What the hell is psychotherapy?

Today was a relatively placid day, emotionally. I had an appointment with a psychotherapist to explore additional bereavement options. I do enjoy my bereavement counselor but I need a weekly person to speak with. Meeting once every 2-3 weeks just isn’t really working for me. So I scheduled an appointment with the only person who listed “loss of a loved one” as their area of specialty.

I walked to my appointment, not because it was a nice day outside but because it was just under a mile from my work. It wasn’t a nice day by the way. Temperature wise it was tolerable, but it was misty and sludgy because of the melting snow. So no the walk was not pleasurable but I couldn’t justify getting into my car. I arrived at the psychotherapists office, and when I opened the door a waft of humid air hit my face. His heater was freaking out, and when I sat down to fill out the paper work, sweat was dribbling down my temples. It was embarrassing. We sat down and talked a lot about the lead up and the day of George’s death, and I feel it’s something I haven’t really opened up too much about. I don’t want to get into it right now because it really is painful to talk about his suffering and watching it unfold so quickly. But I just didn’t really feel that connection with the doctor. So basically, I’m going to continue to shop around for a therapist/counselor who can see me on a more regular basis. I did do a ton of crying while talking with him, and afterwards I had to hustle back to work for a meeting…

Once I got back to work, the Spring sport coaches- softball, baseball, tennis and lacrosse- had a meeting to discuss scheduling. Mind you I just got out of a session where I was pretty much sweating/crying for an hour. Dealing with schedules wasn’t really something I wanted to do, but it’s one of those things that I just had to pull my big girl pants up and just do it. As the other coaches were talking about indoor time, I sat there checked out of the conversation. I started thinking about how much I loved having watermelon with George. We would buy baby watermelons and split them in half to share. We hadn’t done it too much since we moved out of the Queens apartment, so I was thinking back to how cute it was, and why we ever stopped doing it. Then my mind flipped quickly to when George took me to Katz’s Deli after the first 4th of July we spent together. I loved Reuben’s and George kept telling me I haven’t really lived until I had a Katz’s reuben. And he was right. But again, I haven’t been back since. I know why we never returned… It’s because I thought it was too unhealthy. But I know George probably went back a bunch of times, but never told me.

Back to the scheduling meeting. There was a lot that was being discussed and because I wasn’t really with it, I got a shafted on some of the prime times for indoor space. Finally I made the declaration that every Monday I have to go in the mornings because I have a mandatory thing at night. Which I do. I get it that people have lives and they need to make things work in their schedules, but my life was ripped out of my hands, and I was thrown to my knees. And now I’m blindly searching for any life that I can hold onto because my mental health needs it. I’m typing this right now sitting in my husband’s sweater… I’m 5’3, he was 6’1. This is what I mean when I say blindly holding on. It’s comforting to me to wear his clothes, so I’m going to do it. It helps me to go to bereavement yoga on Monday nights, so I’m going to do it. It helps me to listen to the saved voicemails I have of him before I go to bed. I’m holding onto him for my own survival. And today I did I good job of it, but there’s days when I feel the weight is too much and he’s slipping to the ends of fingertips. And then the days that I’m reaching and there’s nothing to hold onto… those are stomach cramping, chest squeezing, brain swelling insufferable.


About J.

Fitness professional, fitness & nutrition writer, widowed at 28. Writing about getting through grief through self-care, physical activity, and the ​constant feeling of being uncomfortable.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to What the hell is psychotherapy?

  1. kdmo83 says:

    I also sleep in my husbands shirts and sweaters. He held a comfort cross while going thru the cancer. I sleep with it in my hands as well. Today marks one month from the time he left this earth. You put into words all that I have trouble typing.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s