Into the Blue

Radically accepting the unknown

“My emotions are super high right now,” I reported to my therapist, Linda, through the computer screen, lifting my hand up over my head to indicate the barely-above-water feelings I’ve been having lately. I told her that some of it was certainly due to my household being on its fourth day without hot water. I’d taken a Klonopin the night before in order to fall asleep.

I’d been ping-ponging between the plumber and the property manager and the landlord’s maintenance guy for over a week in an ever-delayed game of middle-man phone tag. Sitting in the discomfort and having very little control over how or when it would be addressed. Being told that my numerous questions were either unnecessary or interfering with the process.

Okay, what I’d actually been told by my terrible property manager¹ was that contractors shouldn’t be talking to tenants about their work and should only be talking to the property management company. What I heard was, “You’re in the way. You’re annoying. Ohmygod STOP.”

But … I’m the one living here. I’m the one who sees what’s happening every day. I’m the one dealing with FOUR DAYS without hot water. Don’t I deserve to be in the loop at least a little bit? What’s so bad about me asking the plumber about what he’s doing so I can understand the system better? So I can be on the lookout for future issues? So I can be a good tenant (the best?) and protect their investment?

I was having a Reaction — and I knew, intellectually, that the Reaction I was having was not in proportion to the water-heater issue at hand. I couldn’t put my finger on why it all felt so big.

Does a manatee ever React?

Linda listened intently, ever diligent in her work to help me help myself. When I was done with my story, we segued into some renewed hesitations I was having about my upcoming surgery in October.²

And that’s when I started crying. Ah yes, we’d hit on something. (Therapy is great, even with the tears. Highly recommend.)

In this week of not having control over when I’d get my hot water back, I’d stumbled upon what I was really worried about: whether I’m making the right treatment decision. When I met with the surgeon in May, instead of presenting me with a single, obvious, logical, “this is what you should do” plan, she presented me with three: each with its own level of invasiveness, each with its own pros and cons, benefits and risks. She said it was totally up to me which path to take.

So of course, I asked her what she’d do if it were her lady parts at stake. She expertly dodged the question.

So I made the choice that felt right in the moment, and, true to form, I’ve been questioning it ever since. Seriously. On an almost daily basis. Even in the span of time it took me to write paragraphs 3 through 9 of this piece, a “what if?” about my plan popped into my head and I paused to research it.

My brain does not do well when it has loads of time and unlimited internet access with which to overthink major life decisions. My brain also does not do well when there are multiple viable options.

Hello! Welcome to my brain. It’s high in fiber.

There’s this pressure I feel, deep in my chest cavity and anchoring me into my seat, to make the right decision. To learn and ask and pry and investigate and watch and understand enough to see the one path forward. To take enough preliminary action that the subsequent action becomes obvious.

But the older I get, the less obvious the answers become, and the more complex the logic problem becomes. “If A, then B” becomes “If A, then maybe B, or possibly C, depending on if D happens, or E interferes, oh and F is definitely happening at some point, the timing of which depends on whether G or H or both happen, which depends on I am losing my fucking mind.”

You know what would be great?

Letting go of all this pressure. Accepting that some things cannot be predicted, perfected, or prepared for. And even then, 99.99% of the time, it all works out. We figure it out. We persevere. We are okay.

So no, brain, we’re not going to obsess about the 00.01% anymore today. We’re going to make some art and write some words and do one thing at a time. We’re going to sail into the blue, even though it makes us uncomfortable.

At least there’s mac n’ cheese there.

Linda and I closed out our session with her reminding me to trust myself. “And whatever decision you make is the right decision,” she assured me.

For now, while I’m wobbly and uncertain, I’ll take her word for it. One day, I’ll be strong enough to know it’s true.

✨ If you’re here, reading this footnote, I’m ever so grateful. ✨

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1. I don’t like calling her terrible, but she really is. It’s quite possible she’s been overworked into unprofessional mediocrity, but … that’s not my problem. Especially when I don’t have hot water.

2. A very concise summary of my surgical plan: I am having a hysterectomy with bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy (in Plain English: removing the uterus, fallopian tubes, and ovaries) in response to a diagnosis of Stage 4 endometriosis I received at the beginning of the year.