Page 158 of Breathe Again

Girls’ Night

Mara

Thursday afternoon, the office scheduled our therapy appointment earlier than usual, so Bex offered to pick Olivia up early and take her out for lunch before going to the shelter. Knowing Olivia was out on the road, and not knowing exactly where, made me nervous.

“I don’t like it when I don’t know where she is,” I muttered to Zale.

In the car on our way to meet with Erin, I stared pensively out my window, not at all right with the world. He reachedacross the seat and ran his hand down my arm, tugging my hand to place it palm down on his thigh. He covered it with his own.

“It’s not much different for me,” he admitted. “When I’m at work, if I think about you two out and about, I worry.”

“I don’t think it’s the same for you as it is for me.”

“I’m not saying it’s the same, I’m saying the thought is there, the worry is there. And, if I couldn’t tolerate it, I might think locking you guys down would be a good solution, a way to minimize my own anxiety, but that would be unfair.”

“So, you’re saying I’m being unfair?” I was spoiling for a fight, a way to dispel the anxiety.

“Did you let her go?”

“Yes.”

“Then, no, you’re not being unfair. If you didn’t let her go, that would be unfair. I think this falls under the heading of distress intolerance? Because you’re afraid of losing her.”

“It falls under the heading of ‘it fucking sucks’!”

“What would Radical Acceptance look like in this…”

I cut him off. “You don’t get to psychoanalyze me!”

I tried to pull my hand away, but he grasped it firmly in his. “I’m not. The doctors already did that. We know the problem. We are going to therapy for the problem. And the problem is not me…”

“Oh, really? What happened to ‘we were both wrong’?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. You want to fight me because you’re anxious, but I’m not the reason for your anxiety. I’m not the problem, you have no beef with me.”

His voice steadied me, his words and logic began to penetrate the fog of panic. “I hate it when you’re right,” I grumbled.

He chuckled low, squeezed my hand. “I’m always right.”

“Don’t get cocky,” I snapped.

He nodded, smirked. “I’ll save that for when we get home from therapy.”

I barked out a laugh and he smiled. “I love you.”

I grumbled, “I love you, too.”

I was still smiling when we got to Erin’s office. She helped me to write out Radical Acceptance statements for when Olivia was out and about, and for when Zale was out, too.

He was surprised about that, not realizing that same anxiety extended to him every time he left, including every day he left for work.

We updated her on the situation with my mom, and the boundaries I’d set.

I told her about my garden revelations, about creating space to heal, about healing meaning I’d be a safe place for Zale and Olivia,which meant I didn’t have to consider leaving them or feel guilty for staying.

We spent the remainder of the appointment troubleshooting which areas of responsibility could be honed back, which I could temporarily let go of, and how I might delegate some of Olivia’s homeschooling to Willa and Bex for a couple of months.

The atmosphere on the ride home was much more positive, and ripe with anticipation. Zale swung through a drive-thru for lunch saying he didn’t want to waste time going into a restaurant or having me cook. Fifteen minutes after we walked in the door he had me in bed and didn’t let me up for air for two hours.

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