Just need a space to vent:
Among my biggest challenges is anxiety. I get consumed by it. Sometimes it is a mask for grief/pain and anger. Sometimes there is something real to worry about. Sometimes it just runs rampant. Today I am amped up on both pharmaceauticals (klonopin) and homeopathic drops and will try to do little bursts of exercise throughout the work day. I have an acupuncture appointment tonight. I see a therapist. I am really trying to attend to it. I can't keep this up. The anxiety wrecks my sleep and makes it hard for me think clearly at work and sometimes with my girls. I am going to do whatever hard work it takes to figure this out.
What is running through my head this morning is panic: I can't do it. I am not enough. Work is too hard. It is too complicated/hard/sad to be a solo parent. This is all too much. I am drowning. I feel like I have hands around my throat. I am going to fail and let everyone down. I am going to fail and lose everything and everyone.
If I ask myself, "are all those statements really true?", the answer is no. Things are hard but my kids are doing really well and I might not do a great job with this project at work but I won't lose my job. But underneath it all is trauma. The real battle is grief and trauma and the trauma is trying to control me by saying--well the worst did happen and Ron got sick and died and nothing you did could stop that or save him. So even though I know it wasn't my fault there is some place in my subconscious that feels shame and terror that I failed. I don't mean to sound narcissistic. The rational part of me knows this was out of my control. The subconscious, primitive part of me thinks , well if this could happen, what next? Yes, another worst thing could happen and you will be able to do fuck all to stop it. I didn't realize the shame part until I read, "Rising Strong" by Brene Brown. Great book. I recommend it. When I read a section on shame all of a sudden I found myself sobbing and I realized that I felt shame about Ron's death. Like I wasn't good enough to keep him, our marriage, our lives so it had to all be taken away. Shame that my love wasn't enough to save him. Shame that no matter what I couldn't save him. He died from advanced pancreatic cancer. The rational part of me knows there was never anything I could do to save him. But somehow shame remains in me.
Resilience. Rising Strong. Waking up enough to see what was out of my control and that I did a good job of taking care of him and showering him with love in what we knew was his final time on earth. Confidence, knowledge that it is okay to be broken, just showing up is a worthy first step (I am also a big fan of Glennon Doyle Melton). I am working on these things. Hard. Tiring. Confidence that I making it. My house is still standing, my children are healthy and thriving and I am employed. I try to see that when the anxiety isn't taking over. I am also lonely and stretched to what feels like just a hair next to the breaking point but if you met me on the street you'd probably think. She seems great! Maybe a few bags under the eyes but she must be "all better" since Ron died. I actually know that I am a tough cookie. I often think I am doing a pretty decent job of managing this life. I am resilient, sometimes.
Today I will be breaking it down into small chunks. What do I need to do this hour? Then the next? Then the next? Just do the next right thing, right? Breathing deep.
Sending love to all.