This week, I began my journey in an Intensive Outpatient Program (IOP). It’s been only one day, but already I feel…strange. Being surrounded by people who are bravely sharing their struggles has left me questioning my own. Compared to the heart-wrenching stories I’ve heard, my problems feel small—insignificant, even.
There’s a woman in my group whose daughter is dying. I can’t even imagine that kind of pain. And here I am, sitting in the same room, feeling disconnected from my own child. How can I open up about that? How can I say out loud that I struggle to feel love for my daughter when this woman would give anything just to have her child healthy?
I feel like a monster. I’m terrified of being judged. I’m judging myself constantly, so why wouldn’t everyone else?
Still, I know I’m here for a reason. I know my feelings matter, but it’s hard to convince myself of that when my emotions seem so pale in comparison to what others are facing.
On a more positive note, my life feels like it’s starting to move in a better direction—at least a little. My partner and I haven’t fought since Christmas Eve, and that feels good. But even in this small bit of peace, I feel disconnected. There’s no love, no spark. Just…nothing. I wonder if I’m even capable of loving anyone. That thought haunts me.
Blah. That’s the best way to describe how I feel right now. Just blah.
Adding to the weight, the bills keep piling up, and working 30 hours a week isn’t enough. I know I need to find a second job, but even thinking about it feels overwhelming. All I want is for my life to feel normal again—for me to feel normal again.
Starting this IOP was my first step toward figuring things out, and I hope it’s the right one. I’m trying to trust the process and hold onto the hope that I can get through this. I just want to be better—for myself, for my family, for my daughter.
Here’s to taking it one day at a time.
The Fourth Trimester 