Breakdowns and Breakthroughs

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I have a wonderful therapist. She came to me by way of Jeff's concerns about my body issues (before our first pregnancy even occurred) and my school counselor's recommendation (after our first loss last January). Knowing the struggles of other women who are frustrated in their searches for a good therapist, I feel all the more fortunate to be under her care.

Last night, I thought a lot before therapy. My first session after this most recent loss was fine, but I left it feeling like I hadn't been totally open and raw with my therapist--who, aside from Jeff, is one of the few individuals in real life who I can be that way with. So, as I considered last night's session ahead of time, I determined that I wanted to discuss success and failure--the ways in which I didn't feel successful at all right now, and the things making me feel like a failure.

Bring on the waterworks.

Now, I'm not surprised when I cry (in therapy, at the mattress commercial, in the first ten minutes of Hunger Games). Last night, though, it was quite enlightening to realize that I couldn't even say the word failure without needing the Kleenex box. Here's the thing: I like to be successful, and I strive for perfection in most areas of my life. These are not new realizations; it's simply how I'm hard-wired, which means it's something I've come to accept. However, the breakdown last night initiated not from my striving for perfection but from my realization of imperfection.

For me--maybe not for other women--but, for me, a miscarriage feels like failure, which means that a second miscarriage (especially one that took 11 months and thousands of dollars to conceive) feels like even more failure. Failure to carry past eight weeks, failure to give my husband a child, failure to offer my own parents the chance to be grandparents, failure to will my body into submission. And so, when I can't will my fertility into submission, then my attention turns to criticizing that body that has failed me.

And so, last night, we ended up back in the realm of mirrors. We talked about my negative self-dialogue--which is, in actuality, a monologue, as I feel completely incapable of challenging the thoughts that spin through my head. I point-blank asked my therapist what to do when I stare in the mirror and judge my pudgy belly or flabby arms. I was pretty sure I knew the answer would be one of two: change where I'm looking to someplace more positive or work on cognitive restructuring (transforming those negative thoughts into more factual realizations). Boy, was I wrong.

"Avoid mirrors."

At first, I was completely confused--I look in our mirrors at home constantly. Heck, I don't even shower after a workout and put on PJs without checking to see what part of me is most unattractive. But then it occurred to me: right now, I'm smart enough to protect myself from pregnant women and infants however I can. I know seeing the nursery at church or the pregnant coworker one building over will trigger negative thoughts and tears, so I just avoid it. Why, then, had it never occurred to me to avoid the thing that most often triggers my body self-hatred?

So, last night I tried it. Actually, I forced myself to do it. Before I took a shower, I opened the mirrored bathroom cabinet so that I couldn't stare at my reflection. When I got ready to change into comfortable clothes, I opened the full-length, mirror-plated jewelry cabinet in our bedroom, so looking in it wasn't even an option. This morning, I got out of the house a full ten minutes early because the only glimpses I gave myself were while doing make-up and then a quick, cursory glance to make sure I'd picked matching boots before I walked out the door.

It's not easy. I still found myself analyzing my round belly in the bathroom work mirror and criticizing my hair. But at least now I know it's in my power to stop looking--and that feels like a breakthrough. I don't have the strength to challenge the negativity yet, but I sure can try to protect myself from the painful thoughts.

So, if we go out to dinner anytime soon and you find me refusing to sit facing the mirrored bar, you'll know why. Self-torture isn't something I'm willing to indulge in anymore.