Last week was rough. One of the things post Jesse and Bells death that I have had to deal with is work.  I love what I do as an acupuncturist, but…

I can no longer do the long days I have done previously.  Before they died, Jesse was a stay at home dad while I worked.  It worked, mostly. It was hard after his car accident with the amount of doctors appointments and pain he had, but we managed. It was stressful.  Being the primary breadwinner and self employed, I was constantly worried about money. I worked four days a week, and saw between 15 and 32 patients on average. Jesse having bipolar disorder, his brain chemistry was sometimes wonky and he spent a lot of money (I did not know this at the time).  So, we were always living “paycheck to paycheck” barely.  Being ridiculously responsible, I paid my bills. We were both looking forward to the time when he went back to school to become a PA so that we would have two paychecks again to take the pressure off of me.

Luckily, I love my work.  I am one of the few people who can honesty say that, and I know it is a rarity. I have known some of my patients for the full 12 years I have been in Portland.  I am continuously humbled and honored to be apart of their lives, hear about kids growing, life transitions, aging parents, job changes, you name it. I strive to do the best I can plus some with each and every one of them. I spend the first part of each session listening, catching up and making suggestions on how to best move forward with their goals. Sometimes it is straight forward and sometimes I hold a space where they can unload things that they have no other place to do so. Sometimes it is “heavy” stuff. Again, I am grateful they trust in me to do so.   After Jesse and Bella died though, I had to cut back a lot. I just did not and still do not have the emotional reserves I used to have to be able to support everyone and still have anything left at the end of the day. So that I can continue to do my job, do it well, I have had to cut way back on my hours.  It frustrates the hell out of me. However, I am grateful I can still do it.

Which leads me to last week.  I try to limit myself to 12-max 18 people per week. More than that, I am crying by the third day. I saw 24. This is also coming back from sharing my story in Massachusetts, which needs its own decompression time.  It is totally on me. I know better. And I think if that was it, I may have squeaked through.  Add in doggy diarrhea and a carpet install that was supposed to happen on Wednesday, but the carpet was bad, I hit my limit. Keep in mind, I can make the decision to buy a house in five minutes (I may be exaggerating a smidge, but not much). Picking out flooring, torture. So to have to go back and pick out carpet in a day so that we have a chance it will get installed before Thanksgiving, in the middle of a too much work week, stretched me. I did it.

I always do. That is the thing. I worry. I worry constantly at some point when I feel like I have nothing left, something will give, and my mind will break. I notice when I am spent, the flashbacks are worse. I had quite a few times last week where the “reality” encroached. What I mean by that is what it sounds like. The fucked-up-ness that lives in my mind. Mostly the reality that my little girl is dead and the how she died. I have said before, I know what happened. I saw the right after. But my mind protects itself everyday. So that I can survive. When I am exhausted, the vines much like in Stranger Things rapidly encroach on my everyday trying to wrap itself around, starving out any happiness or sanity present.

I reached out to my boyfriend Thursday after work.  I texted and said, I am done. I need relaxation, love, and pampering. I pulled up and he came running down with an old fashioned and took my bags up to the house. Have I mentioned how lucky I am??  We had a three day weekend, which is such a treat. We of course worked our asses off painting and getting the house ready for Thanksgiving next week. But within that, I got to relax.  Not physically, as I feel asleep before my head hit the pillow I was so tired by the end of the day. But my mind started to a bit.

PTSD sucks. Not one person who I have met says otherwise. It is always there threatening the fabric of your well being.  There are things you can do to mitigate it, but as I remind people, aside from a lobotomy, nothing will get what I saw on the evening of May 8, 2014 out of my head. So as I navigate the new normal of my life, and I imagine this is a life long process, I attempt to have patience with myself, work on communication with those I love to tell them what is going on so that they can support me, and keep on. I share this so that if you know of someone who has it, you expand your patience and love. I share this so that if you have PTSD, to remind you not to give up. Yes, I get it, it sucks. And, by reaching out for support, doing self care, you can get though the rough times. You are not alone.

One of the many rooms we painted