Therapy

Today I went to see a psychologist for the first time.

I was nervous at first. As I signed in at the desk, I felt like everyone (everyone being the one woman waiting) was staring at me thinking "oh here's another crazy person".
The first thing I noticed was how personable and warm the receptionist was. She apologized for the copay being $20 instead of $15 and seemed really grateful when I turned in my paperwork. I really appreciated how sincerely nice she was.

To keep myself from nervously moving around in my seat, I worked on my speech for an event this Friday and waited.

It wasn't much longer when I was invited back. The room is small with comfortable furniture and inviting decorations.

She begins by asking why I am there, then about my anxiety, then about my memory loss. I start off by saying that my memory got worse with my first pregnancy, then even worse with my second, then it was pretty much gone after Corbin passed away.

"Your son passed away? Do you want to tell me about that?"

I give a little laugh, "Do we have time?"

And I begin.

I tell her Peanut's story. I tell her about my pregnancy, how my water broke the day before my first born would turn one, and about my delivery. I tell her about the heart murmur, the echos, and the terrifying fear of knowing something is wrong but not knowing exactly what.
I tell her everything.

It wasn't 5 minutes in and I am already crying. I surprise myself, because usually I can tell Corbin's story without blinking an eye. Usually I can talk and talk about heart defects and why I'm doing what I'm doing without crying, but not today.
Today I let it all out and I just cried.

She follows along, nodding, gasping, and shaking her head when I tell her about how the doctor's told me Corbin's heavy breathing was "just a newborn thing."

And it feels good. I don't know what it was about that room, or that doctor, but it felt good to tell my complete, detailed story to someone who had never heard it before and to someone who had time to listen.

I had never told my story, out loud, to someone in that much detail before. And crying through it made me feel good, it made me feel like I was truly a good mom. When I'm home, I don't cry that often. I'm not a sobbing mess all the time, and that makes me feel guilty. Like somehow I'm a bad person because I'm not an emotional wreck. So the fact that I couldn't go a couple minutes without breaking down reminded me that, no, I'm not okay, and it's okay to show that.

So and hour and twenty minutes later, I finish telling her about Corbin's entire stay in the hospital up to the day he died. We have gone way past the allotted one hour but I'm glad she didn't try to interrupt me to stop.

She tells me it sounds to her like I'm mourning in a good way and that I am processing it well, which makes me feel hopeful. She schedules me for a second appointment next week to finish her evaluation, since I have such a long story she couldn't finish it in one appointment.

And I feel good, almost cleansed. Like I had been bottling up all this energy and it was weighing me down. So it's good. It went very well and I was pleasantly surprised that I actually enjoyed the session.

Till next week!