Word Wabbit has entered therapy. I found someone who specializes in caregiver therapy and dementia. She doesn’t accept insurance, so my wallet is taking a beating.
Insights from our first meeting. I need to find a caregiving agency close by. They typically take insurance and will take care of my husband and household chores at home while I work or get away for a few hours. As things worsen, this will be a must have.
Goal Number One says my new therapist: Deal with my grief.
I stoically agree. Tears run down my cheeks at the worst times, but for the therapist, nothing.
She prods a little. Restates my problems. Nothing.
Shows kindness and understanding. Nothing.
Calls my situation “heart-breaking.” I feel like a robot.
I’m not as easy as all that.
Crying in therapy is sort of like vomiting after a wild night out. You know you’ll have to do it, but you put it off as long as possible. The reality of it is daunting.
I was nearly ready to throw in the towel. This isn’t going to work for me, but she said something that I’ve been thinking lately.
Lately, I’ve been thinking that I have this part of myself that doesn’t want to cooperate with all this. Doesn’t want to accept it at all. No way. I like this part of myself—a lot.
Then there is the good part of myself. The part that wants to do the best job possible for my husband. This part wants to go shopping and make all his meals and monitor his diet and make sure he eats his blueberries. This part researches the brain and watches all the videos and translates the MRI. This part is no fun at all. But this is the part I respect. This is the part I show the world. That other part is the secret part. The part that whispers to me about island vacations.
My therapist says I have to make peace with these different parts.
I got home tonight and my husband seemed fine. It was a relief. Then he critiqued how I put the groceries away and my heart started to fall. The weight of the world began to bear down on me again.
“What do you want from this?” my therapist asked.
I want to be the best I can be for my husband. I want to accept this situation and deal with it. I don’t want to let it crush me. I still want to be me.