KAPOW.

In a session this morning, our counselor said something that I immediately, painfully recognized as an old, deep core issue of mine--one that shows up daily but that I've avoided naming with such clarity or working on.

After the initial WHOA/OMG moment, I acknowledged yes, that is my issue. It's been with me a long time. I fight a daily battle with it. It's always around, the endless loop of hypercritical thoughts that I try and often fail to push away and that sometimes sends me careening over the edge.

I turned to my husband and partner of 3 1/2 years and said this is my issue. He's seen symptoms of it, but I've never really identified it to or with him. He didn't know it was there or how much of a grip it has on me or that it was undergirding some of the trouble spots in our relationship. On some level, I knew but it had never roiled to the surface with such painful, inescapable clarity.

He was concerned, confused. "You're amazing," he said. "How can this be your issue?"

I'm not sure. I do know that I have to tackle this NOW. No more hiding. It's time to work through it. We talked about ways Mike can help when the issue shows up now that we both know it's there and are aware of some of the shapes it takes.

On the way to the car after the session, I thanked Mike for listening and being supportive. I said that was a HUGE admission/acknowledgment for me. It was scary and painful to name my issue out loud. I felt naked--and not good naked. Exposed.

We drove most of the way to Salt Lake in silence. I was still marveling and in awe of what happened. Seeing the issue clearly--THAT clearly--for the first time and recognizing that it's time to work on it.

I turned to Mike and said "OMG, I still can't believe what happened. That was HUGE! And there's no going back now that it's out in the open. Not that I want to go back; it's simply IMPOSSIBLE to go back now."

Later, I imagined my former therapist and teacher, Lee Gibson, encouraging me to work this issue, to get really CLEAR about it, and saying with a chuckle, "That's your homework, kiddo. This issue can repress you or empower you. Decide which it's going to be and get to work."

Even though someone else did the facilitating this morning, I'm pretty sure Lee had a hand in it somehow. Point taken, Big Guy. I'm on it.

2010, Let Me Count The Ways You Suck

Can I get a 2010 do-over?

We're what, barely six weeks in and it's been shitstorm after bloody, freaking shitstorm.

Jan 1-2, marital spat.

Jan 5, test results confirm we're reproductively challenged.

Jan 6, my mom's dear friend, Nancy Wright, lost her battle with cancer.

Jan 7, witnessed a kid urinating on our driveway/neighboring office building.

Jan 9, day-long board meeting. AZ weather and visiting friends were pluses.

Jan 10, I started getting sick.

Jan 11, diagnosis--bronchitis. Nasty cough and 103 degree fever at its worst.

Jan 11-18, illin'. Too sick to travel to Nancy's memorial service in California.

Jan 19, first day back at the office, still dragging.

Jan 20, second kid uses office driveway as urinal. Buddy up with West High security.

Jan 22-24, first good thing--a half-anniversary trip to Las Vegas.

Jan 29, dinner with friends, then a late night trip to Idaho to help w/family crisis.

Jan 31, long night, little sleep, much stress = illness returns. Same weekend, baby nephew gets sick.

Feb 2, Baby Alex admitted to the hospital. I visit dr again and get 2nd Rx.

Feb 3, the only day I make it to the office.

Feb 4, Alex home from the hospital, but his health problems are serious and far from over. :(

Feb 5, appointment with urologist who outlines our options for reproducing. Gives us a Guide to Understanding Fertility Problems comic book. Unfunniest comic book EVER.

Feb 5-7, slept through everything except the Superbowl. Found out we will no longer be teaching Sunday School. Good timing for a break.

Feb 8, worried about PK. He's been listless and not his usual self since we got back from Idaho.

Feb 9, called the vet this morning. Brought PK in. Got him into the carrier without yowl or protest. They made me leave while they drew blood. The vet came in a few minutes later, said his kidneys are failing, and gently started talking about quality of life--which means The End is near. I started crying before he was done. Managed to mop up before the techs came in to show me how to insert the IV.

I cried all the way home. Left a weepy voice mail for Mike. Cried on the phone to my mom. Gave PK anti-nausea meds and tried to feed him the prescription food. He ate some, but threw everything up later.

Now I'm looking over the computer at him curled up on the carpet; he keeps shifting to find a comfortable position. Ignoring work. Wondering how I'll get used to the idea of putting him down and adjusting to his absence.