I admit it: some days, I’m not okay.
There are days when I see that I’ve missed a call, only to discover it’s from my breast specialist and my heart falls to the floor. Or it’s from the scheduling area of the local hospital/clinic where I am seeking my preventative care. Or it’s just from the hospital and the voicemail tells me that they have “results” and I need to give them a call. On those days, I am not okay. On those days, I want to go back to bed and pull the sheets and blankets over me and cocoon myself in their warmth and just sleep, mailing myself away into blissful unconsciousness.
On those days, I am anything but okay.
Then there are days when I start thinking about my childhood, about how I am so reluctant to call it “abuse”, or how I am simply overreacting, or how maybe, just maybe I’m being too damned sensitive. I doubt myself, as I always have. I doubt my feelings because that is what I was taught. I doubt everything, not because I’m a skeptic but because I’m supposed to doubt. If it didn’t come from my parents or god, how was I supposed to trust it? Satan could corrupt everyone so easily, you know. Just let your guard down for one moment and that was all it took.
It’s not exactly easy to break that sort of childhood training. I am trying, however.
On those days, I am not okay. But that’s okay. Sometimes, life isn’t okay. Sometimes, I’m not okay.
And that’s okay. Because it’s my decision. I am listening to myself, learning to trust how I feel. On those days, I’m not okay and that’s just fine.