Therapy

My therapist tested positive for Covid and had to cancel our session today. I texted her telling her that I hope she feels better soon and not to worry about me. But deep down I’m a little bit worried about me. So here I am.

The first thing she would have done is ask how my day is going. To which I normally say it’s going good or comment on the weather or my current body temperature- I’m always in a state of sweaty. It’s only on the rare occasions when I text her for a last-minute session where the days aren’t described as “good” and instead the tears flow immediately and aggressively.

But today was good I guess? It was hot and humid but also rained here and there. So, my body is in its most glorious combination of sweaty and sticky. The kids at work had water play day, and I spent the morning inflating swimming pools only for Royce to accidently knock off the cover and deflate the whole thing before the kids even got to swim. Speaking of Royce, we’re not teaching together next year. I’ll be in a new classroom with a new co-teacher. That’ll be interesting.

We always spend a few minutes talking about work. Work is the majority of my life anyways. And after the massive burnout I experienced last fall, it’s hard to deny that work sometimes gets the best of me if I let it.

The next thing I would have brought up would probably be my mom. She leaves next weekend. We’ve made it through over six weeks together. That’s the longest we’ve been in the same house together since the summer after my freshman year in college- the last time I lived at home.

Six weeks was a long time. We didn’t do much though. It rained for most of the time and then my mom had Covid in the middle of it. So, we maybe hiked once? We definitely went to a lot of Bar Method classes. And we started a new Sunday tradition where we drive to the Leonard’s truck in Hawaii Kai on Sundays as a way of getting out of the house and doing something fun.

It was definitely nice having someone in the house with me. Someone who would immediately know if I died from a broken heart in my sleep. But it wasn’t a friend… It was my mom. She rolled her eyes at how much food I had on my plate. She told me I use the wrong kind of trash bags and wrong brand of dish soap. She had opinions on my posture, the cleanliness of my bathroom, and how my perfume smelled. We argued and yelled at each other each and every time we had to do laundry. It was draining.

Which then would have led into my next topic.

I feel empty.

And sad. And lonely. And tired. And maybe even like I’m half a human. That there’s a vital part of my existence that’s gone missing, and I can’t quite seem to find it again.

A lot of it probably ties back to my current circumstances and the broken-up state of a particular friendship. But I also think it has to do with my mom being here and the profession I’ve decided to spend the next decade or more of my life doing. My mom requires me to drive everywhere and cook her dinner. At least now she knows how to get to Ala Moana and can pick me up after my closing shifts. The kids scream out my name as if it’s the air they breathe and if they don’t call me at least five times in under a minute then the classroom will self-destruct. Cosette and I literally yelled each other’s names back and forth for minutes until she forgot why she was calling me in the first place. “Auntie Meg!” “Cosette…” “Auntie Meg!!” “Cosette…” “Auntieeeee Megggggg!!!!” “Cosette…” Then she walked away.

I’m exhausted.

Truthfully, I’m always exhausted. Tired and Meg are two things that will go hand in hand until the end of times. But before, I could be exhausted and then talk to someone about the rough parts of my day instead of just internalizing it. Before someone else would drive to dinner and pay for the bill at Kamitoku. Before I felt like I could fall and someone would be there to catch me.

Now I feel like I’m just trudging through the mud on my own, and it sucks.

At this point, Meighan would probably start asking questions about why I feel this way and redirecting me to think of ways that I can take care of myself even if it’s just small acts here and there.

My short-term answer would be that my mom leaves next Saturday and rather than hopping on a flight with her and going to California, I think I’ll stay home for a while. Be on my own- even though it might mentally kill me- and take it slow. It’ll be a week with no kids, so I can sleep in, go to work when I want to go to work, and live in my lavender waffle knit sweat suit if I wanted to. I love that lavender waffle knit sweat suit.

My long-term answer (because there always needs to be a long-term answer even if I’m terrible at delayed gratification) would be that I go to Bar Method, I eat vegetables, I sit outside and stare at the sky to clear my mind. I take care of my physical body. Honestly, my physical body is thriving. I have abs, my ass has lifted a few inches, and my arms have definition rather than just flab. But mentally, it needs some work. I’ve been able to read a new book at least once a week. I spend a few hours in the evening rotating between reading or watching Iron Man. I’m on a new devotional about 1st and 2nd Timothy, so we’ll see what Paul has to say. I pray a lot. When I’m on the toilet, when I’m in the shower, when I lay in bed.

I’m doing the things I need to be doing. The things that will help me maybe not feel so empty anymore.

But each session for the past three months has ended with the same resolution regardless of whether I feel sweaty or I feel cold, it’s going to take time.

Time. Time, time. Time. time.

Time for the pain to heal. Time for new ties to be formed. Time for the stimulus in my brain to stop being stimulated and learn that the thing that brought it stimulation is no longer around. Time to develop new routines. Time to meet new people. Time to do new things.

And I love talking to my therapist, but I hate that this is the only way out of this empty tunnel I’m trapped in.


Hi Meighan. I hope you’re feeling better! Please tell me we’re on schedule for next week.