Okay, here is the truth…the real truth…the truth that I didn’t want to tell you. I wanted to be all ho-ho-ho and merry -merry and I tried, I really did, but I can’t. It hit me the other day. It hit me hard. I got it when we were walking through William-Sonoma and I was shopping for a coffee maker that I will NEVER-EVER-EVER have kids.I knew it and then all of a sudden I KNEW it. This is something that will never be fixed. This will always be true. I saw people with children and prams and baby Bjorns and I just started sobbing. I lost my sh*t in the appliance section. I went from shopping mode to melt down mode faster than you can say Cuisinart Brew and Grind. He-weasel got me out of the store and herded me to my car in the pouring rain and I sobbed as I blindly walked, “It’s not fair. I want it to be fair. It’s not fair. Life should be FAIR!!! If we couldn’t have kids we should have at least been able to stay in Chicago.” That happened Sunday and ever since then I have been in the sob, cry, mourn, grieve and repeat mode.
I tried today to do a little Christmas shopping but then I saw all these men with their fucking babies and I had to push back the tears and then some little toddlers were pushing me when I was waiting in line to buy a candle and I was growing more and more irritated and I came this close to turning around and going off on this man for not being able to contain his kids and how they needed to stop pushing me and they needed to stop pushing me NOW!!!!!! But what I wanted to do is turn around and take all my rage and anger and outrage that I am childless and that I will always be so and that I live in L.A. and that I had a shit childhood and give it to this man that I have never met. I wanted to yell at this stranger and for him to hear my anger and for him or someone to make this right. The customer is always right. And maybe if I yelled loud enough the manager of William-Sonoma could fix what is broken in me or give me my money back or at least give me a free box of Holiday Bark Candy. A dear friend of mine ,who upon hearing about my near run in with a total stranger, suggested that I stay home tonight, cancel my dinner reservation and order dinner in less I give into my desire to rage publicly and end up needing her to bail me out of the big house.
So the truth is that I am in pieces. A million of them to be exact. And I don’t feel like Humpty Dumpty can be put back together again. I am not sure if I will be up to blogging over the holiday season. The truth is that I didn’t even plan on writing this. I was just going to put up a picture of Lily and wish you a happy holiday but if there is one thing this blog is it is authentic. And I am authentically feeling like shit. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t wish you a very happy Christmas, I do. Also, please, I implore you…no need to comment and try to cheer me up. Lily, He-weasel, Igor and assorted lovely friends are trying to cheer me up and yet at present I am uncheerable.
Ugh, now that I wrote this I feel like a Grinch or a Scrooge or like I have put a damper on your ho-ho-ho. But maybe my telling the truth about how shit I feel will help someone else. I hope it does.
p.s. You can’t say I didn’t warn you. It was there in the title. You didn’t have to read this. I did warn you.
So you know how I often write detailed accounts of what I told Igor and what he told me in my sessions with him? Well, there is a school of thought that would say that by my doing that I am damaging the work and even impinging my growth. I have kept this idea in the back of my mind as long as I have been writing about my own personal therapy here on the blog and chose to keep it there, that is until now. Cheryl Fuller, on her brilliant blog Jung at Heart, wrote a post about the importance of container for transformation to occur in psychotherapy and it got me thinking and I felt like I needed to think about/write about this issue as a means of coming to understand exactly how I feel about this and to see if perhaps my writing about my own therapy is helping or hurting my work with Igor.
