Walk this journey with me? Learn the shit I'm learning in therapy, the visits I have with the Psych Doc. EMDR treatments, Ketamine therapy, the ebbs and flows of marriage and homeschooling on top of all of it. Being a mom is difficult. It's not fair to suffer from a mental illness while trying to soak in the joy of the little people you created. You're robbed, this silent thief of a disease, handed down to me through trauma and neglect, now haunt me as a mother and wife. I feel like I am never enough on a daily basis and I'm 100 percent sure they'd be better off with a mom who doesn't struggle. But that is also my BPD talking.
It's only by the grace of God and a shitty income do we qualify for insurance, and that is what started this therapy journey. That and a husband who said "enough is enough" He was literally falling to pieces in front of me, because of me, and I had no idea. I knew I was a lot to handle and my fuse was short. I did not think I was anything more than depressed and anxious. Whoa was I wrong.
This blog is going to be a lot of raw journal entry. Stories from the past and goals I hope to meet. No guarantees that it will be any good.
I started my therapy journey earlier this year—March, I believe—and honestly, other than bits here and there, I was not impressed with my therapist. She was a sweet person but inexperienced on a level I needed. She was, however, the first one to actually hear me and pointed me in the direction of even greater help. She and I started EMDR therapy together; I've forgotten how many sessions we completed while in her care. Most of the sessions were pretty straightforward, but I remember towards the end of one session, I was shaken to the core—as if I was right back in my teenage era. I was processing the psychological torture of my assault, deep in the throes of EMDR, and the cord to the paddle had touched my bare leg. The next thing I knew, the paddles were flying up and I was shaking. It felt like I was right back there—
in my home, shaking in fear. No one should feel afraid in their own home.
I think I knew more about my therapist than my therapist knew about me. Her talk therapy game was weak. I learned more coping skills from TikTok. At one point, I had asked my therapist to go over two therapeutic treatments I was interested in. Unfortunately, she was unfamiliar with both, and that was quite upsetting to me. Even still, I really didn't want to start over with someone new.
As luck would have it, I got a text from my therapist—she would no longer be at the clinic. It didn't really matter what I thought at that point.
EMDR has greatly helped with making sense of my childhood and its coinciding traumatic events. One of the pivotal moments I remember was when I was six years old. It was December and cold. My mom lay in the hospital bed just moments before giving birth to my younger brother. My father announced his wish for a divorce, and I watched him walk out of the hospital. This memory has haunted me for so long, and it would be replayed decades later—a family quarrel had him walking away again.
It's not easily explainable, but so many emotions regarding my dad were alleviated after only two EMDR sessions. I can still feel residual pain or loss, but it doesn't weigh so heavy on my chest anymore. Having the ability to see things in a new light has opened up the opportunity to see other people in new lights.
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