Epiphanies Can Be Found In Very Dark Places

You May Not Like What You Learn About Yourself

I had been putting it off for weeks. Maybe even months. Everyone in the family was on my case to stop his suffering. “Yeah, yeah, next week.”

His hips were giving out on him, and he was having trouble walking. I told myself once Rolo had finished all the CBD doggy treats, I would take my poor old boy to the vet one last time. But when I opened the last bag of CBD treats and counted out how many he needed each day, I burst into tears. “I can’t do this! I just can’t do this!” It had become too real. The days had a number now. I had avoided thinking about it, pushed it off until I couldn’t any longer.

How had this responsibility been left to me? Oh right. I said I would do it.

The familiar old feeling of depression wrapped around me, settling into my bones. Familiar, but not a friend. I have been here many times. But this time, it was sudden, like an attack. Heartache is brutal like that. I couldn’t breathe. I then realized why I had been putting off the inevitable. I couldn’t do it alone.

“Duh!” you’re saying. But I had learned at a young age that I could not depend on others to be there for me emotionally. My parents were good but too busy to be available and were dealing with their own stuff, and four kids, not to mention the other eight or so my mother took in our day home. Friends over the years let me know I was welcome to help them carry their shit but would slam the door on me when I needed them. Boyfriends would dump me the minute I disagreed with them or got “emotional,” so I eventually learned to keep my emotional needs to myself.

Empaths are often told as children that they are too emotional or too sensitive. Perhaps, because I’m an Empath, my emotions could be overwhelming to others, and I transferred them onto them, and they couldn’t cope. Or, maybe because I was capable of carrying everyone else’s emotional baggage, they hadn’t learned how to deal with it themselves, let alone those of another person. I realized no one could be trusted to be there for me and that I needed to carry it alone.

Sounds pretty lonely, doesn’t it? It is. Even though I’ve been married for over thirty years, I overheard my husband confiding in our youngest daughter that he really didn’t know me. Emotionally, he was closer to my daughters than to me. Now, I had hit a place where I needed to ask him to help me carry the weight of what I had to do. I needed his emotional support — something I had never asked of him. I never asked for help with anything. I wasn’t sure if I even knew how. This was when I realized that the emotional intimacy I craved — and lacked — was my own fault. I could go through the motions but unknowingly had kept it as a one-way street. Yes, others could trust me with their emotions due to my ability to control my own, but I hadn’t put forth my needs in return.

As an example of my independence, I stayed at my daughter’s place while returning to school. She lived forty minutes out into the backcountry. She and her partner were gone for the weekend, and my appendix burst. It presented to me as the stomach flu. A very nasty stomach flu, but I had had four natural childbirths; I could do this. My husband showed up for a visit. I apologized for not being sociable; he should go back home. He figured he should take me to the hospital, but I refused. An hour later, I was curled up on the floor in indescribable pain. I relented. “Please tell me that if I hadn’t been here, you would have called your daughter’s in-laws up the road for help.” He knew better. I never asked for help with anything. “The thought never crossed my mind.” He commented we were lucky he showed up that day to save me from myself. And to keep my daughter from finding my body on her bathroom floor.

You’d think I would have learned from that experience, but old habits die hard. My husband will applaud when I tell my daughters they can do the dishes after a family meal; I don’t usually put it upon others. I’m still the one everyone else depends on, not the one coming to them when in need.

Why did I suddenly need someone to be there for me?

The depression spoke to me, “ I’m here for you.”

The familiar but not friend.

I finally saw the connection.

Depression had been there for me through my pregnancies, while raising four toddlers under five without any sleep, working 24/7 on the farm and being the go-to-mom for everything at school and all the kids’ various activities. When my Dad died, I didn’t lean on anyone else. They had their grief to deal with. Depression was there for me back then, too. The one friend I thought would be there for me never even showed up for the funeral. More proof, others were not able to be there for me.

I finally realized I didn’t want to rely on myself and deal with depression and the subsequent medications and their side effects yet again.

I needed to face my fear of rejection and reach out for help.

Yes, dear, that’s right. Fear Of Rejection. Not Independence. Not Self-Reliance. Fear of rejection, plain and simple. You are not protecting others from you. You are protecting yourself. The one who accepted everyone else for who they were was afraid of not receiving the same grace. Of course, I went to town and bought myself some more time, a.k.a. more hemp oil dog treats, but the weather worsened, and Rolo refused to stay inside. He’d never been an ‘inside’ dog. It was time, whether I was ready or not.

The one who accepted everyone else for who they were was afraid of not receiving the same grace.

I did it. I asked my husband to come to the vet and be with me through it. He said, “Make the appointment.”

It was that simple. I had no idea. I only had to voice my needs.

Of course, he wouldn’t let me dwell over my deceased old boy, “It only gets harder the longer you stay.” He also tried to distract me afterwards by taking me shopping and for dinner. Sitting with difficult emotions is hard; most people chafe under them. But he stayed with me the rest of the day.

Letting you go was a tough decision to make. I still feel the heartache of deciding my faithful companion’s fate, but it feels more bearable when someone stands with you in such a decision. Thank you, Rolo, for helping me learn to lean on others, not just you.