- Sep 20, 2020
When I discovered my husband’s infidelity, after the first week of pain, rage and insanity, I did what a lot of women do – I went to a therapist. I was reluctant to go for a lot of reasons, but mainly because there was a part of me that knew my relationship wasn’t healthy or good and that the infidelity was a minor part of that whole. I suppressed my misgivings and went in with my newborn in her carrier, intent on finding some kind of mental peace so I could sleep and perhaps stop crying at the drop of a hat. She was a kind woman, with 3 children like me, who walked me through her whole educational background and personal journey to becoming a therapist. In the back of my mind I remember thinking, I’m paying for this?? Apparently it’s a method for acquainting oneself with patient’s as a way for them to become comfortable enough to talk to you. After she had finished, I explained my situation and in between bouts of tears and anger, managed to cover the surface issues I wanted help with.
Her kind eyes were perceptive enough to see that I wasn’t being completely forthcoming, so she questioned me about if there was anything else bothering me. Did I have other issues with my husband? Was he verbally abusive or physically? Little did I know that I fit the profile for both of these things, I shied away from those areas unconsciously when I talked, and even my body language spoke for me when I was unwilling to. I used sarcasm and humor to deflect people away from areas that were painful for me. I was known by everyone as their “funny friend” and sarcasm was my life blood. She looked me squarely in the eyes and said, “Usually when people use sarcasm and humor the way you do, they’re trying to hide something painful and a lot of times are crying out for help.” She challenged me to spend a week without sarcasm or humor in my personal interactions. (For me this would have meant spending a week in a locked room not talking.) In my mind I was already planning never to come back, she had seen too much on this visit and I wasn’t looking to let anyone know the truth about my life, but she took my hand as I left and simply said, “Letting someone help you doesn’t make you weak.” I nodded and smiled, left her office and never returned. I had created the cell my life had become and I was too scared to break out of it, no matter how much I wanted to. I forgave my husband his infidelities, after all, it was my fault for focusing too much attention on the kids and not being a good wife. The occasional bubbles of anger that came up in me were easily ignored after a while, I went on as I had before, convincing myself I had done what was best for the children and myself, determined to be happy. Spoiler alert – there is no happy ending when you’re married to a narcissist.
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Loving Your Family
I have read so many articles and posts that begin with “every parent’s nightmare” and I often felt empathy and sympathy for them, but I lived my life in the happy bubble that nothing like that would ever happen to me. It made me that much more unprepared the day that I joined the nightmare club. I had just gotten home from work and was watching TV while discussing various ideas for dinner with my oldest child when the doorbell rang. I was faced with two female police officers whose faces told me they had bad news to tell me. The words “son” combined with “collapse” and being transported to the nearest trauma center via ambulance made my blood run cold. I called to my daughter to come with me and went out to my car, without shoes, intent upon getting to the hospital as quickly as possible. She followed after me (having picked up a pair of shoes on her way) and we were off. My compact car easily made the 115 mph I felt prudent to get down the freeway as fast as possible. We arrived at the ER and were greeted by more grave faces and quickly placed in the separate waiting area. What followed was the longest 24 hours I have ever lived through. My perfectly healthy 18-year-old son, who had graduated high school just 3 days earlier, had suffered a cardiac arrest event. We were in the hospital with him for 36 hours before he had been stabilized enough to have his breathing tube removed. Phrases like “brain damage” “oxygen deprivation” and “neurological assessment” were being thrown around everywhere. I had slept 30 minutes in the last day and a half and my brain was sluggish when I was first asked if I had power of attorney to make decisions on my son's behalf. My son, who arrived a 10lb 10z smiling and contented baby just 10 days before my 30th birthday, was 18 and therefore an adult.
We were fortunate that the hospital accepted me as his mother who shared the same address, and therefore allowed me to be involved in his care. I was told in no uncertain terms however, that if decisions were to be made, we would need to speak with the hospital’s legal counsel. From seven months after this event, I am constantly aware of how lucky my family is. We were lucky that the supervisor my son worked with knew CPR, we were lucky that the EMTs responded within 2 minutes and were able to shock my son’s heart back into a regular rhythm, we were lucky that our failure to plan for this “worst case scenario” hadn’t become a huge problem. My son is in the 3% of people who survive a full cardiac arrest episode – he has a high-tech defibrillator implanted in his chest so that he is safe if it should ever happen again. After a whole battery of tests and scans, none of the 26 doctors he saw were able to give us an answer as to why it had happened. We were lucky in every possible way. We were lucky that my ignorance about having an advance directive for my barely 18-year-old son didn’t make our situation a million times worse.
We are not attorneys but after my experience and what I was told by the hospital, my advice to everyone who still lives in the happy bubble where bad things don’t happen to their children is to have an advance directive done the day your child turns 18. Before they leave for college, before they graduate, before you make or buy them that big fancy birthday cake. Get it done and have it ready and hope and pray that you never need it. There are many sites that provide the basic template free of charge. The easiest one I’ve found is www.caringinfo.org. It takes just a few minutes and the peace of mind it provides is priceless.
- Sep 14, 2020
Loving: Favorite & Most Comfortable Bra Ever!
True & Co
For me, not wearing a bra is not an option, but I hate bras! I have tried all kinds and I love the look of the lacy little numbers that you see advertised where the one that the model wears is probably a 32 A or B, but as it gets closer and closer to my size, it isn’t cute anymore and actually putting it on is almost as deflating as putting on a bathing suit!!!
Let me tell you about my latest find that I absolutely love! Ok, so they don’t look really sexy, but OMG who cares? Does anyone except for someone in their 20’s really think about wearing sexy lingerie anymore, ever? Even people in there 20’s think about comfort first, why do you think that LuLu Lemon is so successful?
These are without a doubt the most comfortable things ever and the colors are really pretty. The newest style, True Body with the lift is amazing. I don’t fall out, it doesn’t roll, it doesn’t dig in to my shoulders, seriously it fits like a glove and I love it - especially for travel! I liked the original True Body, but I really didn’t love the removable pads and am glad there is another option. I can’t say enough good things about these bras. FYI: If you refer a friend, you will get a discount.
Trueandco.com $44-$58
