I like to consider myself a very independent person. I'm a single mom of two and love my children to no end. Somewhere along the way, though, I lost myself. I understand that I have a very demanding job but between the big one, the baby, work, and making sure the kids stay alive I lost myself.
Looking back, I think I lost myself when I was getting my second masters degree. (No, I'm not throwing that in there to show how I smart I am. The errors in my writing should prove otherwise.) All throughout the two year program I completed in a year, I kept thinking, "Just think what I will be able to do for Dori!" Then, sure enough, my focus went from school to what can I now do for my daughter.
Fast forward a couple years and now I'm dating a loser. In the beginning, he was sweet and very accepting of my daughter. Then, he moved in (RED FLAG! Don't move to fast in any relationship!) when I was house hunting. Now it's, "What can I do for my daughter and for him?" Fast forward a few months after a surprise pregnancy test and trying to hold it all together, I finally realized he never thought, "What can I do for Michele?" Lucky me. I found someone willing to suck me dry.
Fast forward a few months past the delivery of my second child, I was now focused on holding everything together for my children, my house, and my job. Not one moment did I think about myself. From the moment I opened my eyes to the second I drifted in to REM sleep, I was focused on everything but myself.
I lost myself.
I lost the ability to smile. I felt horrible. I gained weight. I stopped wearing makeup. I never bought anything for myself. I was angry. I hated that I felt I couldn't protect my children. I was starting to hate my life.
Slowly, I had begun to hate my life. The weird thing was that no one really knew. I still did my job. I was still a parent, though some things my oldest did caused me to fly of the handle, sadly. Most of my bills were paid, so it seemed that I was doing just find for those outsiders looking in. I had begun to wish I was a visible mess.
Last year, I finally brought it up to my doctor. For 20 minutes, I sat and described everything I had been feeling to Dr. T. I talked about my unhappiness, the weight gain, feeling ugly, my racing heart....EVERYTHING! I've never been so scared in my life because I thought I was falling to pieces. I could not have been more right. You see, the weight of everything I was trying to carry was slowly eating away at me. Eventually, I would have been an empty shell.
Though I ended my doctor's appointment bent over at the waist sobbing like a baby, I felt better. I had finally let someone in and shown them how much I was hurting. I left the office with a prescription to see if I responded well to an anti depressant that would also control signs of anxiety I had been exhibiting. Within a month, I was smiling. My eyes were brighter and I put on mascara. My doctor felt confident at that point to diagnose me with depression and anxiety.
That was one year ago. With many ups and downs, I can say that I love me. I smile a lot. I laugh more. I wear makeup and clothes that make me feel good. I am happy. But most importantly, I love my life. I still struggle, so please don't think I take a magic pill. I don't. I make a choice every night before I go to bed to take my medicine and love me. Today, I love my eyebrows. Tomorrow? I will find something else about me to love. It's hard to think that one year ago I didn't even like myself. Now that I'm starting to map out a plan to tackle my weight, I tend to get a little overwhelmed, but it helps to look how far I've come.
Making tomorrow better, if my favorite goal. I have to work hard, but I can do it. I have two beautiful girls who are sleeping soundly in their beds. The best thing I can do for them is to ensure their mom is healthy and happy. I have to make sure I don't lose myself again.
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