pandora's box

I have Hashimoto's Thyroiditis, which is an autoimmune disorder that causes me to have chronic and severe hypothyroidism. Right before Christmas, I was put on a much lower dose of my medicine than I have been on since I was first diagnosed. Because of this, I have been exhausted for the last three months. I have trouble thinking straight. I am forgetful to the point of sometimes feeling very simple. I am back up to the weight I was at immediately before finding out that I have a generally non-active thyroid (I had lost about 10% of my body weight when I was first put on medicine, which was a little more than a year ago). I have an appointment with my endocrinologist next week.

Last night, my husband seemed to want to say something, so I asked him what was going on. He said, "Well. I don't know. Nothing, really."  I pressed him, and he said, "It's....I don't know how to say it. It's just that.....I'm worried about your health." I knew exactly what he was talking about. He was talking about the fact that I had gained weight -- almost back to the weight I was when I was first diagnosed.

My husband grew up in a household of three sisters, his mom, and an absent father. I assume this is why his personality is an amazing balance between sensitive brother and man-of-the-house. He can take charge when he needs to, but he is extremely in touch with his feelings. He also is very sensitive to people's emotional bruises -- which is great, because I certainly have a lot of them. My point is: he has never made any negative comment about the way I look, especially my weight.

So, last night was a stab in the heart that felt completely out of nowhere. I said, "You know, I've been weighing myself every day because I know my thyroid is off. It's less than it was when I first was diagnosed, but yes, I weigh more than our wedding day. I assume that's what you're talking about: my weight". He didn't answer, until I prodded again.

The floodgates opened. I sobbed in the way that makes you wonder if a person could literally drown in their own tears. I sobbed like a little girl who just lost her mother. I couldn't catch my breath. I cried for hours. Of course this was much more than my husband's comments warranted or deserved, but he held me tight to his chest through it all. I tried my best to explain what was happening: every negative memory of my mother telling me what she thought of how I looked overtook me.

When the Senior that I had a huge crush on asked me to the prom (and I was only a Junior!), my mom's response to the news was: "He must like big girls." Every shopping trip with her from the time I was in 8th grade was my mother telling me that I had "a woman's body", and therefore wouldn't take me to shop at the places my friends shopped, but only the places SHE shopped: JC Penney's and Sears.  When I was a in high school, I went with a friend shopping at American Eagle, and came back with a shirt and jeans.  When my mom saw the bag, she immediately made me try on the clothes because she didn't believe that they could possibly have clothes that fit me. When she saw them on me, she said in front of my friend that my clothes were so tight she could see my "gut". She made my friend and I get into the car as she drove us back to the mall, because she didn't trust that I would actually take them back. My friend and I cried the entire ride back to the mall, and then my mother marched me in to make me return the clothes.

There are so, so many more stories. These are the ones that just got to my fingers first. The worst part about all this is that I was watching videos of me when I was in high school and middle school just a few weeks ago. I realized for the first time that I was an absolute string bean then, and never once have I thought of myself as thin. My mother made sure of it.

I told my husband some of the stories as they boiled up. He was apologizing profusely, telling me how beautiful he thinks I am, and that he didn't mean to imply that he thought I was anything less than perfect, but that he was just worried for me. He held me so tight, crying with me until I finally fell asleep.

Yes, what he said would've stung no matter what. I know that. But that reaction was not a normal one. Not anywhere close. I woke up this morning feeling an almost physical pain from the memories. My husband woke up before I left for work, and through tears, he kept saying how sorry he was that he ever made me feel that much pain. I have been trying to soothe him since last night, trying to let him know that this isn't pain from him, but pain that's been locked in me for a very long time. 

I worked a short day, and came home and cried some more.  As I'm writing this, I can't stop the tears.

This is what I was afraid of while pushing all the negative thoughts down my entire life, whether it be with keeping insanely busy or with alcohol. I've been avoiding this pain. And now that I'm starting to let myself feel it, I get these overwhelming waves of emotion that completely blindside me. I have to say, I am not a fan of this process. I know it's the right path, I know it. But it hurts. And it makes me incredibly pissed off at my mother. What kind of person says those things to their 14 year old daughter?  My husband said it best: "These stories don't even sound like something that really happen in real life; they sound like the things that people say to your in nightmares. Your real-life mother is like other people's nightmare."

I embarrassed of my reaction to my husband's comments, because I really, really do not want him to feel responsible for my pain. He isn't at all. He's yet another innocent casualty to my mother's cruelty.

There is a silver lining to this dark cloud. Although I did make a small pit stop at Angry at Husband on the way to Sad, I got to Sad in record time. That's great, because my normal MO would've been to just get pissed off at my husband for his perceived insensitivity, rather than dealing what is actually going on. That is showing immense progress. Healing hurts like hell.