Once again I seem to have fallen off the face of the planet, so, oops! I’ve been busy, first with my folks being in town, then with work and house stuff. But I’ve also been in my head quite a bit, and I haven’t really been in the mood to write, mainly because I just haven’t known what to say. And when I do start to write, I’m not happy with the way it comes out. Apparently, I can write well when I am happy, sad, or angry, but not so much when I’m stressed out.
I’m doing much better than I was a few weeks ago. The hypochondria seems to have passed, for the most part. I had a couple days last week right after my folks left where the “early menopause” thing was trying to creep its way back in, along with about forty eight hours of depression of the “pit of despair” variety, but, like I said, it passed. I think it was more about being exhausted from work and driving back and forth to Malibu every day, not to mention ten days of too many cocktails. What can I say - when my family gets together, the booze, it flows freely. After a couple days of teetotaling, herbal tea and evenings on my own couch in front of the TV, I felt much MUCH better.
I’ve also started seeing my therapist again, which is a huge help. She knows me so well and knows just how to reign me back in when I’m feeling like I’m starting to lose it. This past appointment, I had been telling her that I’m having a hard time deciding when the right time to go back to the doctor is, to start the baby making efforts again. I keep waiting for a “perfect” cycle – a month where my stress level is relatively low and my ovulation and period go well (don’t ask me what “well” means, because I really couldn’t tell you) – before we go back. But something always seems to come up. The “perfect” cycle remains elusive, and I don’t know if it should be like ripping off a band-aid and we should just go back at the start of my next cycle to get the anticipation anxiety over with. Or should we make a pact to start again at the turn of the year, and I take the next few months to try and get my head on straight. I told her, “I just wish I knew what the answer is”.
She smiled, wisely and a little mischievously, and said, “I picture you like a comic strip.”
Come again?
“I see you,” she said, “like a comic strip. The first frame is you, drawn in black and white, with your fists on your hips, and your face looking all angry, and you’re screaming up to the sky, to the universe. You’re yelling ‘WHY? WHEN? WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN? WHEN IS IT GOING TO HAPPEN?’”
I smile sheepishly because, yeah, that sounds about right.
“The next frame,” she says, “is of a voice speaking back to you from the clouds, and it’s saying ‘It’s none of your business’.”
Immediately I knew in my heart she was right. The answers to those questions are none of my business. I may not believe in God, but I believe in a universe with some kind of order. I have a path, and I am walking it the best I can. I don’t know where my path is leading me, but I trust enough to know that whatever happens, I will be OK.
I am my best source for answers, but for some reason my faith in myself has faltered a bit. When I’m feeling insecure and anxious, I have to be quiet and look inward for the answers only I can give myself. I have to trust that the one person who really knows what is best for me is me. The question isn’t “Should I go back to the doctor and start trying again?” The question is “Am I ready to start trying again?” I think that’s one of the reasons why I’ve been absent from my writing. I’ve been wrapped up thinking on the wrong question and finding no answers.
My “homework” from my therapist is to start a meditation practice, just ten minutes a day, to learn to quiet my mind. It’s funny that she brought up meditation, because I’ve actually been reading a lot about it lately. It sounds like exactly what I need, though I don’t expect it to be easy. But I have to try. The fearful and anxious thoughts get in the way of my real voice being able to come through, and I need to hear it.
I’ve got a question to ask myself.
