If you follow me on Twitter, you’ve already heard about my first experience at the Psychologist yesterday.
Rather typically, I went in with exceedingly high hopes that I would make a connection with the Doc. That we would have a deep chat about my recent loss(es). That I’d get a good, solid cry out of the visit and then I could properly continue with my process of grieving, coping, and moving forward.
Well, let’s just say that didn’t happen. The Doctor wanted to talk more about my childhood than my recent situation. I felt almost like she was trying to unearth some deep-seeded resentment in my life that stemmed from a traumatic experience as a kid [hint: there is none; & my childhood was the happiest].
She diagnosed me with nothing. No seriously- no coping disorder. No regressive panic episodes. Nothing. She advised me to practice meditation and put some essential oils on my pillowcase at bedtime to help me relax. She then took my payment and wished me well. Shocking to absolutely no one, I left annoyed.
I started to write an overtly critical piece here about my visit with The Doc. However, my tune sure has changed as I realize that in NOT helping me the way I expected and wanted her to, maybe she’s really helping me more than I initially realized. Strange indeed but maybe I’ve been ready to handle this all along- and I just needed the reassurance from someone else that I’m totally capable of doing this on my own.
I guess what I expected to my visit with The Doc was that she would just let me talk and work out my problem with her. I think I just wanted someone to listen. But I get it now. That I don’t need to learn to talk things out with others. No, that isn’t my problem at all. What I need more is to talk about these things with myself. To spend time listening to ME and what I need instead of getting caught up in the tightrope of how others think I should be dealing with this.
Sometimes the most deeply rooted problem, I realize, is in the fact that I want things IMMEDIATELY. I want to be done with this, I want to move on with my life, I want to be allowed to get pregnant again, I don’t want the constant reminder everyday thankyouverymuch. My immediacy complex [self diagnosed] isn’t allowing me to take this bite by bite and digest what’s happened in my life. And instead of rushing through this to put it behind me- it’s okay to wallow here for a while [I’m giving myself permission, guys] before moving on to the next step. Closure.
Which leaves me here. I know don’t need to be “fixed”- there’s really nothing astronomically wrong with me. I know that I live a very blessed life and that the situations I’ve had thrown my way- while they could have been much worse- are just plain shitty. I realize all of that. I just want to be allowed to fall apart every now and then. I don’t WANT to always be happy, spunky, positive Elizabeth. Sometimes, without explanation, I just want to be allowed to have a terrible day.
I’ve found such peace and closure writing here in this space. But at the same time, I must remember that this blog is a public place and that not everyone in this world was born with a kind heart and a gentle spirit. I hope I can- with your help- continue healing through letting go; moving forward and writing about my journey along the way. As I said last week, it continues to amaze me the kinds of opportunities and the wonderful people that have come into my life because of this little blog.
Needless to say, I don’t think another trip to see The Doc is in the cards for me. But I have learned a valuable lesson here…
that having faith in yourself is the first step in starting your next journey.
Ps- maybe I will try dabbing lavender essential oil on my pillowcase afterall!