In typical Monday fashion, today is just FULL of appointments.
After I drop my oldest off at school, the baby will (finally) start his new therapy for swallowing! It’s basically like e-stim on his neck and it should help him have an overall stronger swallow. We’re running hard and fast towards him getting a gtube, and I just would like to avoid that at all costs. So we’re really hoping this does anything to help.
Blah blah blah, busy Monday stuff later, it finally ends with therapy. My therapy. And ooohhhhh what a week it’s been.
It somehow seems like that while only a week has passed, it always seems like an eternity between therapy. Like, I could spend 2 hours every Monday just recapping the week, and not ever run out of things to talk about.
This week in particular has felt like it’s been months long. And for as much as I’m trying to convince myself that I’m holding it together…I’m definitely, quietly and subtly, falling apart.
My drinking has…once again…reached a level that is not longer “manageable” or something I’m “in control of”. And while this hasn’t been a focus in therapy in a little while now…maybe it’s something I should start thinking about.
I’ve also been really. REALLY. Struggling with my feelings about my birth son, and adoption in general. I’ve been extremely avoidant about the topic, and basically just shoving it down as hard as I can. But that’s getting harder to do.
1. It’s November. Fucking NAAM. (National adoption awareness month). Cannot scroll on social media without being constantly reminded of it all
2. The holidays are coming. Quickly. And I need to text his parents…more or less now…asking for gift ideas for him. And then buying them. And wrapping them. And sending them. The most important, difficult, stressful and meaningful part of Christmas for me. Forget about those other kids that I do parent. They’re easy.
3. He was in the fucking news this week. AGAIN. Like…seriously!!! How many damn times is my kid and his family going to be in the news?!? Okay, so his parents are low key famous, at least regionally. So, I get it. They’re heroes or whatever. But DAMN, it fucks me up EVERY time. I haven’t even read this article yet. It punched me in the fucking gut when I saw it, unexpectedly, pop up in my news feed.
So, yeah. A lot to cover in therapy. As fucking always.
Well I’m sitting here, once again, in the parking lot of my son’s new therapy. We’re early, because I had to come straight here after school drop off for my oldest.
It’s a busy day and I’m already have a lot of feelings about it. I don’t want to go to therapy and talk about adoption shit. But I KNOW I’m going to have to.
Last week, when I got home from therapy, I picked a huge fight with my husband later that night and a few drinks later. I don’t want to do that again tonight.
I absolutely know I’ll be triggered if therapy goes the way I think it will, with talking about adoption shit, and my kids absolutely fucked up health, and just EVERYTHING going on.
So, knowing that and knowing me…maybe I can get ahead of my feelings and just…be chill. And allow myself to be loved. Instead of pushing everyone away.
Allow myself to be loved. And believe the people telling me that they care.
Instead of pushing them away.