counseling

Supposedly, admitting you have a problem is the first step. I was told that being able to come to that conclusion on your own also means you are not as crazy as you thought because truly insane people don’t know they’re crazy. So last week I reached out to a clinical social worker and made an appointment. Ok, let me clarify. Without giving out contact information, I emailed a few counselors to scope out the field and get details about how the sessions are set up, financials, etc. After a couple back and forth emails with one particular counselor, he must have looked me up in the phone book and called me back. So I gave him credit for making the effort and I met with him last Wednesday.

It’s a very strange feeling walking into a counselor’s office for the first time. I know people seek counseling for all sorts of reasons but for me, I always looked at counseling as a last resort that I would only use after I have exhausted all other options and I can’t solve the problem myself. And even then it’s an absolute last ditch effort hoping the counselor can somehow magically give me the answer that will make things turn around. In other words, I am more than skeptical that counseling will help me but I didn’t know where else to turn. Despite everything within me being against this, I made the appointment and showed up. I’m sure my outward first impression also gave off that vibe of me being very nervous and resistant. First order of business was the uncomfortable small talk, “Did you find this office ok?” I hate general questions like these. They seem pointless. And then there was the “How are you?” Did he really just ask me that? Why does he think I’m here? I bit my tongue for this typical everyday no one really cares about the answer kind of question and replied with the socially accepted “I’m ok.” I have come to hate that particular question most of all over the last nine months. As I entered the small office room, there was a corner desk to my right filled with a few files and books. Straight in front of me were a couple of chairs separated by a small end table that had a bowl of candy and a tissue box on it. The wall behind the chairs had an oriental room divider which I assume was there for decoration purposes only because there sure wasn’t any space left to divide. There also was what looked like a child’s painting on the floor next to the divider. I began to wonder what that child must have been here for. I took a seat furthest away from the desk and kept scanning the room. My thoughts were interrupted by the counselor asking me how I would like to pay for this session. I handed him my credit card for the $80 charge and explained that I would prefer not to use insurance to avoid anything going on my medical record. What I didn’t tell him was that I wasn’t sure whether I’d be back to see him again after this first session. He turned around to face his desk, leaving his back towards me, to charge my credit card and to input my driver’s license information. I continued to scan the room. On the wall behind me he had also placed a fake plant next to the room divider. I again caught myself wondering what that room divider was for. It appeared that he made a good effort to make his patients comfortable and relaxed in his office but to me it just seemed fake. I was staring at the door in front of me, tempering with the thought of excusing myself to the bathroom and leaving. But damn, I already paid for the session. The door had a white noise maker attached to the bottom vent to keep conversations confidential. Before I could hatch out my escape plan any further, he finally turned his desk chair back around to face me and attempted to break the ice by telling me that everything behind this door is kept confidential, unless of course there is reason to assume that I would harm myself or someone else or that there is abuse involved or other legal issues. Blah, blah, blah. I get it, he was covering his legal behind. Then he proceeded to tell me about his education level and his 35 years of experience and proclaimed to not have all the answers but that we will work together to find them. This all seemed like such a scene out of a movie. And then came the big question “What brought you here?” Oh boy, where should I even begin to explain the dramatic changes in my life that occurred in the last 9 months? I briefly summed it up by explaining Wyatt’s health complications immediately following his birth, his 98 days in the NICU, the rare diagnosis and his ultimate long-term medical needs, and finally his numerous daily cyanotic episodes which I was able to deal with before we went to Chicago but that are now putting me into a state of panic. Just as a counselor is supposed to do, he sat there, listened and took some notes. He was however unable to hide that facial expression that I have seen so many times before when I first talk to someone about Wyatt. It’s that expression of shock and disbelief and pity. Ok, maybe it wasn’t pity and it really was just heart-felt empathy but still, these expressions have no meaning in my book and only make me more uncomfortable and angry. He also took some notes about the family dynamics and the ages of my other three children. Then he asked me to switch seats with him and do a computer-based self-assessment to gage my emotions at this point in time and to then be able to revisit this tool every so many weeks for comparison to track my progress. That all seemed eerie as it is a similar approach to what I do when I first consult with a new client for Personal Training. The test was comprised of different questions regarding your thoughts and feelings and you had to pick an answer ranging from never, to rarely, sometimes, often, and all the time. Before even starting this assessment I knew what the result would be. Of course, almost all the questions are aiming at your worst feelings and thoughts as if this test is trying to put you back into that mindset. Big surprise, I scored very high on depression and anxiety, moderate on PTSD and thanks to a few positive questions geared toward whether I actually have happy days too, I also scored mild on bipolar. Stupid test. I began to wonder whether this session was worth the money spent. Of course the counselor responded by stating that he is very concerned with my high level of depression and anxiety and that “we” have to address that first before psychotherapy can be successful. He asked me what my stance is on medication to which I basically explained that unless I’m dying, which I’m not, I’m typically against medication. I also can’t afford to be dealing with side effects that could cloud my judgment and responsiveness toward Wyatt’s continuous needs. As an alternative which he claims is just as effective, he then stated that he has a holistic doctor working with him in his practice who approaches psychological treatments through herbs, massage and acupuncture among other things. This doctor currently offers a free consultation and would then charge me the same rate for future appointments should I choose to go that route. That sounded more along the lines of my beliefs and approach on things so I agreed to a consultation with that doctor for this Wednesday, right before my next counseling session. Unfortunately, that agreement already marked the end of this 50minute $80 session and the counselor ended our conversation with saying something to the effect of how courageous I am for taking care of Wyatt the way I do and that while it may only seem like something that I feel I have to do, most people wouldn’t do it at all. Again, one of those bite my tongue moments. I replied “Thank you!“ but I didn’t mean it. What I really wanted to say was that I’m sick and tired of hearing these comments. These comments are coming from a place of insecurity and fear in other people and it is not helpful to me at all. I would hope that if someone else were faced with a similar situation happening to their own child that they would also do the best that they can with the tools they have available. So telling me that I’m somehow doing more than other people would is bullshit and just another small talk kind of response, wanting to make me feel better yet only making things worse. What happened to being honest? If you’re uncomfortable, can’t relate and don’t know what to say, then just say that. I’d think far higher of you for being straight up honest.  

I’m sure you can tell by my writing style that I am struggling with the idea of going back for another session. I want to meet with the holistic doctor because I know from my own profession that good nutrition along with the right supplements can make a world of difference, not just in how your body feels but also how your brain functions. Counseling though I’m not so sure about. I don’t think this counselor is a good fit. I’m not even sure if counseling is for me at all. They way I see it is if someone you love dies, you go through the stages of grief but then eventually it gets easier and you move on with your own life because death is just a part of life. Now imagine having to face the possible death of your own child over and over again every single day. Imagine going through those stages of grief every day that your own child turns blue and lifeless and you have to revive him. Every time he has to go back to the hospital, you again start all over. It doesn’t end. How do you cope with that when there is no end in sight? What’s the sense in discussing different coping strategies to something that can’t be coped with because it’s never over? How can you even find a counselor who can understand what that feels like every single day? It doesn’t matter how often or how detailed I explain everything. Unless you’re living in my shoes, you can’t possibly understand. So how can you possibly help me?

So here is what I know I have to do.

1.       I have to let go of always being the one taking care of Wyatt. I have to ask for and accept the help available. Anyone who wants to help but is not trained in all his care simply needs to be trained.

2.       I have let go of the idea of being able to protect Wyatt 100% of the time. No one can do that and shit can happen at any time. If I can learn to accept that as a given fact then maybe I can finally shut my brain off enough to live again.

3.       I have to get my nutrition back on track. Good fuel put back into my body will give me the energy back to make it through the day, will help me to regain my mental focus, and to balance out all these brain chemicals controlling my mood and thoughts.

4.       Only after my nutrition is back on track can I consider working out again. As much as those endorphins would help my mood, trying to workout now as weak as I am with all the physical signs of depressions such as nausea and lightheadedness, it is simply not save. Nutrition has to come first.

5.       I have to keep writing. It’s my way of letting my thoughts and feelings out instead of everything spinning like a revolving door.

6.       I have to find ways that my husband and I can go out again by ourselves so we can find topics to talk about again that do not evolve around our daily struggles. My husband and I are both very good at always putting the kids first and making sure they each get their share of special one on one time. We have to put the two of us back on that priority list also.

7.       And here is the biggest challenge of all that will ultimately determine my success in all the aspects above: I have to learn to recognize the negative thoughts and feelings. If I can learn to acknowledge them as soon as they start creeping in, then I can learn to shut them up and make them take the detour.