Does everyone need permission to feel the way they feel, or is it just me?
That familiar, slightly dull, knicker-binding sense of doom and gloom was bugging me last week. I couldn't shake it. It sat on my shoulders with its hands over my mouth trying to smother me for days.
I couldn't for the life of me figure out where it came from and how it snuck up on me so quickly and quietly.
On Friday, Therapist Lady pointed out that there is anxiety in reaching decisions. Silly me. All this time I thought indecision was my issue. But apparently I have the ability to stay freaked out even when decisions are actually made.
She said that our decision not to have the surgery, even though it's still classified as a tentative one, means that we have decided to move in another direction. Which isn't a bad thing, but when you're not sure what that direction is - or what lies along the road you'll eventually end up choosing - it can be anxiety producing.
And I can attest to that.
The interesting thing is that as soon as she made this proclamation, the doom and gloom started to lift. Being given permission to feel anxious made a huge chunk of the anxiety simply vanish.
Because it's okay to feel unsure. It's okay to feel scared. It's okay to be confused. It's okay to need to think about the possibility that it's time to start mourning the loss of future biological children who may never come. Who will probably never come.
It looks like a lot of work ahead. Good God. When I see it laid out before me in print, it looks like a fucking shit-load of work.
But I'll get there. Eventually. With constant reminders that it really is okay to be overwhelmed by a life I never in a million years expected would be mine.