Peeling the Onion

I originally started this blog, thinking it would automatically breathe momentum into my pursuit of optimum health. It has, instead, become a platform for me to document stagnation and the accute sense of being stuck. Becoming unstuck has been a struggle, if not a downright battle. I realized not long ago that my efforts, often fueled by panic and self-blame, were getting me nowhere. So, I sought help.
I started seeing a therapist. She was a nice lady, but I am relatively certain I overwhelmed her. There were lots of deep sighs of frustration, unpleasantries at how long it was taking me to improve and suggestions that I simply needed to look at things differently. She made some good points, some connections I'd never have made on my own, but we never explored them. I didn't feel comfortable crying in front of her, even though I think there was plenty of shit I needed to be crying about.
Around the same time, I started going to group therapy for women with eating disorders. I had some profound realizations and learned things about myself, but still there was no real sense of moving forward in my life.
I stopped seeing my therapist in my conflict-avoiding way - I just fucking stopped going. I never explained to her why or even that I was unhappy with our work together. Just stopped going. This way of dealing with things makes me feel like a total coward and, in a certain sense, like I've failed to learn how to do something most adults should be able to do.
While still under her care, I remember feeling the futility in talking about my childhood and my family. I've already picked this shit apart until it doesn't exist any more. There's nothing else here! There aren't any more revelatory connections to be made here. I was wrong.
While in group therapy, I started reading my, like, millionth self-help book, this time about tapping for weight loss. I also joined the fb community for people reading the book and I found a therapist who was willing to work with me. I started tapping with her, a really lovely woman, per skype, and this is when I encountered what I call the "Sea of Grief." It's what it sounds like - a never-ending reservoir of sadness in me that I've only ever avoided. In turn, it's only grown deeper. For the Sea of Grief, among other things, it's no surprise that I developed an eating disorder - it was my elegant solution to a problem I couldn't solve, a technique I've continued to use, despite it never having served me well. This sadness and the mechanisms I've developed to keep it stuffed down are not going anywhere any time soon, but at least I know that? That's one realization I didn't have before, which I'd say is progress. In the meantime, I've gone for a swim in the Sea of Grief and I didn't drown, the fear of which kept me avoiding it my whole life. That's pretty huge. I also learned that emotions are there to be felt. Sounds like emotional health for kindergartners, but that shit is groundbreaking for me.
A few months ago, I decided to seek out a new therapist because I knew I couldn't deal with my mom's dementia on my own. It's impossible to know how to navigate a terrain you've never traversed. I was convinced that I mostly needed help with managing grief - seeing my mom disappear into a fog of confusion and helplessness, watching her drift further and further asea, has been indescribable. Sometimes the grief mutilates me, cutting off pieces of my heart and crushing them, bleeding and pulsating, in front of my eyes. Imagine my surprise, when in a very short amount of time, she helped me uncover layer after layer of shit I haven't yet processed in a healthy way. Anger at my father, anger at my mother. Learned helplessness and a pervasive victim mentality. Sadness, lots and lots of sadness. Loneliness.
Slowly, the mist is lifting and the path ahead of me is finally in view. It won't be short or easy, but I have a guide that I trust and I feel ready to tackle it. Still, fuck.

Hugs, y'all. Wishing all of us fortitude and positivity. I am pretty sure it gets better.