Therapy is hard in (W)hole

So I had a therapist, Rebecca, for over a year. She was sweet, but we never really worked on anything important, it was a lot of just venting and chatting… like having a friend with an expensive degree. I kinda feel like it was mostly my own fault that we never got anything done. I was always changing the subject, making excuses, telling anecdotes, and just generally getting us off track at every opportunity. It was nice to go and chat with her, but not as helpful as I’d been hoping for.

A few weeks ago, I decided I should try again for real. I asked my new Dr for a new referral. I got set up quickly with someone in state, but out of town, who does telehealth appointments. I’m doing a much better job with her. She makes sad puppy eyes and worried eyebrows at me all the time, which drives me crazy, but she’s making me talk about real things, challenging me to do actual mental health work, and giving me the sort of feedback that I really need.

Today we talked about two main things, and one of them was my mom. For those who don’t know (possibly everyone as I’m not sure I’ve ever talked about it here before haha) my mom died very quickly, suddenly, and unexpectedly three year ago. She was hospitalized for a bad UTI and suspected kidney stones, but was soon diagnosed with stage 4 uterine cancer. It had already spread to her lungs, and her kidneys were failing. She spent a couple of weeks in the hospital, and we all thought she would never come back out. She even told me once “I’m starting to think I’m never getting out of here.” She did, but only for a little while. She was discharged with a port and treatment plan and went to stay with my Aunt Deb, who lives here in town. My mom lived a few hours away in another state, but had been sent to our town for treatment at a better hospital. Anywho, she ended up falling at her sister’s and having to go back to the hospital, where they told us she only had a few days left. She died that night. My dad didn’t want to have any kind of service or memorial, and he didn’t consult my brother or myself about that at all. I’m quite sure that my mom would have wanted a service for her parents and siblings and children to have closure. But he announced that this wouldn’t be happening. She was cremated, and he kept her ashes in a beautiful purple urn that she would have chosen for herself, it’s so perfect. He’s been traveling and moving around since he sold their house, so apparently left my mom’s ashes at my aunt’s house. I was not informed or asked if I wanted them. I just happened to see the urn at my aunt’s when we were over for dinner. I feel like she did more for my mom while she was sick than I ever did, and I don’t really have any right to say anything about it. I’m not even sure if I want the ashes… I just feel like it’s all there is left of her. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, getting ready for the wedding… I printed a 16x20 canvas of her to display at the ceremony and reception. I feel weird and off and heavy ever since we talked about all of this. The New Therapist said that I need to sit with my feelings and just experience them. I’m not really sure what good that’s supposed to do. Just soak in your sadness? Sit there and be miserable.

Anyone wanna play Scrabble?