For a personal blog, I’m remarkably good at not writing about anything too terribly personal. In the early days of a blog, you bare your soul, but the more people read your words, the harder it is to be completely honest about things.
Which is probably why I didn’t mention the social worker before this.
About two months ago–give or take, I’ve lost track of these things–when they decided to ramp up therapy for both twins, they also suggested that I get my very own social worker. Somebody for me to talk to about the stress that makes up a big chunk of my day to day life. I wasn’t really enthused about the idea, but when people offer you help, I think it’s smart to take them up on it–Mothers make terrible martyrs and all that.
The social worker came and sat on my couch and asked me questions about my life. I felt a little teary–three kids in therapy sounds really bad when you start saying it out loud. And then I felt like crap the rest of the day.
So I quit.
I mentioned this to a few people and they both said something along the lines of “don’t you ever get depressed?” or “doesn’t it all get to you sometimes?” And the answer is a simple one: of course it does. OF COURSE IT DOES. I mean, I live in a house with four people who wear diapers, can’t talk, and who all, ALL have an opinion. And my husband works a lot.
My secret, though, is that I’ve been crazy a lot longer than I’ve had kids.
That’s putting it simply, so here’s a slightly longer explanation: I have struggled with darkness as long as I can remember. Well, since I was twelve anyway. And long before I had kids, I had to learn how to work through it. I have a pretty significant bag of tricks when it comes to dealing with depression or dark moods or whatever it is that my mind may try to throw at me.
I don’t talk about this stuff very much. One, because it makes me look weak and I’m not weak. Two, because I don’t want people to think that my life makes me feel this way–it doesn’t. I’ve felt this way a lot longer than this stage in my life. I actually think my life is pretty great most of the time and even a great life doesn’t keep depression at bay all the time. And the third reason is because managing my moods is just something I do. Twenty-two years makes it more like second nature.
So I quit therapy. If I need to talk to someone I will (or I’ll blog about it here). If I need something else, I’ll take care of that too.
Besides, her visits were cutting into my nap time.