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The last month of my life reminded me of being a new mom, minus the joy of having a new baby: I felt overwhelmed, tired, and anxious, was taking care of others, and had no time for myself.
Here's what happened:
My daughter got lice, and after two weeks of trying to get rid of hers, I found out that I had it too. Although not anxiety provoking, lice is time consuming and challenging. I spent over 3 weeks doing load after load of laundry - each time we found another nit, everything had to be cleaned. I did nightly comb throughs (with Pantene and baking soda) of my daughter's mid-back length hair (a 2 1/2 hour job!), and my own hair. Although my daughter was a real trooper, there is only so much combing a 6 year old can take - there was frustration, anger and tears, not to mention Bryley's overall crankiness and fatigue which were brought on by the late night combings.
I made an effort to practice acceptance, to put the situation in perspective (lice is really not such a big deal in the scheme of things), to let go of my rules (Bryley watched hours of videos), and to see the humor in parasitic bugs.
The lice left our home and a lump in my breast joined it. I was anxious, to say the least.
I tried to keep my mind off of my negative thoughts - which went right to what would happen to my daughter if I died - by replacing them with other thoughts (even if it meant repeating one affirming sentence over and over again, creating some nonsense rhyme in my head, or reciting the alphabet backwards), and I refrained from telling people who I knew would increase my anxiety level (e.g., my mom).
I actively repressed my feelings as I went through my mammography and sonogram (although I don't often preach it, repression is appropriate in certain situations). I was told that I had a solid mass in my breast and that I had to go to the breast surgeon, where I sat, alone, for over 2 hours waiting for my appointment. The next day I went for a biopsy:
The lump is benign and I am fine.
I went home, and instead of feeling overjoyed (what I would expect), I felt all of the fear that I had contained. Yet instead of being angry at myself for not reacting as I 'should', I took time for myself: I sat in my room and cried.
On the next day, My mother went into the hospital. Aspects of new motherhood came to mind again: the anxiety, the time and effort (that went into going to and being at the hospital), the sleepless nights, being with my mother, and talking to 'experts' to find out all the information required to help her to be okay.
Thank goodness, I now know how to handle putting someone else first:
I remember myself.
I knew instinctively that I could not keep going at the intense rate that I was going without cracking.
So each night before I went to sleep I made one commitment to myself:
I will devote some time to me.
I would be lying if I told you that I put myself first - I didn't - and truth be told, I wouldn't have wanted to handle the situation any other way. But unlike how I behaved during brand new motherhood (I did learn and change), I took time out to preserve myself. Time, for me, meant no more than 20 minutes. But, WOW, what a difference those minutes made!
I lay down on my floor, and listened to Pachebel's Cannon in D Major. My mind went from thing to thing, but I kept bringing it back to the music - again and again and again. And then, I could join the music and begin to decompress: I could cry, feel my worry and fear, mourn the loss of my once healthy mom, and join the music again.
By the end, I could sit up and take a deep breath, knowing both that I was okay and that I had enough left over to take care of those I love who needed some help. I could be of service to others while I continued to take care of myself.
P.S. Mom is home from the hospital with a brand new stent. She is doing just fine.
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