The D Word

My first therapy appointment was Friday.  I had all but talked myself out of the need for it.  It's amazing how self-sabotaging my psyche can be sometimes.  I relunctantly went, filled out all the necessary forms, and waited in the lobby pretending to read a book.  I felt like I was being called in to the Principal's office. 

We made our necessary introductions and I dove right in:  I confessed that I wasn't happy.  I recounted the events over the last year and a half.  All the changes in employment, relationship status, new mommy stuff.  Everything.  I tearfully told her that I was rarely in a good mood, couldn't sleep if my life depended upon it, and that I was irritable.  Always irritable.

She listened and punctuated my ramblings with suggestions and observations.  "It sounds like you're lonely.", she offered.  Lonely?  Huh?  I opened my mouth to argue the point, only to be flooded with the realization that I was, in fact, lonely.  Ugh.  I hate that word.  I have prided myself in being strong-willed and independent.  I didn't need anyone.  Ha!  What a joke . . . .

It was in that moment I had the revelation that my relationship with Riley had become extremely disproportionate.  I need him a lot more than he needs me.  Seeing as how he is seven months old and dependent upon me for everything, that's saying something.  He is the one thing in my life that is a constant source of joy.  He is my sunshine on the cloudiest of days.  He is also entirely too young to shoulder such a responsibility.  I have given my sweet baby boy the impossible task of my happiness.  My poor baby.

At the end of our session, she gave me a to-do list of things that must be accomplished before our next meeting.  I must get out of the house with a girlfriend.  I must call my in-laws to watch the baby so I can get out next week.  I must at least get my feet wet with the playgroup I just joined.  I nodded my head in agreement, though I was filled with dread inside.  New stuff.  Change.  Hadn't I had enough of that? 

Then she said it.  It was her opinion that I was depressed.  Yuck.  Just thinking of that word being used to describe me gets me all teary.  It's just so  . . . . . well, depressing.  What the hell, man?  Wasn't this supposed to be the prime of my life?  Wasn't I supposed to be filled with happiness, seeing as how I have a new bundle of joy who I am head-over-heels in love with?  What the hell is wrong with me? 

Balance.  That's what's wrong with me.  Or more specifically, lack of balance.  As of late, balance seems to be that fleeting moment that occurs as the pendulum is swinging from one extreme to the other. 

I did like I was told.  I was gone yesterday for an unprecedented four and a half hours.  It almost didn't happen.  Riley had an unexpected doctor's appointment yesterday morning and I almost cancelled my date.  His father is more than capable, I told myself.  Detach.  Baby steps.  One foot in front of the other.  I went with a girlfriend for coffee, pedis, and lunch while his father handled the appointment. Beautifully, I might add.
 

Boy, were my friend and I a sight to behold.  She just sent her only daughter to college, and I am unhealthily attached to my baby.  What a pair!  It was nice to be out and about and have some real conversation with someone who can empathize.  And it will happen again.  Soon.

I have scheduled the grandparents to come over and watch Riley so I can get out of the house one afternoon next week.  "What did you used to do for you before Riley was born?", my therapist asked.  She may as well have been asking me to explain quantum physics.  I honestly couldn't remember.  I am going to use that time next week to see if I can't piece together something that resembles me-time. 

Though wobbly, I am trying to find my identity outside of these walls.  I am looking for the me before I was "John's wife" or "Riley's mom".

Wish me luck.