Doing Some Hard Work

I saw my therapist today, and it's time for me to do some more hard work. I'm seeing her to get ahead of the depression a bit more--the worst of the pain is finally over, and I even have some small margins of emotional resiliance, so if one thing goes wrong, I'm not overwhelmed and non-functional.

What I am discovering about myself, though, is that it is hard for me to advocate for myself. Somewhere, I got the idea that doing things for myself--because I want to--is not acceptable. Which really makes no sense at all.

I mean, when Mr. Sweetie and I started building our gardens, I knew I loved roses, but they were the one plant I couldn't bring myself to buy and plant. Why, you ask? I don't know. They were what I loved the best, but absent a "logical" reason to get them, I just didn't.

I'm finding that I have the same problem with other aspects of my life. Right now, I have a small handful of health issues that I really ought to have checked: I think I may be going slightly deaf; I have a plantar's wart that will not go away; I should get a mammogram; I have reason to think that I might have issues with sleep apnea. But do I call a doctor and get an appointment for any of these things? No! Why? I am afraid to bother a doctor--after all, they aren't really serious.

Okay, that's just stupid. As my therapist pointed out, I could be living very dangerously--who knows what health issues I might have. As I can figure from my own (former) professional life--you don't get paid if you don't have clients who give you work.

The problem is that I am afraid to take up space. I am simply, constitutionally, genetically incapable of asserting myself--hence, near pathological conflict avoidance. My brand new garage had a problem with some sort of shorting out--push the button to raise the door, and all the power went out. I was actually shy about calling the construction company to send someone out to fix that. As if, what? I was supposed to keep parking in the street because I couldn't get the door open? Or I was supposed to run to the basement everytime I used the garage and flip the breaker?

So, I spent some time with my therapist this week, and really--this is incredibly unhealthy behavior. I'm not happy, I'm passive-aggressive to Mr. Sweetie, I'm teaching my kidlets that they can't speak up for themselves. So I have to start taking myself as seriously as I take the rest of the world. This is my therapeutic homework until my next appointment.

So, rather than just hobbling along with things that are "good enough," or "at least not actively bad," or even "not life threatening yet" I am setting myself the task of treating myself to what I need to be the person I am capable of being. The person Mr. Sweetie married. A person that I like and admire. Like that.