How therapy changed my life: A delve into my sorrows

I started therapy when I was a college student. I had gotten into an altercation with my roommate that caused her to move out. I had broken a door and punched a hole into the wall. I was an angry mess when I was younger. My issues always caused people to distance themselves from me. I had a lot of self-doubt and suicidal ideations when I was younger as well. My brother and best friend had committed suicide, I had moved a world away from my family, and I had no friends stateside.

I threw myself at boyfriends to gain some self-confidence which didn’t help me out. I got into physical altercations with some of my exes, that lead to heartbreak and even more self-doubt. I was cheated on multiple times, and each time I met the girl, it was harder for me to understand what the problem was: me. I was the problem for myself, always putting myself in situations that were undeniably toxic. I kept going back to the same guy even though he had physically dragged me out of our apartment because I was texting a guy about school. He was the guy that told me I was not ladylike enough and that I was lucky to have him. It was stupidity that lead me down that path. Blindness, ignorance, whatever it is that you want to call it. I got caught up in binge drinking and drugs that I shouldn’t have been taking just to take the edge off of me.

I’ve been beaten. I’ve been sexually, mentally, and emotionally abused by boyfriends and even someone that was supposed to be considered family. I’ve been mistreated and I’ve been down some rough paths that I wish I hadn’t gone down. I’ve been stalked, my medical records have been breached before. I’ve worried about my security, my safety, my son. I’ve even had to fight myself from hurting myself, my husband, and even my son.

All of this is why I got into therapy. Therapy helped get me out of these situations, and now I’m in a much better situation with my best friend, Sean, that helps me through everything. You don’t have to be like me where you post your entire life online, but you can seek therapy in confidence. Most benefit plans cover you to seek therapy, and if not, then there’s always things like Better Help or Doctors on Demand that you can pay for out of pocket. I know it’s a jump to say that everyone has the money to seek therapy, but there are so many other resources out there. I’ll try to list some later after some research of my own.

As many of you know, I’ve gone through Intensive Outpatient Psychotherapy. I was admitted to that for almost 6 months. I was also admitted to the inpatient unit twice for postpartum psychosis and once for suicidal ideation with intent. It took a long time for me to open up in therapy, but with the right therapist, and the right type of therapy, you can gain so much of your life back. You can work through the traumas that you’ve gone through, and you can work for a better future toward a better self.

It’s been a year and some change since I started intensive therapy, and I can say that I’ve gained so much of my independence back. There are still some things that I refuse to do alone, and there are times where I still lose my absolute shit, but I can say that I’ve come such a long way from last year. It helps me to know that I’m not alone with all of those who have been on this journey with me, and I thank you all for that. I thank you all for sticking through it with me, commenting, liking, and messaging me personally to say that my writing has helped you.

So here I am, a completely open book, ready to start a new chapter in my life as I transition out of the military. I’m ready to be a great mom, a great wife, and an even better friend. So, cheers to us. All of us. Because I’m bringing you all to the top with me.

Lack of Self-Love

I have been really struggling with some self-kindness lately, and embracing the thought of me being beautiful. It’s not uncommon for a woman to experience these feelings after pregnancy, and it isn’t uncommon for it to last longer than the first few months. For me, it’s been almost two years of feeling “not like myself”. When I look back to four years ago, I ran my first marathon and was in the best shape of my life. Two years ago, I was deadlifting twice my body weight, and was also in the best shape of my life. Now, I don’t feel right in any of the clothes I put on. Even if it fits right, it doesn’t feel right. I’ve loss the sense of confidence that I used to have back in the day.

But you know, I just talked to a friend about it. She just had a baby, and the first thing that I said to her was to give herself some grace to heal, to fall into her new role as a mother, and to take the time for her new born baby. Bouncing back isn’t important. Supporting her is important. So why couldn’t I say that to myself? Is it because it’s been almost two years since I had my baby? Is it because I should have bounced back like celebrity moms or moms that have more time in the world for some reason (like seriously, where do you get that?) Or that I should look like the teenager who has never held a child in her stomach before? I feel huge standing next to people. I feel like I take up too much space in the world.

I’ve already written about my struggle with body dysmorphia. Ever since I was a young child, my weight would be talked about when meeting with relatives. “Ang taba mo na” (you’re so fat now), or having my eating disorder praised with “ang sexy mo naman”. Only to know it’s because I was eating only Honeycombs in the morning, and throwing up my food at night. Loving myself always came with an expense. An expense to my mental, emotional, and physical health. Now it’s even harder after experiencing postpartum psychosis, disordered eating, major depression, and anxiety. But you know what…

I forget that my body created life sometimes. I forget that what started out as something microscopic, turned into my 6.5 lbs son and a vital organ to support him. I’m lined with stretch marks to show that my body grew to make room for Mav. Maybe I have a little more on my hips than I used to, but it just helps cushion my body now. I carried more weight on my chest to provide nutrition for my son. And you know, my body is pretty freakin’ amazing for doing all of that. So I’m glad I wrote this… Because sometimes it takes writing it all out to realize what kind of positive thoughts can be buried by negative thoughts…

So if you’re feeling down on your self-image today, don’t. You’re beautiful. And your body does so much for you to make it through the day, so you should appreciate it, no matter what it looks like. It’s not like that’s what matters anyways. What matters is what’s inside your heart guys. Really. Skin ages. Bodies age. Hair turns grey. But what’s inside, doesn’t change. So take up space! Eat your food. Enjoy it all.

WEAR THE DAMN BIKINI

Most of the time, I hate exposing myself. Most of the time, I’m not comfortable in my body. All of the time, I’m worried about how I look. And damn, is it exhausting.

I used to spend no less than 3 hours at the gym before. I’d do cardio. I’d lift weights. I’d work my core till I could barely stand up. I measured my worth by how small my waist was, and whether or not I could fit myself into a size 2 pair of jeans. The number on the scale determined the amount of calories I ate for the week, and I’d say “it’s just water weight” and cut back on water to satisfy myself with how heavy I “really” was. I ran marathon races because running was the fastest way to drop unnecessary pounds around my gut, and I lifted weights because it was socially acceptable to diet if you were a lifter.

Why is that? Why is pushing ourselves to challenging diets okay only if we’re working out? “FuElinG my b0dY f0r hEaLth.” When does it become an eating disorder? Where do you draw the line? I used to purge when I was barely a pound over the weight I wanted to be. Everyone applauded me for being so disciplined with my macros, and even then, I never felt good enough. Then I got pregnant with Maverick, and Lawd help me with what I thought (and still think) about my body now.

The extra skin that folds over when I sit down, when it used to be so tight. The extra cellulite on my legs when I’m not flexed. The extra love that is constricted by my high waisted jeans because I’m too embarrassed to admit I have a postpartum body. I gave birth to a human. My body was adored for growing this human, and now, I scorn at it when I pass by a mirror after I shower. My heart pounds when I step on the scale (especially this week since I gained +4 pounds). I suck in my stomach to feel smaller, even though no one sees beneath my extra large t-shirts.

So this past weekend, I decided to challenge myself. I wore the damn bikini and decided to try my hardest not thinking about my body and what I looked like. I tried my hardest to be present with who I was with, and I tried my hardest to feel good about myself in clothes that didn’t hide me. And honestly…

It felt fucking great. I ate great food. I didn’t hold back on treats. I drank merrily with my family. And even though I’m back in the mindset of wanting to get smaller (it’s a hard mindset to escape for very long), I’m happy I was able to enjoy my time.

Here’s to trying to overcome diet culture and self-loathing behaviors. Here’s to trying to have confidence in myself because I’m a damn good person, and none of that is measured by my waist line or my weight. Here’s to putting on the damn bikini and enjoying life, because my son doesn’t care what his momma looks like… he cares about her being present and engaged. So PUT ON THE DAMN BIKINI GIRL.