For a long time, I had nothing to say. Nothing that wasn’t the same; struggles with housing, struggles with depression, struggles with work. And things have changed–and they haven’t. We finally got our house, with a beautiful backyard for The Wonderpup. I’m not a horrifying stepmother that hates her stepchild, though there are times that I want to smack some common sense into her little head. (Especially because at ten, she didn’t know the definition of common sense…literally.) I miss NY, but it doesn’t quite feel like home anymore, after going back for the wedding (going back for one day in two weeks, will let you know if that feeling changes.)
I have friends here, people that would miss me if I wasn’t around. I have clients that tell me I’m a special person because of the care that I take with their dogs while we’re working. I have school that will hopefully find me in a career that I’ll enjoy.
And now, I’m trying to find the courage to pick up my cellphone and call the therapist whose number has been sitting on my desk for a week.
I read a lot of blogs. A lot of mental health blogs, mommy blogs, family blogs–and I wonder if some day this will be a mommy blog. Or if it will be a mental health blog detailing the fact that I have a child and am not sure if it was the right decision. Or a mental health blog lamenting the fact that I couldn’t make up my mind and it’s too late.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, as ready as someone can be for something that you can’t get ready for. I know that it’s the unknowable future, that you can’t ever predict what it will be like or if it will be what you wanted or expected until you’re in the middle of it and you can’t exactly take it back once it’s done. I need a therapist, and I’m afraid of finding out what’s going on in my head and what it will mean for me–for us.