“Have you considered therapy?” Or meds…or both?

So, here we are again. It’s almost 11pm on a Monday night in July. The moon is full with a nice summer breeze. Lots of stars. The serenade of frogs and scent of hay are in the air. And…I’m not tired. Did I nap today? Did I just sit and watch TV all day (Ok…anyone who knows me knows this is just an insane thought)? Nope. I hardly sit. I hardly stop. Even when I stop to eat lunch, I usually stand in the kitchen and listen to my audiobook (this month I’m on a Scottish Highlander kick…don’t judge). In fact, I’m having a really hard time sitting to type this blog! Yes. Here we are again. Why waste time…a relaxing, moonlit walk is just what I need. So, that’s what I did. I have kind of adopted the “I do what I want” attitude about things and you know what? I like it!

Therapy.

Do I need it?

Do I want it?

Will it help?

Or will I totally scare the hell out of the therapist? Maybe. Probably.

I’ll be honest. I really didn’t realize how many options there were under the heading “therapy”. You can basically join a therapy group for just about any type of emotion. It can be for positive emotions or negative emotions. There’s group therapy. There’s one on one therapy. Therapy led by other victims or survivors. Therapy led by religious organizations. Therapy led by medical groups. Therapy involving animals (ok…this one I could totally buy into). Therapy online. Therapy in person. Paid, free, sponsored…you name it. It’s out there.

I remember being handed lots of pamphlets, given websites, names of professionals, and names of people who had gone through a similar loss as mine. It was overwhelming. I had no idea if I even wanted to talk to other people. I didn’t know if I could “share” in a group setting without completely melting into a puddle, shaking uncontrollably, or screaming at the top of my lungs. It wasn’t at the top of my list to show all of my insanity to a group of strangers.

People mean well. They share their experiences with you. They try to gently suggest that you get the help that they so desperately know that you need because “when Uncle John died, Aunt Sally went crazy and just never recovered…I don’t want that to happen to you”. Well…I think “crazy” is normal. Remember the “New Normal”? Yeah. Crazy is a part of it. Roller coaster rides…the whole damn amusement park for your very own use. Yay me.

Someone told me that after their husband died they signed up for a group therapy session. She went. She listened. She was pretty cynical about the whole experience which I found interesting because, at the time, she was trying to convince me to go. The comment that I still remember was, “These women acted like their entire world was over. They were saying that they wanted to die too even though their husbands had been gone for years.” Um…I wanted to say or possibly scream, “That’s me! I do feel like my world is over! I want him back so badly that I would trade places with him just so he could be here!” But, I didn’t. I’m assuming many of you have experienced grief. Grief, I know, is different for everyone but when she told me her reflection and her thoughts on the poor women…no way in hell was I going to put myself out there to be judged! Look, who are we to decide how these women grieve? Who are we to deem how long they grieve? Losing your soulmate is devastating. It’s painful and I mean physically painful. Yeah. No thank you. Another sweet friend of mine told me that after she lost her husband she absolutely couldn’t stop crying at church. One day a member of the church approached her to let her know that she needed to quit crying because it made HER feel uncomfortable. Um…what?

Therapy. Nope. Not happening.

The first couple of weeks after the funeral I was simply going through the motions of existence. No sleep. I woke up almost like clockwork at 1 am every night (well, morning). Sometimes in a panic. Sometimes just confused. Sometimes reaching for him. Then the “what if’s and why’s” filled my head. That was it. No rest. Just worry. I worried for my children, my husband’s friends (seriously, I worry so much for his buddies…it hurts my heart), and myself. When I closed my eyes, it was like a movie projector clicked on showing only the clips of all the bad that had happened over the course of his “leaving”. I was now that woman who couldn’t stop crying. I cried in the shower (this is an excellent place to cry by the way…thank you for that tip dear friend! You know who you are!). I cried before I fell asleep. I cried on my way to work. I cried on my way home. I cried on my way to the store. I just cried.

No therapy. But, I needed help. I needed sleep. I needed to clear the fog.

So…what’s the next step to help?

Meds.

Do I need it?

Do I want it?

Will it help?

Or am I just losing my mind and there’s no hope? Maybe. Probably.

I think we all try to find a physician whom we trust. Someone who is knowledgeable, compassionate, and thorough. But, I don’t think you ever expect to find one of your dearest friends in your physician. I did. My family did…has and she is AMAZING. I mean, there honestly are no words to describe how thankful I am to have her on my side in this journey. We have a long history. She was the only doctor that my husband actually enjoyed going to see. That’s big. She knew our story. She understood. She helped “fix” my kids during this nightmare and I will NEVER EVER forget it. If you are reading this, you know who you are too! I love you much, friend!

We talked. We cried. We decided that I needed a little something just to dull the pain and let my brain settle. Now, I am not a person who takes medication. I take ibuprofen, excedrine migraine…you know, the OTC usuals, but at this point, no prescriptions, and I was very reluctant to go that route. But, she promised me it would only be for a short time. Ok. I fill the scripts. I take the magic pills. I actually fall asleep fairly fast. I feel like I am having an out-of-body experience. Um…what? Ok. I’ll just keep trying because surely those strange effects will start to lessen. Um…nope. Then…I get Covid. Well, of course I do! Why not, right? Don’t freak out. It was a mild case. I recovered just fine. It was my birthday gift…happy 47th to me!

So, meds were not going to work for me either. I had decided I was going to figure this out on my own and just create my own coping plan. Easy. Probably not.

Here’s what I have discovered:

As long as my mind and body are busy, I do not have time to sit and think about the bad. Thinking is not a great hobby for me. Sitting absolutely does not work for me. I need to be moving. I need to be creating or fixing things.

My therapy consists of digging in the dirt planting all the things and getting super grubby.

My therapy is listening to an audiobook while I bake a new dessert. It’s really interesting that before my “new normal” I loved holding a physical book while I read. Nope. My focus is now comparable to a middle schooler who just drank 5 energy drinks. So! Being read to is awesome.

My therapy is walking my dogs in the hayfield in my muck boots and shorts.

My therapy is talking to myself…come on, you know you do it too. Who else understands you better than YOU!?

My therapy is talking to him…everyday.

My therapy is understanding that I’m still going to have bad days where I just want to cry. I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that it’s really ok to not be ok!

My therapy is mowing. It’s peaceful and I feel like I accomplished something.

My therapy is watching my chickens catch bugs in the evening.

My therapy is accepting that I’m a worrier.

My therapy is canning all the things I grow knowing I am helping my family.

My therapy is trying to build my side hustles…I have 3 now. Too many? Maybe. Probably.

My therapy is enjoying our once-a-month family dinners that my husband wanted to start before he left.

My therapy is seeing my adult children kick this nightmare right in the damn face and take on life!

My therapy is hitting my knees when I feel so overwhelmed and worthless…giving it to God.

My therapy is knowing my husband would be damn proud of how I have kept this place together for the past 22 months.

My therapy is figuring out who I am and knowing that I am a work in progress and that is just fine.

I know that several of you who are reading this are going or have gone through this same or similar nightmare. One of my “sisters of the club” told me that “we are now charter members of the club we never asked to join”. Amen to that. I hope and pray that you have found what works for you. Just remember, you are one in a million. You are unique. You deserve to find your own “fix”. Just please, give yourself some grace and accept your needs. Will my “fixes” always work for me? Who knows. I might just show up in a group session one day. Maybe. Probaby. Until then, if you need a little “therapy”, let me know. I’m always up for a little moonlit walk.

Take care!