So Much Work

“I’ve already done so much work on listening to my body/not blaming myself for being sick/having self-compassion.” I’ve told my therapist some version of this countless times already even though I’ve only had three sessions with her. It sounds even to me like I’m seeking accolades, but that’s not my motivation. I’m protesting that I’ve already done so much work and now I’m being told all that isn’t enough.

I’m tempted to say I don’t have it in me to do more, but that’s not true. After surviving years of horrendous migraine attacks and depression, I believe I can make it through anything. Compared to those years, what the therapist is asking of me is craft time at day camp. But I didn’t know how hard those years would be until I was in them. This time I can see how hard I’m going to have to work and how emotionally and, possibly physically, painful it will be. I don’t wanna do it. Can’t I get credit for all I’ve already done? Maybe test out of some of the requirements?

Also, I have to admit to bring a little surprised that there’s more to be done after I’ve already come so far. In the words of the brilliant David Byrne, “I’m tired of traveling, I want to be somewhere.” I know life’s a journey, not a destination, but I thought I could hang out on the beach for a little while. Instead, I’ve discovered I’m not only at the wrong airport, I’m on the wrong continent.

I’m tired and sick and tired of being sick. I’ve done the impossible to get where I am right now, both physically and emotionally. And still it isn’t enough. How many more mountains do I have to move? And are any of the resulting avalanches going to bury me alive?

(And have I won a record for the number of metaphors crammed into one post?)