Dear Me and You, Always Doing the Work

Dear Me and You, 

Today is therapy day. 

Ugh. 

Doing the work… is work.  I really don’t like the phrase “doing the work.” So, I made a note in my phone to come up with a better phrase. Nothing pops into my head right away. 

Therapy is normally in the morning. And normally on my kid-free days, so I have time to decompress, process, and quite frankly, recover. 

Today won’t be any of that. Today I’m home with Sloan because she’s sick. So, rescheduled therapy for a virtual session tonight at 6:00. 

Ugh. 

I feel the anxiety creep in because I’m not super hopeful that I will have an uninterrupted session, despite my husband’s best efforts, which surely will be supported by all the Ryan’s World he can stomach. Normally at 6:00 we are just wrapping up dinner, showering, and cuddling up on the couch to watch Glow Up. 

Ugh. 

Bren took Daph to go pick up dinner. It’s 5:15. I’m watch the clock, wondering how this will go down. At 5:50 I text him, “I think I will lock myself in our bedroom before you get home, so it’s an easier transition.” He responds, “Great thinking.” I look over at the two older kids and tell them, “I have therapy right now, so if you want to give and get some love before I go in my room, now is the time.” A bit of confusion ensues; they ask for clarification, “Are you leaving?!” “Nope, therapy tonight is on my phone. A Zoom thing.” They are relieved and ask, “Will you be done in time to give us a kiss goodnight and sing to us?” “Yes, yes I will be.” 

Ugh. 

I go into my room and prepare it. I make my bed. I put on some ambient music. Go pee. Bren is home. I hear the front door open accompanied by footsteps and, “Mama, mama, mommy!” I am the first thing Daphne wants to see. It’s 5:56. I unlock the door and hurriedly give her love, and attempt to explain the importance of my therapy, which starts in four minutes. She starts her exit and says, “Soon mama. You come soon?” “Yes, yes I will be there.”

Ugh. 

I log into the Zoom meeting. I’m greeted by my therapist. I immediately disclose a disclaimer, “So, I’m not sure how this is going to go. The kids know I’m in here and it’s hit and miss if they can be kept away.” She reminds me that this session is for me, so it can be no session, a quick check-in, a half-session, or we aim for the full thing. Ever the gold-star student I tell her, “Let’s go for it.” I need these sessions. I’m still healing. The Zoom meeting freezes and we have to relaunch. 

Ugh. 

Technology kinks are worked out– mostly. And I’ve already shed some tears. My tears were happy tears. I unearth growth and change in myself. It feels strange to be applauding myself. I like the feeling of being empowered. I like the feeling of being an active participant in my life. And then I hear some giggles and paper slide under my door. I tell my therapist and I put my phone down to retrieve the mysterious delivery. I read the paper out loud, “Are you almost done”.

Ugh. 

We chuckle. I express my frustration. She asks, “What do you want to do?” I’m a bit amazed that I can’t have a full hour locked away in my room. And then, I acknowledge the beautiful connection I have with the kids. I acknowledge and admire that Tessa was respectful in her approach; that she felt comfortable to ask her question. I tell my therapist that this feels like a win. And I’m ready to end our session on a high note because when I exit the room there won’t be a millimeter for me to decompress– not until bedtime. 

I’m always doing the work. The work of healing. The work of mom-life. The work. 

We made it through another day, me and you. Kudos.