I'm all about self care through this process. Hell, I'm brutally honest on this blog. There is nothing to sugar coat and my goal is full transparency. Part of the reason for this blog is self care. It is a type of therapy. I work to find ways to feel better and make sure that I am the best version of myself during this grieving process. It has been 4 weeks since we lost her and it still seems like yesterday. So I work at working on myself. I'm properly medicated. Working to get ahead of the depression and anxiety was one of the first things I did after the funeral. I've suffered depression in the past for way less and I feared that the depression would get the best of me. Medication doesn't make it all better but it does help me with simple tasks like showering and going to work and realizing that kids need to eat and that my stove is dirty. It isn't a fix all and I don't want it to be. I still want to feel but I still have to function. Depression is real and I wish more people were honest about it. We are actively going to therapy. It is raw and it hurts and it's like picking a scab off a wound but it helps. Getting the validation that we aren't going insane and we aren't screwing up our marriage and kids is nice. I feel a bit lighter after a therapy session. One of the other things I do for self care is a manicure and pedicure every 2 weeks or so. They aren't cheap and I've tried to take things out of my spending so that I can warrant the cost but it is so worth it. For almost 2 hours I have to be still. The only things asked of me is to pick a color. My nail place isn't chatty and so for almost 2 hours I'm just still. My feet and legs and hands and arms are massaged and I'm able to express my grief through nail color. For anyone familiar with OPI, my current color is "Lincoln Park After Dark" and it is almost black. Catherine would be pissed at my "emo" choice but it makes me feel better. I feel like if my nails and hair are maintained, it is easier to fake it until I make it. I walk out of the nail salon feeling a bit better about life in general.
My favorite method of self care right now is working on the new chairs for the house. I spent a couple hours painting the exposed wood on the chairs tonight at the house of a few of my favorite people. The conversations are getting lighter through this process and I'm not as raw. There is lots of laughter and I don't feel guilty for having fun. It is definitely "Catherine approved" fun. Tonight we had tacos and told Catherine stories and I laughed until my sides hurt.
See, the problem with grief is that you feel like you are under a microscope. If you cry, people think you are nuts because it has already been 4 weeks, get it under control. If you laugh, people think you must be over it and how dare you already be over it. There is no winning. I'm lucky that I surround myself with people that don't judge either way. There are always tissues and crap to destroy when there are tears and people to laugh with me when I'm happy. Not everyone is that blessed. I know a few people that feel judged on a daily basis and my heart hurts for them.
On the four week mark of Catherine's death, I got a call from the middle school. Max had been playing outside, got kicked in the face, split his eye open, and I needed to get him asap to get him checked out at a doctor. Prior to this, I would have freaked out and Max knew it. Today there was no freak out because I've faced the worse. Finding your daughter after she died in her sleep is as bad as it gets. Regardless, Max was quick to reassure me that he was fine as I came into the nurses office. A quick trip to the doctor told us that he was fine. They did a fairly extensive check for concussion and we were sent on our way. Living in a small town means that the nurse practitioner that saw us today was at the visitation. She knew what we were going through and probably treated the situation with a bit more care. He has a nice battle wound and will be fine. We aren't an athletic family and I'm surprised this hasn't happened sooner.
The day wasn't terrible. I actually ate 2 meals today, which is unheard of these days. My appetite is slowing coming back. Work kept me so busy all day that I didn't have much time to think about anything except my job. Anxiety kicked in late afternoon which is progress since it usually comes in the morning. I'm not sure about tomorrow.
Four weeks ago, I walked up the stairs to get Catherine up for school because she hadn't gotten up yet. I never imagined I would walk up the stairs to get her up and find she was gone. Since then, I have terrible anxiety at the thought of walking up the stairs to get the kids up in the morning. Someone said it is PTSD. Maybe it is. The boys wake themselves up with an alarm and then Max gets the baby up and brings him downstairs. I don't go upstairs. Tomorrow will be the first day. Four weeks and one day after finding Catherine, I have to go upstairs and wake up the baby on my own. The boys are at their dad's house tonight and Josh leaves for work at 3:45am. I'm on my own and will admit I'm slightly terrified but it is another hurdle I have to cross.
But I will walk up those stairs with medication in my system, tools from therapy, perfectly manicured nails, and a kick ass hair cut and dye job. Because self care will help me climb those stairs and walk into my Henry's room to find a little boy happy to see his mommy has FINALLY walked up the stairs and gotten him out of bed.
My favorite method of self care right now is working on the new chairs for the house. I spent a couple hours painting the exposed wood on the chairs tonight at the house of a few of my favorite people. The conversations are getting lighter through this process and I'm not as raw. There is lots of laughter and I don't feel guilty for having fun. It is definitely "Catherine approved" fun. Tonight we had tacos and told Catherine stories and I laughed until my sides hurt.
See, the problem with grief is that you feel like you are under a microscope. If you cry, people think you are nuts because it has already been 4 weeks, get it under control. If you laugh, people think you must be over it and how dare you already be over it. There is no winning. I'm lucky that I surround myself with people that don't judge either way. There are always tissues and crap to destroy when there are tears and people to laugh with me when I'm happy. Not everyone is that blessed. I know a few people that feel judged on a daily basis and my heart hurts for them.
On the four week mark of Catherine's death, I got a call from the middle school. Max had been playing outside, got kicked in the face, split his eye open, and I needed to get him asap to get him checked out at a doctor. Prior to this, I would have freaked out and Max knew it. Today there was no freak out because I've faced the worse. Finding your daughter after she died in her sleep is as bad as it gets. Regardless, Max was quick to reassure me that he was fine as I came into the nurses office. A quick trip to the doctor told us that he was fine. They did a fairly extensive check for concussion and we were sent on our way. Living in a small town means that the nurse practitioner that saw us today was at the visitation. She knew what we were going through and probably treated the situation with a bit more care. He has a nice battle wound and will be fine. We aren't an athletic family and I'm surprised this hasn't happened sooner.
The day wasn't terrible. I actually ate 2 meals today, which is unheard of these days. My appetite is slowing coming back. Work kept me so busy all day that I didn't have much time to think about anything except my job. Anxiety kicked in late afternoon which is progress since it usually comes in the morning. I'm not sure about tomorrow.
Four weeks ago, I walked up the stairs to get Catherine up for school because she hadn't gotten up yet. I never imagined I would walk up the stairs to get her up and find she was gone. Since then, I have terrible anxiety at the thought of walking up the stairs to get the kids up in the morning. Someone said it is PTSD. Maybe it is. The boys wake themselves up with an alarm and then Max gets the baby up and brings him downstairs. I don't go upstairs. Tomorrow will be the first day. Four weeks and one day after finding Catherine, I have to go upstairs and wake up the baby on my own. The boys are at their dad's house tonight and Josh leaves for work at 3:45am. I'm on my own and will admit I'm slightly terrified but it is another hurdle I have to cross.
But I will walk up those stairs with medication in my system, tools from therapy, perfectly manicured nails, and a kick ass hair cut and dye job. Because self care will help me climb those stairs and walk into my Henry's room to find a little boy happy to see his mommy has FINALLY walked up the stairs and gotten him out of bed.
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