I've been seeing my counselor every other week for quite awhile now. I went kicking and screaming, but I do love it. Up until last week it has been rather "surface." She knew briefly of my childhood, but not the details. She didn't prod about it. She said that the Holy Spirit would bring out what needed to come out and when. She wanted me to just try to relax and go with what felt natural...so I did.
At our last session we started how we always do - with prayer and then her asking me how things were going. I told her that outwardly I was doing much better. The medication is definitely helping me to function in the day to day. I actually didn't realize how bad it had gotten. I told her that for the first time I'm truly enjoying my girls. I know that sounds horrible, but it's the truth. Anxiety completely robbed my of the joys of anything, motherhood included. I told her that we've been spending every afternoon in the backyard. I relax on a blanket with Hannah while she explores the grass and Mary-Grace explores the yard, mostly playing in the hose. We've begun going to storytime at Barnes & Noble and the library. And this week we are going to start going to a toddler playgroup at our church. I can venture to the Mall with both in tow and not panic when they both start having meltdowns. I have much more patience with my husband and am enjoying quiet evenings with him. I'm able to somewhat keep up with our house (well, better than before). And the thought of someone seeing my not perfect house doesn't cause a panic attack. It's lovely really.
However, although my outsides are doing wonderfully, my inside still isn't so great. I'm able to function normally, but my mind still races. I still have overwhelming fears and obsessions. I still struggle with worrying about things constantly.
I told her my biggest anxiety issues is an obsession with death. And when I say obsessed, I mean it. Every single time my husband walks out the door to go to work, I'm convinced he will be killed in a car accident and not come home to me. If one of my girls are in the car with him, I worry about them too. I worry every time one of my sisters leave my house to go home...or my dad...or a friend. I'm convinced everyone around me is going to die. I don't want to have someone watch the girls so K and I can go do something alone because I'm afraid something will happen to both of us and leave our girls alone. And this fear of death goes far beyond just car accidents. I fear choking, head injuries, dropping a knife on Mary-Grace while I am chopping veggies, etc. etc. It's such a crippling fear.
I explained that I've never lost a close family member to a wreck. I knew two kids my senior year of high school who were killed in an accident, but we weren't close. I've never had anyone around me die from some sort of freak accident. Illness, yes, but that's only a tiny bit of my death fear. I couldn't figure out why my mind was always going there.
Until I said it out loud. And she gave me a look. It was like the lights suddenly turned on in my head. It's not about cars at all. It's about abandonment. You would think that after being abandoned by my mother at such a young age, this would be obvious. But for me it really wasn't. You see, I said many years ago that I forgave her. I realized that she was/is sick, so I forgave her. I always said that I was probably much better off being raised without her than with her. But as my counselor pointed out, my adult-self forgave her, my child-self hasn't.
Of course with this realization, and a few questions from her, memories from my childhood that I had blocked out for many, many years as a form of protection came flooding back.
She asked if I remembered when I realized that my mom wasn't coming back. I knew immediately. It was something I hadn't thought about in a long time. It was just before Mother's Day. That day at school we had worked on some sort of craft for our moms. But I didn't have a mom. I didn't have one to give the tiny hand print I had made. In my mind I knew I would give it to my Nana, but my heart broke. It was the second Mother's Day since my parent's divorce. It was painfully obvious that she wasn't coming back. After school that day I sat in my Nana's lap and sobbed. I cried for what seemed like hours. My heart was broken and Nana knew it. She just sat there holding me, telling me she loved me...telling me she would never leave me.
And then when I was in 8th or 9th grade, it was solidified. Obviously by this point I knew my mother was not coming back. I had pretty much made peace with that and moved on. Life without her was more than normal now. But one day I was digging through my dad's file cabinets, searching for my birth certificate, when I stumbled upon their divorce papers and the custody information. I probably should have just moved on past it, but I couldn't. I was curious. It didn't take long for me to see that my mother never wanted us. When they went before the judge she tried to tell then that my father molested us (SO NOT TRUE). Fortunately the judge knew she was full of it. Then when they went before the judge a second time about custody, she flat out told the judge she didn't want us. She didn't want her own children. She didn't want me. That hurt. I don't know why reading something in black and white that my heart already knew hurt so bad, but it did.
I started thinking back on my childhood before my mother left. I was old enough to have lots of memories. Unfortunately not one of them is good. All of the memories are filled with heartache and abuse. Filled with instances of her slapping me so hard she left welts, dragging me up the stairs by my hair, leaving me alone so that she could get high. I stopped for a moment and it hit me, I cannot think of one moment in my life where I felt loved by my mother. Not one moment where I remember a hug or a kiss or sitting in her lap. Not one. It made me so angry. Not for the me now, but for the me as a child. No child should go without love from their mother. It made me think of my girls. Of how much my heart swells with love for them each and every day. About how they are all I think about. About how I love every single second I am with them. About how I just can't hug them tight enough. About how there is nothing in this world, NOTHING, that would keep me away from them.
And then there's my dad. I love my dad dearly. But unfortunately, he is a horrible alcoholic. Terrible. I was trying to figure out why my house is the biggest source of my anxiety. Usually your home is your safe place. And then it hit me, growing up, my home was not my safe place. I never had a time when I felt secure or safe. If our electricity wasn't getting shut off because he couldn't pay the bill (but you better believe beer was in the fridge) it was the water. I never knew which dad to expect - the compassionate, fun, loving daddy, or the drunk, combative, argumentative man that made my skin crawl. We often didn't have what we needed. I couldn't rely on him for rides late in the day for fear he would be too drunk to drive (not that that stopped him). I was humiliated by the way he acted when he was drunk so I never wanted to have friends over. He showed up to my rehearsal dinner drunk. I had to have my uncle tell him not to do that at my wedding.
Despite the fact that K and I are more than secure here, my child-self doesn't know what that's like. Growing up I walked on eggshells in my house. I have to learn that I no longer have to do that.
My counselor told me that I would probably be exhausted, and I was. She said more memories would probably continue to flood my mind, and they did. She said I would probably have some bad dreams that night, I did.
That evening I was snuggling Mary-Grace and reading her a book before bed. This something she usually does with K, but I really wanted to this night. As I sat there I wondered if my mom ever did this with me. Later on I was nursing Hannah and rocking her to sleep. She was a little fussy so I paced the room and sung to her. I wondered if my mom ever did this with me. Did she ever look at me the way that I look at my girls. Did her heart feel like it was going to burst from love? It made my heart ache for the me as a child.
That night I realized that all of this realization had a really positive, immediate, consequence. It made me love my children even more. Sure I loved them before. I loved them so much I didn't know it was possible to love them more, but I do. I don't want there to ever, EVER, be a time in their lives where they doubt that I love them. I am their momma, I love them more than could possibly be explained. I will do everything I can to make sure that they know that each and every day.
