They're just too controlling...
But don't you think that description is a little hypocritical? I mean, no one wants another person controlling them, but also everyone wants control. Whether it's control over what you eat or what you wear, how many coffees you consume in 24 hours or if you're drinking enough water, and bigger things like where you live or with whom you decide to live. Sometimes we even like it when others around us acknowledge our "good" decisions and shift some of their decisions to align with ours. We all want control--we just don't want to admit that we're the ones who don't actually have it.
Hey. What's up? It's me again. Emo Emily is back at it ;) I realized (with the help of my therapist, we'll talk more about that coming right up) that for me, writing and sharing are both very healing. In fact, the three times recently I've finally hit publish on posts here were three of my most peaceful moments in the past two years. The entire process of getting to the point of hitting publish? Not so peaceful. Pretty desperate, in fact. Because of that I'm working on something where I don't wait until I hit my lowest point of desperation to write, but instead I write all the time. Maybe I share once I feel myself slipping, but also no pressure to share anything. Boom.
So therapy. Ooooo such a spooky and sometimes triggering word, right? Except not right. That's such an uninformed way to view therapy and the art of working on and caring for your own mental health. I've spent the past handful of years so proud of my friends who are putting in the work through therapy, yet never actually going myself. Recently I got to a point where I couldn't get out of bed. Sometimes I could get out of bed, but I couldn't get out of my car and go into work. I couldn't do it. I couldn't imagine being able to smile and pretend I was okay anymore. I couldn't handle the thought of accepting that this is where my life is right now. I couldn't do it (yes, I am taking care of my anxiety and depression. No, I am not telling you this as a cry for help).
So I made an appointment and went to therapy. And went again. And again and so on and so forth, and you know what? It's been this amazing and absolutely terrible thing. Yeah, I said terrible. I've been in my head more than ever. I've been ping-ponging between my not-so-healthy thoughts and my new tools of getting outside of those not-so-healthy thoughts. I've been happy. I've been sad. I've been relieved. I've been panicked. I've been peaceful. I've been exhausted. I've been a lot of things.
The most overwhelming of which: I've been angry. Flames coming out my ears, wrinkles searing in between my eyes, and a scream waiting to come out audibly kind of angry. It's taken me several weeks of writing, several weeks of angry weaving, and several weeks of letting that anger sit there and stew (and several very dramatic cry fests...) to realize just at whom I am angry.
I'm angry at myself. Well, the me from two years ago. I'm so pissed at that Emily who, even though knew about fertility issues and had watched some friends go through infertility treatments, just assumed she'd have a baby quickly. I'm so mad at that Emily who could so easily and joyfully picture a baby Weiss. Who they would be. How they would snuggle with Lupe. How they would feel in my arms. I'm so angry at that Emily who often sat and thought about herself and Freddie as parents. I'm so mad at Emily for the blind hope she had. That Emily spent a lot of time planning or not planning certain events/trips/activities because she knew she'd be pregnant by X, Y, or Z. Now I spend all of my time telling myself I won't be pregnant by any date, near or far. Now whenever I go in for more testing and it comes back fine/normal/great/above average like all of our tests have I want to punch the wall. I want to turn into the Hulk and have my anger visibly take up space. I want answers. I want control.
Guess what? Somewhere in between that past Emily at whom I am so mad and this present Emily who is so angry there's space for me to actually live. There's space for me to be happy and sad. There's space for me to feel joy and to feel grief. There's space for me to be grateful that we're both healthy and to be angry that we have no answers as to why we don't have baby Weiss. There's space for it all to be. I can be okay and not okay. And so can you. We can all just be--whatever emotion or whatever step is happening in life. We can be there. We can be okay and not okay. This whole paragraph feels like a written-out deep breath.
I'm so controlling, am I right? Insert a smirking emoji here. It's not a proper emotional blog post if it doesn't come full circle! As I'm starting to realize and s l o w l y starting to accept, I have very little control. I can't control what is happening. I can't control my body. I can't control anyone else or their lives.
But I can control how I treat others. I can control if I use my desperation for pity parties or eff-yeah-we-can do-this-thing-called-life parties. I can control the legacy I am creating on this Earth because as much as I feel like my life has such little meaning right now, deep down I know it has such a BIG purpose and meaning. Just like your life does, too. And really, these things are the greatest to be able to control.
**I'm posting this, as always, when I'm feeling only halfway down that scale of desperation. I have not been okay recently. I've been at such a low point, and I know there are going to be a lot of days coming up through which I will continue not to be okay. I have reached out for help. I have discussed medications. If you are feeling yourself on that downward slope of the desperation scale, please please please don't be afraid to reach out for help. One way I heal is by screaming about my pain on the rooftops of social media, but you don't have to. You have to do what is right for you. Life is too short not to take care of yourself.
