, I cling to the memory of my dream. Seeing mom happy, smiling, so… alive and well and ok. I will cherish that. I think she is happy for me. I think she thinks I’m doing well.

I know I’m doing better, but I’m still in the transition phase. I haven’t started my new job. I haven’t gone through the two weeks where I won’t get a paycheck. There’s still a lot of things that will transpire before life settles into its new normal.

The waters of life haven’t stilled just yet, but I’m still going to swim forward with strong sure strokes knowing my mom is watching me figure it out and that she’s proud of me. Happy for me.

I love you so much, mom. I miss you and I hope you’re doing well. I’m going to get through this because I’m your little Earth Dragon who Can. Your Earth Dragon who Did. <3

Daily Post 008: Post-DaVita

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Today is my first day writing post-DaVita. It’s my third day being “not a PCT”. It’s… different. It’s… not heavy. Each day I do a little better. Each day I get a little more done. Each day I add a chore or a task or a “thing”, whatever that may end up being. Today it’s writing.

I had counseling today. It focused more on the holidays and my plans for them and how I cope with the emotions that inevitably surface. It wasn’t until roughly the last 15 minutes of our session that I mentioned how I had quit my job and already accepted another. Talk about dropping a bombshell.

Overall, it was a good session. I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel the need to cry. Even when we started talking about mom and death and grief. I felt ok with my emotions. I know they will come and visit. I know it will be hard to sit with them again and break bread. I won’t “want” to welcome them but being angry or sad or frustrated with myself for feeling those emotions isn’t going to make feeling them any easier.

I have had dreams lately. Positive dreams, or at least reassuring.

The one I remember most had to do with swimming. I was at a swim meet. I was supposed to do laps. The pool side was crowded, and I was worried. I couldn’t find where I was supposed to be. I couldn’t see my spot through all the people. But I found it, an empty spot just for me. The place I was supposed to be, where I belonged. The race started and I dove into the water. I knew what I was doing. My strokes were strong and sure. I was headed in this direction, all I had to do was keep going and focus on my intention.

Part way through the race I got nervous. I couldn’t see through all the splashing water. I’ve never swum laps before. I know, in theory, how to turn once you reach the other side of the pool, but I personally have never done it. During the race I became worried. How was I going to pull off the turn when I couldn’t see the wall? What if I made a fool of myself in front of everyone? What if I ran headfirst into the wall and hurt myself? What if, what if, what if…?

Suddenly the water stilled, and I could see the wall. I dove and completed the turn without issue, continuing to swim was ease, knowing that I was still doing the right thing, that I was able to do the right thing and that events would fall into place as they were meant to.

I woke up feeling more ok with my choice. Right now, I’m still in the process of swimming. Things are still in motion and some things on the other side of that motion are unclear. Just because I can’t see the other side doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing or that the direction I’m going in is wrong. I need to focus on my intention, my purpose, and keep going. Everything else will fall into place and be clear when it’s meant to be clear.

That’s how I’m choosing to think of my dreams at least. All the uncertainty and confusion, fear and self-doubt… that’s all normal. I know myself and my ability. I need to have faith in that, in myself, and so I am. One day at a time, one step at a time.

I miss my team. I miss my patients. I no longer feel a soul-crushing weight when I wake up in the morning. Some of my patients and I are friends on Facebook now, since I’m not longer an employee. It might be the ending of me starting their treatments, but it means we can have a beginning as true friends. It’s so much different on this side of my choice than I thought it would be. So much more supportive and… connective. I feel free to be me and I’m enjoying the process of self-discovery.

There is so much and more to write about, but hopefully this is the start of many more to come. I’m starting to look forward to the future again. I’m starting to be and feel alive and that is a deeply missed and appreciated feeling.

Letters to Mom 030: Letter of Resignation

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Hey mom,

I did it. Finally. I officially accepted another job AND turned in my letter of resignation.

It’s weird. I feel better in some ways. Less heavy. Less stressed. Less… lost?

In other ways I’m worried. Is this the right choice? Am I going to be ok?

I feel like it’s the right thing to do. I feel like I won’t die on my way to work Friday because I know all I have to do is hold out long enough and it will end. All I have to do is make it through two more days. I can do two days. They’re most likely going to be hell. Tomorrow is most likely going to suck because I’ll get messages or phone calls asking what’s going on and won’t I stay and how I can’t leave.

Except I can and I am. I’m done bleeding out from wounds no one can see or that no one cares enough to help heal. It’s always “increase your anti-depressant” instead of “let’s fix the issues that are contributing to your depression”

Life is too short to spend it miserable and knowingly allowing myself to stay in a place where I don’t want to be.

I’ve done it for three years. I’ve waited for it to get better for three years. I’ve held on and dug deep and the only thing it has gotten me is depression and burnout.

I don’t know if this specific direction is the right one, but it’s a different direction and that has to count for something, right? Even if it ends up being a “not smart” move, at least I tried something, and mistakes mean that you’re trying. You’re figuring things out.

I’m still trying to figure out how to live life without you. Originally I wanted to be in health care so my life meant something. If I didn’t show up to work people’s lives were affected, so I had to show up to work. It gave me something to cling to. My life had value still, so I had to keep living.

I’ve lost so much of myself along the way. I don’t feel like Jennifer anymore. I feel like a hollow shell who cries on her way to work and sleeps while I’m off the clock because I’m so soul-weary and tired that I can’t do much more than that. I’m proud of myself when I get the laundry done. I’m proud of myself when I don’t cry at the thought of going grocery shopping.

I’m so far away from who I used to be. The fire of passion and purpose is so low right now that I honestly don’t know how I still get up in the morning. I don’t know how I have more to give each day I do because there is so little left.

I’m working on changing that. I’m working on living a life where I honor myself and my needs and it started today by accepting an offer instead of turning it down. I’m not going to stay with the evil I know. I’m going to try something new and if it doesn’t work then I’ll try something else new.

I’ve changed careers before. I’ve moved halfway across the country once. I can do hard things. And I can do them because you taught me to be brave and that effort matters more than results. I’m going to start trying my best again, mom. And it’s going to start with caring about myself.

I know my current work culture is one of burnout and I know I’m slowing dying on the inside each time I go to the clinic. That’s not self-love. If a stranger told me my own story, I would think it’s fucked up and that they need / should leave. If that’s the advice I would give a stranger, then why am I not giving myself the same advice? What makes me different that I should stay in an environment that is mentally and emotionally unhealthy? That actually causes me to have health problems because of the levels of stress with the lack of facilitating effective coping mechanisms?

Tomorrow, tonight really, is a new direction. A scary direction. A direction back to myself. I know it’s the right direction even though I don’t know where it will take me or where I will end up. Maybe this is the last career move I’ll make. Maybe it’s not. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.

Actually… I know it doesn’t matter. You taught me that. Through all the different things you did in life, all of the positions you held… It’s about trying to do your best for yourself and your loved ones. Jerad deserves a partner who isn’t emotionally destroyed. Jon and Jason deserve a sister who is present and able to participate in life. Dad deserves a daughter who is strong. I’m strong because of you, mom. I’m strong enough to get through the next few days. I’m strong enough to stand my ground. I’m strong enough to care for myself, to love myself, to forgive myself.

I’m strong because you took the time to love me, teach me, to let me mess up and learn from my mistakes. I’m still learning, but I’m also still listening and remembering and figuring things out.

I’m doing what’s right for me. I know you’re proud of me. I remember the dream I had. I remember the message you sent to me. I love you, mom. I’ll keep making you proud. Forever and for always. I love you.