My new therapist, Dr. D has suggested that I try telling my mom what I need. For example, when I see my mom once a week at Jazze.rcise, the conversation usually goes something like, I say "Hi Mom", she says, "Hi Geochick!!!" all excitedly, I continue what I'm doing (changing usually), she starts telling me what she's doing or what her friends are doing, or what distant family members are doing. I roll my eyes and wonder when she's going to ask me how me and my family are.
Every. Single. Week.
At Dr. D's suggestion, I thought about how to tell my mom that I would really like it if she checked in with me and my family before launching into her stories.
At this moment, I can't figure out how to do it. My interactions with her have reached a certain toxicity to where I can't seem to let go of the fuming anger I feel every time I have to talk to her. I feel like I've already tried to get through to her, but she never hears me, and what's the point of asking?
I recently had the opportunity to do just that. To stop her and say, "You know mom, I would really like it if you checked in with me before telling me what's going on with everyone else".
I didn't do it. Then the typical pattern emerged. After a while, I finally blurted out that we are currently dealing with thousands of dollars worth of damage to our house because of 2 major hailstorms. The roof is trashed, our awnings have holes in them, the fence is damaged. It's covered by insurance, but still, it's a pain. We have a check to get the work started, except that we have to send said check to two different banks (mortgage and home equity loan) to get it endorsed so that we can actually start. Bureaucratic nightmare, IMO. Not to mention that the flooding isn't covered by insurance so we just have to put up with a carpet remnant covering the floor until next year when hopefully we have enough money to do the work. Or maybe it'll be two years from now, who knows.
This is her reaction, "Oh my God, I had no idea!!!!"
No shit. Cause YOU NEVER ASK HOW MY LIFE IS.
And I react sarcastically, "Well, of course not, because you never asked".
And the cycle continues....
I understand now why people break with their parents. I hate this cycle. I hate feeling like a petulant little kid. I hate that she never asks me what I'm up to, that if I didn't say anything in our interactions that it would never occur to her that she doesn't know anything about my life.
I also hate that I'm starting to feel judged by Dr. D. I can't tell if that's because I'm so ashamed that I can't even try to start fixing this relationship to some degree, or if I'm really frustrated that she isn't validating how I feel about things. She still won't agree that my mom is a narcis.sist. I'm pretty damn sure she is. But I guess I'm not the one with a PhD and years of experience, so I must be wrong.
p.s. everytime I wonder if I should go public, I realize that then I would never be able to write like this and feel comfortable. I think I like my anonymous space.
Showing posts with label therapy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label therapy. Show all posts
Friday, August 14, 2015
Saturday, February 22, 2014
The Hardest Part About Therapy
is learning that I can't fix a family relationship. A close family member at that. Now, it's all about limited and appropriate contact and what that means to preserve myself in order to improve what's there now.
It's really sad.
It was inevitable.
It sucks.
It was made worse by my infertility and adoption journey. What that brought out in the relationship was the stark contrast of personalities. One fiercely independent, the other codependent. One willing to get down and dirty in the muck of shitty feelings in order to healthfully move through the shit, another who has swept everything under the rug for years. One willing to attempt to share the journey and personal feelings about infertility and adoption, and another who can't handle the pain. One who endured being treated like a child because the other just. can't. handle. it.
It's broken and it will never be fixed. I hurt so bad.
It's really sad.
It was inevitable.
It sucks.
It was made worse by my infertility and adoption journey. What that brought out in the relationship was the stark contrast of personalities. One fiercely independent, the other codependent. One willing to get down and dirty in the muck of shitty feelings in order to healthfully move through the shit, another who has swept everything under the rug for years. One willing to attempt to share the journey and personal feelings about infertility and adoption, and another who can't handle the pain. One who endured being treated like a child because the other just. can't. handle. it.
It's broken and it will never be fixed. I hurt so bad.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
My Adoption Backstory and the Epiphany
In my haste to write the last post I forgot that I haven't really told my backstory much, except in a book tour, and possibly alluded to it now and then in other posts.
So, to clear up all confusion, here it is.
My mother was married to a man before my Dad and he is my father. I was very young when they divorced, and brother1 was a baby. We moved to another state with my mom's then boyfriend, and the man I grew up calling "Dad". While my parents acknowledged that brother1 and I were not the product of the two of them, they insisted on never discussing the situation. I always called my dad, Dad, and the fuzzy memories I have of bio-dad are just that, fuzzy. I remember that he was around, yet I have no idea what he looks like since my mom destroyed all evidence of him. Apparently, he showed no interest in us once we moved away.
Growing up, my parents acted like brother1 and I were biologically theirs, and squashed all my attempts at conversation. The questioning became even more intense when my parents had children who do not look like me and my brother. It's completely obvious that we don't share the same genetic makeup, but that was not discussed and we continued our charade. In fact, bringing up the fact that me and brother1 look like my dad was done quite frequently. I remember feeling proud of that fact when I was young, a little confused by it when I got older, and then downright annoyed by the time I was in college.
When I was a teenager, my dad adopted us by reason of abandonment by our bio-dad. It was treated like every other day, except we made a quick trip to the courthouse to go through the formality, and we were given very little notice of this event. Honestly, I really didn't grasp the monumental step that this was, as I was always trying to please and so did everything my parents told me to without question.
By the time I reached adulthood, I just took it all and stuffed it into a neat little box after several attempts to express my discomfort at the charade. I wasn't allowed to talk about how I felt about the situation, and in general felt like it was my fault that my parents would get mad at me for bringing it up. What was the point in pursuing something that so obviously upset both of my parents? Especially since it didn't matter (or wasn't supposed to matter?). Forming lasting and trusting relationships has always been difficult for me, and was something I thought was either my fault or the other person being a class A jerk.
In the process of adopting a child myself, I've been forced to face the feelings I've had all my life. Reading "The Primal Wound" by Nancy Verrier, started to gently shake the foundation upon I've lived as I identified with way too many of the characteristics she describes. Reading adoptee memoirs has shaken the foundation just a bit more, creating hairline cracks, and with it, friction with my parents. Facing the reality of being an adoptive mother and how we are treating our child's story further widened the cracks. A year of therapy began to chisel away at the relationships I've developed in my life, forcing me to see them in a new light and to figure out how to navigate them. All of these little steps have served to fracture my psyche, my perception of my childhood, my perception of myself.
...and then brother1 made two statements,"I don't even know if I look like him", and, "What if we have brothers and sisters?" During our conversation, when he expressed an interest in searching, I made a snap decision. If he wants to do it, we should both do it. Even though I've spent a long time convincing myself that I don't need to, I should be there to support him, should he desire to take that journey.
On the long drive to the airport, as I mulled over the conversation, navigating the two lane highway, it hit me full force. I'm staring at the opportunity to help myself become whole by acknowledging this other person, this half of my genetic makeup. I'm 39 years old and have no idea if I look like my bio-dad.
My world broke open.
So, to clear up all confusion, here it is.
My mother was married to a man before my Dad and he is my father. I was very young when they divorced, and brother1 was a baby. We moved to another state with my mom's then boyfriend, and the man I grew up calling "Dad". While my parents acknowledged that brother1 and I were not the product of the two of them, they insisted on never discussing the situation. I always called my dad, Dad, and the fuzzy memories I have of bio-dad are just that, fuzzy. I remember that he was around, yet I have no idea what he looks like since my mom destroyed all evidence of him. Apparently, he showed no interest in us once we moved away.
Growing up, my parents acted like brother1 and I were biologically theirs, and squashed all my attempts at conversation. The questioning became even more intense when my parents had children who do not look like me and my brother. It's completely obvious that we don't share the same genetic makeup, but that was not discussed and we continued our charade. In fact, bringing up the fact that me and brother1 look like my dad was done quite frequently. I remember feeling proud of that fact when I was young, a little confused by it when I got older, and then downright annoyed by the time I was in college.
When I was a teenager, my dad adopted us by reason of abandonment by our bio-dad. It was treated like every other day, except we made a quick trip to the courthouse to go through the formality, and we were given very little notice of this event. Honestly, I really didn't grasp the monumental step that this was, as I was always trying to please and so did everything my parents told me to without question.
By the time I reached adulthood, I just took it all and stuffed it into a neat little box after several attempts to express my discomfort at the charade. I wasn't allowed to talk about how I felt about the situation, and in general felt like it was my fault that my parents would get mad at me for bringing it up. What was the point in pursuing something that so obviously upset both of my parents? Especially since it didn't matter (or wasn't supposed to matter?). Forming lasting and trusting relationships has always been difficult for me, and was something I thought was either my fault or the other person being a class A jerk.
In the process of adopting a child myself, I've been forced to face the feelings I've had all my life. Reading "The Primal Wound" by Nancy Verrier, started to gently shake the foundation upon I've lived as I identified with way too many of the characteristics she describes. Reading adoptee memoirs has shaken the foundation just a bit more, creating hairline cracks, and with it, friction with my parents. Facing the reality of being an adoptive mother and how we are treating our child's story further widened the cracks. A year of therapy began to chisel away at the relationships I've developed in my life, forcing me to see them in a new light and to figure out how to navigate them. All of these little steps have served to fracture my psyche, my perception of my childhood, my perception of myself.
...and then brother1 made two statements,"I don't even know if I look like him", and, "What if we have brothers and sisters?" During our conversation, when he expressed an interest in searching, I made a snap decision. If he wants to do it, we should both do it. Even though I've spent a long time convincing myself that I don't need to, I should be there to support him, should he desire to take that journey.
On the long drive to the airport, as I mulled over the conversation, navigating the two lane highway, it hit me full force. I'm staring at the opportunity to help myself become whole by acknowledging this other person, this half of my genetic makeup. I'm 39 years old and have no idea if I look like my bio-dad.
My world broke open.
Monday, July 15, 2013
Cracked
I saw my brother (brother1) and his family this weekend.
We had a needed deep and uncomfortable conversation about our parents.
We may be searching for our bio father/father's family in the near future.
This is the first time in my life that I have identified as an adoptee.
My first step is to try to get my original birth certificate.
My second is to ask my mother for the information I know she has, but has not shared with us.
I'm scared.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Insomnia
Title says it all. It's 3:22 am and I've been awake since 2am when I had to pee.
I don't get insomnia that often, and most of the time, it's more of an issue of having to turn off my brain to make myself get back to sleep. Most of the time, if I've laid in bed for an hour willing myself to go back to sleep, it will happen. Most of the time, I get it around midnight after I've slept for a couple of hours, so there's plenty of sleep time left once I do fall back asleep. This is different, and I'm not entirely sure what triggered it, but I have an inkling.
Part of the work I've been doing in therapy is to compartmentalize work from home. Leave work at work so that I can focus on being the best version of me in my off time. It seemed like a funny practice to me because I've never been what you would call a workaholic. But I am most definitely a perfectionist, so even if I'm not working, I'm worrying about it. Worrying about whether I'll screw up this time or that time, or if I'm good enough. That kind of worry. When I worry like that, I get anxious, and when I get anxious I'm not really present in my every day life. Who is when they are anxious, right? The exercise in compartmentalization has been to slack a little (more like give myself a break since I'm a little slow with the holidays and all) and to practice visualizations when I get to work and when I leave work to help with the compartmentalization. It's all to help me recognize that the person I perceive myself to be (never good enough, always making mistakes) is not the person my colleagues see (you don't get great performance reviews if you're always making mistakes). My supervisor spends practically no time with me, and has left me to sink or swim in big meetings by myself from time to time. This happens even if I ask him specifically to attend a meeting so I have back-up. There's obviously other issues with his management style, but the point that Therapist is trying to make me see is that he thinks I can handle it, despite what I think/feel about my ability.
In addition, I've been dealing with a less than stellar team lead, blew my budget trying to do his job half the time and then got dragged through the mud because of it. Ok, maybe not really dragged through the mud, but I did have to defend myself and reveal that we were having internal issues to the client liasion (not exactly the client, but close and I won't bore you with the details of how that works). In that meeting, the team lead didn't show, but my supervisor did and he helped defend my budget woes. Score one for me. So, that was all well and good when it came down to the end, but we aren't done with the project yet, and I have been yearning to kick this one to the curb practically since it began. Come to last Wednesday after I got back from vacation to find a typical e-mail from the team lead to the design leads on the team to hurry up and update the design summary document and do it in two days. Thursday, Baby X got sick and I had to stay home. Friday, I kind of forgot about the document because I have other higher priority work at the moment, and I was pissed at the lead. Let's call a spade a spade, shall we?
I didn't get it done today, and I also managed to not turn off my brain when I left work. When I woke up at 2am this morning, I realized that my portion of the write up has to be reviewed before I can send it on, and who the hell does this team lead think he is demanding a 2-day turn around? That's not how it works in our place of business. Ever.
I've been composing various e-mails in my head ever since, from the obviously bitchy versions to the more pared down, "hey, I can't get this to you until date because it needs to be reviewed first.
I don't think that's successful compartmentalization.
I don't get insomnia that often, and most of the time, it's more of an issue of having to turn off my brain to make myself get back to sleep. Most of the time, if I've laid in bed for an hour willing myself to go back to sleep, it will happen. Most of the time, I get it around midnight after I've slept for a couple of hours, so there's plenty of sleep time left once I do fall back asleep. This is different, and I'm not entirely sure what triggered it, but I have an inkling.
Part of the work I've been doing in therapy is to compartmentalize work from home. Leave work at work so that I can focus on being the best version of me in my off time. It seemed like a funny practice to me because I've never been what you would call a workaholic. But I am most definitely a perfectionist, so even if I'm not working, I'm worrying about it. Worrying about whether I'll screw up this time or that time, or if I'm good enough. That kind of worry. When I worry like that, I get anxious, and when I get anxious I'm not really present in my every day life. Who is when they are anxious, right? The exercise in compartmentalization has been to slack a little (more like give myself a break since I'm a little slow with the holidays and all) and to practice visualizations when I get to work and when I leave work to help with the compartmentalization. It's all to help me recognize that the person I perceive myself to be (never good enough, always making mistakes) is not the person my colleagues see (you don't get great performance reviews if you're always making mistakes). My supervisor spends practically no time with me, and has left me to sink or swim in big meetings by myself from time to time. This happens even if I ask him specifically to attend a meeting so I have back-up. There's obviously other issues with his management style, but the point that Therapist is trying to make me see is that he thinks I can handle it, despite what I think/feel about my ability.
In addition, I've been dealing with a less than stellar team lead, blew my budget trying to do his job half the time and then got dragged through the mud because of it. Ok, maybe not really dragged through the mud, but I did have to defend myself and reveal that we were having internal issues to the client liasion (not exactly the client, but close and I won't bore you with the details of how that works). In that meeting, the team lead didn't show, but my supervisor did and he helped defend my budget woes. Score one for me. So, that was all well and good when it came down to the end, but we aren't done with the project yet, and I have been yearning to kick this one to the curb practically since it began. Come to last Wednesday after I got back from vacation to find a typical e-mail from the team lead to the design leads on the team to hurry up and update the design summary document and do it in two days. Thursday, Baby X got sick and I had to stay home. Friday, I kind of forgot about the document because I have other higher priority work at the moment, and I was pissed at the lead. Let's call a spade a spade, shall we?
I didn't get it done today, and I also managed to not turn off my brain when I left work. When I woke up at 2am this morning, I realized that my portion of the write up has to be reviewed before I can send it on, and who the hell does this team lead think he is demanding a 2-day turn around? That's not how it works in our place of business. Ever.
I've been composing various e-mails in my head ever since, from the obviously bitchy versions to the more pared down, "hey, I can't get this to you until
I don't think that's successful compartmentalization.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Blah.
....and that's why I haven't posted for a little while. Therapist is wondering about medication. I'm not exhibiting any characteristics of major depression, but there's a possibility of some mild depression based on a questionnaire. I already don't have much of a s.e.x drive, so I really want to kill it completely to give my brain a serotonin boost that I may or may not need?
Meanwhile, trying to work through this shit is making me wish I hadn't even started down this road. Does it always have to get worse before getting better?
Meanwhile, trying to work through this shit is making me wish I hadn't even started down this road. Does it always have to get worse before getting better?
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Progress
I didn't let it ruin my weekend.
S and I had a fun weekend planned, it was something that we had been talking about doing for months. We dropped Baby X off with S's parents Sunday morning, hightailed it up to the mountains and had a nice bike ride around a reservoir. It was perfect weather, cool but sunny, and S was excited to be sharing something with me that he loves to do. Hence, the reason why on the one big hill climb, I swore and sweated and struggled while wondering why the hell there isn't a granny-granny gear, and S would ride around the bend (or two), then come sailing back to me with a "You're doing great, keep it up"! At least the rest of the ride is gentle rolling hills and flats.
On Monday, we drove down to pick up Baby X only to find out that he was asleep by the time we got to S's parents house, so we did some shopping while waiting for him to wake up. I dragged S to every baby store in the mall looking for deals and got some great ones. All I can say, is thank you Universe for extra 25% off clearance. Baby X is starting to destroy his clothes at day care and we are now having to be careful not to dress him in anything we are particularly attached to when sending him off in the morning. So, that killed about an hour and then we spent the rest of the day trying to gear up for going back to work.
Today, it ruined my day. You see, there was an altercation on Friday between me and a close family member that left me shaken and furious. I was treated like I was a fucking teenager, although I don't think yelling things like "act your age" make you look like the mature one. I was pissed that this happened before a long holiday weekend. I was pissed that something like this was happening again (aren't I too old for such dressing downs?) And it kind of broke something in me. As in, I am not going to put up with this bullshit anymore.
So, I went into work, attempted to focus. Couldn't focus, called Therapist and got an appointment for the afternoon. After trying to make myself get to work, and still not being able to focus, I had had it. I couldn't sit there any longer. So, I left. There was no way I was going to get anything productive done.
I still feel somewhat like shit. I'm still angry, but I have a better perspective now that I've had a session to vent and wonder what the fuck just happened. I have some time to cool down before having to even think about speaking to this person. I have some time to process and figure out how to approach the problem. (yay for time?) Maybe it'll get resolved, maybe it won't. It felt like a deal breaker to me, but maybe I can find a way to work around it.
There was progress though. I didn't let it ruin my weekend.
S and I had a fun weekend planned, it was something that we had been talking about doing for months. We dropped Baby X off with S's parents Sunday morning, hightailed it up to the mountains and had a nice bike ride around a reservoir. It was perfect weather, cool but sunny, and S was excited to be sharing something with me that he loves to do. Hence, the reason why on the one big hill climb, I swore and sweated and struggled while wondering why the hell there isn't a granny-granny gear, and S would ride around the bend (or two), then come sailing back to me with a "You're doing great, keep it up"! At least the rest of the ride is gentle rolling hills and flats.
On Monday, we drove down to pick up Baby X only to find out that he was asleep by the time we got to S's parents house, so we did some shopping while waiting for him to wake up. I dragged S to every baby store in the mall looking for deals and got some great ones. All I can say, is thank you Universe for extra 25% off clearance. Baby X is starting to destroy his clothes at day care and we are now having to be careful not to dress him in anything we are particularly attached to when sending him off in the morning. So, that killed about an hour and then we spent the rest of the day trying to gear up for going back to work.
Today, it ruined my day. You see, there was an altercation on Friday between me and a close family member that left me shaken and furious. I was treated like I was a fucking teenager, although I don't think yelling things like "act your age" make you look like the mature one. I was pissed that this happened before a long holiday weekend. I was pissed that something like this was happening again (aren't I too old for such dressing downs?) And it kind of broke something in me. As in, I am not going to put up with this bullshit anymore.
So, I went into work, attempted to focus. Couldn't focus, called Therapist and got an appointment for the afternoon. After trying to make myself get to work, and still not being able to focus, I had had it. I couldn't sit there any longer. So, I left. There was no way I was going to get anything productive done.
I still feel somewhat like shit. I'm still angry, but I have a better perspective now that I've had a session to vent and wonder what the fuck just happened. I have some time to cool down before having to even think about speaking to this person. I have some time to process and figure out how to approach the problem. (yay for time?) Maybe it'll get resolved, maybe it won't. It felt like a deal breaker to me, but maybe I can find a way to work around it.
There was progress though. I didn't let it ruin my weekend.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Ahhhh Therapy....
Therapy is turning to be like taking a nice long cleansing bath. It doesn't really feel good during, but after the dust settles, I feel a little freer.
I have a hypervigilant self-awareness apparently, as indicated by some of the comments from Therapist. For example, I know that, say around day 21-22 of my cycle, I'm going to be the biggest bitch in the city, yet sometimes I can't control it. (Therapist suggested acupuncture now that my cycles have returned to "normal' i.e. no regular acupuncture, bcps or other monkeying, and I appear to have some hormone issues going down). We haven't gotten to the "mommy issues" as she calls them, but I seem to be circling the drain. At one session, I was already to dive into the complexities of my family and upbringing, but ended up re-living infertility-land again. And, as it turns out, this whole notion of a biological baby, and not being able to raise a little mini-me still stings, and can make me cry. Blech. Not that I felt like I was over it completely, I just thought I could talk about it without getting choked up. Not so much. But then again, I had just spent 45 minutes chronicling our infertility journey, bringing up all those crappy feelings again. There were a couple of things that were brought up that made me surprised.
1. I couldn't remember the name of our R.E. It hasn't been that long, but it's almost like I've cut ties completely with the fertility treatment journey. All I could remember was the hospital she was tied to and the fact that I didn't like her. Therapist knew who I was talking about by mentioning location, and I found it so weird, that I couldn't pull the name from my brain until someone else said it. As far as not liking her, I have a feeling I wouldn't like any R.E. I worked with. I don't think they are too worried about bedside manner. Oh, and when I was talking about the What If part, what if we had gone further, at least a couple more IUIs or something like that, that I am definitely past that. I don't really think about that the way I did before Baby X got here.
2. I couldn't remember the exact chronology of the infertility journey. When Therapist asked me if I could point out where in the infertility journey I started to get depressed, it took a little bit of thinking hard back to kind of hit it. Of course, I could be wrong, and really I was depressed before the situation that I remember as being the first time something happened that made me angry (my emotion is definitely more anger than sadness) occurred. Still, I really had to think hard about the order in which everything went down. Things that you think will forever be seared into your brain.
At another session we finally hit some of why I react the way I do to situations (see previous post). There's something about parents who think they are guiding their children to be successful through life, but who in the process put them into a little box. In my little box, straight A's were the gateway to self-worth. Why? Well, if I didn't get good grades, then I got in trouble. Big trouble. C's were failing in my parent's minds. I took that to mean that if I didn't get straight A's, then my parents wouldn't love me. Yeah, twisted. (and in college, my little rebellious phase was to gather some D's and C's along the way to graduation. However, my mother pointed out when my brother graduated this year, that out of all her children, he's the only one who graduated college with above a 3.0 GPA.) Anyway, I guess I apply that theory to all relationships in my life, and constantly feel like I'm not good enough if a relationship fails. It's really difficult for me to look at the situation and think "I've done everything I can, I've been nice, extended the olive branch, and she/he has rejected it. It's not me, it's them." I'm working on it though. At least I got through my own party without one nugget of information ruining my night.
That's not how I want to raise my children, and I find that I have great fear that if I'm not careful, it's exactly what I will do. And so, I go to therapy.
I have a hypervigilant self-awareness apparently, as indicated by some of the comments from Therapist. For example, I know that, say around day 21-22 of my cycle, I'm going to be the biggest bitch in the city, yet sometimes I can't control it. (Therapist suggested acupuncture now that my cycles have returned to "normal' i.e. no regular acupuncture, bcps or other monkeying, and I appear to have some hormone issues going down). We haven't gotten to the "mommy issues" as she calls them, but I seem to be circling the drain. At one session, I was already to dive into the complexities of my family and upbringing, but ended up re-living infertility-land again. And, as it turns out, this whole notion of a biological baby, and not being able to raise a little mini-me still stings, and can make me cry. Blech. Not that I felt like I was over it completely, I just thought I could talk about it without getting choked up. Not so much. But then again, I had just spent 45 minutes chronicling our infertility journey, bringing up all those crappy feelings again. There were a couple of things that were brought up that made me surprised.
1. I couldn't remember the name of our R.E. It hasn't been that long, but it's almost like I've cut ties completely with the fertility treatment journey. All I could remember was the hospital she was tied to and the fact that I didn't like her. Therapist knew who I was talking about by mentioning location, and I found it so weird, that I couldn't pull the name from my brain until someone else said it. As far as not liking her, I have a feeling I wouldn't like any R.E. I worked with. I don't think they are too worried about bedside manner. Oh, and when I was talking about the What If part, what if we had gone further, at least a couple more IUIs or something like that, that I am definitely past that. I don't really think about that the way I did before Baby X got here.
2. I couldn't remember the exact chronology of the infertility journey. When Therapist asked me if I could point out where in the infertility journey I started to get depressed, it took a little bit of thinking hard back to kind of hit it. Of course, I could be wrong, and really I was depressed before the situation that I remember as being the first time something happened that made me angry (my emotion is definitely more anger than sadness) occurred. Still, I really had to think hard about the order in which everything went down. Things that you think will forever be seared into your brain.
At another session we finally hit some of why I react the way I do to situations (see previous post). There's something about parents who think they are guiding their children to be successful through life, but who in the process put them into a little box. In my little box, straight A's were the gateway to self-worth. Why? Well, if I didn't get good grades, then I got in trouble. Big trouble. C's were failing in my parent's minds. I took that to mean that if I didn't get straight A's, then my parents wouldn't love me. Yeah, twisted. (and in college, my little rebellious phase was to gather some D's and C's along the way to graduation. However, my mother pointed out when my brother graduated this year, that out of all her children, he's the only one who graduated college with above a 3.0 GPA.) Anyway, I guess I apply that theory to all relationships in my life, and constantly feel like I'm not good enough if a relationship fails. It's really difficult for me to look at the situation and think "I've done everything I can, I've been nice, extended the olive branch, and she/he has rejected it. It's not me, it's them." I'm working on it though. At least I got through my own party without one nugget of information ruining my night.
That's not how I want to raise my children, and I find that I have great fear that if I'm not careful, it's exactly what I will do. And so, I go to therapy.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Left Out
The Really Lame Saga Continues....
One of the the things I'm exploring (working on?) with Therapist is my reactions to feeling left out. I don't react well and finding out that we or I wasn't invited to an event with friends can send me into a tailspin in seconds flat. It's a sucky way to live, and I hate it. I also keep score on friendships and because I've now had a few fail, I tend to think that I must be a bad friend and it was all my fault that the friendship fell apart. Well, not all my fault, but in general I feel like maybe I could have done something to fix it, and usually I try. It turns out, not everyone wants to communicate, and when they are done, they are done.
Problems have arisen because we have many mutual friends in common. This weekend, I decided to host a little party with friends of ours, whom we haven't seem in months. In the course of conversation, people at my party started talking about seeing so and so about a month ago, "You know, remember when we were at that bar near C and J's house?" S and I were the only ones not at said bar. S and I were the only ones not invited to said bar. Since J is the woman who decided not to be my friend anymore, I'm not surprised. BUT, this is so unusual for this group of friends. First of all, up until last summer it was me and S and C and J who used to get together regularly out of this group. Us not being invited to something is huge. I mean, they could have invited S and not me, it's his group of friends. I don't know if he would have gone, but it's just totally fucked up that he's being excluded because me and J are no longer friends. Anyway, I did good (for me), dropped it, didn't talk about J, didn't try to get any more information, but I fumed internally and spent a great deal of energy trying to act like nothing happened. Yay, fun party.
I always go to such a shitty place in my head when finding out information like this. Like, what's being said about me when all of them get together? Probably nothing, that's just all kinds of narcissistic, isn't it? But I still worry because I'm not there to defend myself. Am I that bad of a person that it's worth making every social event with this group of friends completely weird and awkward? Should we just completely remove ourselves from this group and not even try anymore? But the people I invited to our party came, so I guess they don't hate me right?
Oh, and there's a gathering coming up soon, that all four of us have been invited to and they are going. So are we.
Good thing I have therapy this week.
One of the the things I'm exploring (working on?) with Therapist is my reactions to feeling left out. I don't react well and finding out that we or I wasn't invited to an event with friends can send me into a tailspin in seconds flat. It's a sucky way to live, and I hate it. I also keep score on friendships and because I've now had a few fail, I tend to think that I must be a bad friend and it was all my fault that the friendship fell apart. Well, not all my fault, but in general I feel like maybe I could have done something to fix it, and usually I try. It turns out, not everyone wants to communicate, and when they are done, they are done.
Problems have arisen because we have many mutual friends in common. This weekend, I decided to host a little party with friends of ours, whom we haven't seem in months. In the course of conversation, people at my party started talking about seeing so and so about a month ago, "You know, remember when we were at that bar near C and J's house?" S and I were the only ones not at said bar. S and I were the only ones not invited to said bar. Since J is the woman who decided not to be my friend anymore, I'm not surprised. BUT, this is so unusual for this group of friends. First of all, up until last summer it was me and S and C and J who used to get together regularly out of this group. Us not being invited to something is huge. I mean, they could have invited S and not me, it's his group of friends. I don't know if he would have gone, but it's just totally fucked up that he's being excluded because me and J are no longer friends. Anyway, I did good (for me), dropped it, didn't talk about J, didn't try to get any more information, but I fumed internally and spent a great deal of energy trying to act like nothing happened. Yay, fun party.
I always go to such a shitty place in my head when finding out information like this. Like, what's being said about me when all of them get together? Probably nothing, that's just all kinds of narcissistic, isn't it? But I still worry because I'm not there to defend myself. Am I that bad of a person that it's worth making every social event with this group of friends completely weird and awkward? Should we just completely remove ourselves from this group and not even try anymore? But the people I invited to our party came, so I guess they don't hate me right?
Oh, and there's a gathering coming up soon, that all four of us have been invited to and they are going. So are we.
Good thing I have therapy this week.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)