I'm not for everyone. I get that. And I make no apologies (anymore) for who I am. But as is with most humans, there is a reason behind my behavior. If you'd like to take a dive into the inner workings of my madness, read on...
It all started on a cold winter day in 1974. Just kidding, not going back THAT far! I don't think any of us, myself included, want to relive the birthing of The Cranky Counselor. Although DNA does contribute to some of my crankiness, we can certainly fast forward a couple decades beyond my birth.
When I was a young lass in my twenties, I began to struggle with some physical health issues after the birth of my first child. The doctors diagnosed me with hypothyroidism, shoved some pills down my throat, sent me on my way with a lifelong prescription of levothyroxine, and called it a day. When I became pregnant with my second child I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes, jammed myself with shots of insulin twice a day, put on a strictly controlled diet, and told after the birth of said child that I was unable to carry any more children in my baby house. (I didn't realize how badly I wanted a third child until I was told I couldn't have one...isn't that how it usually goes?)
Following my second pregnancy, I began to have all kinds of weird health issues. (Can I just take a sec and say how weird this all is? I'm a very 'publicly private' person and even my close family and friends don't know me entirely, so this is kind of bizarre for me to do.) Anywho, I went to many doctors and none of them ran any kind of useful tests. They basically just dismissed me and treated me like I was just another anxious female (don't get me started on that one, not yet anyway). Doctors looked into my mouth, up my vajayjay, sucked blood out of the tiny little veins in my arm to make sure my thyroid level was good, but never went further. My body continued to deteriorate but the docs only wanted to shove various pills down my throat, including hormones that turned me into a rabid dog and unnecessary antidepressants that induced an almost fatal episode of serotonin syndrome. Let me tell you, the hallucinations experienced when you are prescribed something that your body doesn't need are better than any horror movie out there! When I told docs that I wasn't depressed and didn't want the medication, they rationalized their recommendation of antidepressants by saying they would give me "energy" and reduce my pain. Congratulations to those who have that experience, but it wasn't mine. Thankfully that only happened twice and I was smart enough to only take 1 pill each time and then immediately discontinue after my extreme side effects. Again, I'm not saying this is a common experience, only mine, so don't go discontinuing all of your medication because of my experiences!
I've left out a decade or so of very relevant experiences because this blog post will turn into a novel if I don't. Maybe I'll add some more blog posts eventually, maybe not. Let's just leave it for now that my life has had some crazy ups and downs and twists and turns (like many humans).
Moving along... I move to a new area and get a new doctor. Shockingly, her first course of action is NOT to shove new meds down my throat. Hmm, what's going on here? Wait, is she ACTUALLY listening to me? Hot damn, she is! I get a referral to a rheumatologist and I begin the next leg of my journey.
Fast forward a million health disasters later, and I finally get my diagnosis of Systemic Lupus Erythematosus (SLE), or just plain ol' Lupus for those of us who don't like mouthfuls of unnecessary words. Yay, finally, there is a reason for all of the insanity happening inside of my body. I never knew how affirming a diagnosis could be, especially after a lengthy history of being treated like it was just 'all in my head'. Eff you invalidating doctors. Eff. You. But the nonsense wasn't done. The invalidating wasn't done. The doctors trying to shove meds down my throat wasn't done. I took medications that made me pull over and puke on the side of the road every morning before work. I cried in the shower as I felt like fire ants were crawling up my legs. I hated leaving my home for fear of a pain and/or digestive episode that would cripple and embarrass me. No one understood. No one. Not even my closest family. Not even my husband, my rock (yet).
On one of my more memorable trips to the hospital, a doctor comes in to discuss my latest health adventure (disaster) with my husband and I. He expresses sincere sorrow for my lupus diagnosis and says how horrible a disease it is. I looked at my husband, who seemed somewhat surprised to hear the doctor say this, and feel for the first time that someone understands the hell I've been going through. I should probably note, however, that it's really not entirely my husband's fault that he didn't get it. I put 'the face' on constantly. I smile when I want to cry, laugh when I want to scream, and hug people even when my bones feel like they are going to shatter like glass. Y'all just have no clue what's going on inside of me because I choose not to let you. That's the last bit of power and control that I have left.
I have wondered, on occasion, if family and friends would try to have me locked up in an institution if they knew where my thoughts went. I am pretty dramatic in my head. And damn exhausted in my body. But, as a therapist (yeah, I haven't mentioned my string of credentials because it gets obnoxious, so just know that I am a psychotherapist as well as an aromatherapist and call it a day for now) I am well aware of what constitutes the need for hospitalization and I am far from that need. So don't go reporting me as suicidal, thanks. I am allowed to vent my frustrations inside my head without wanting to die.
Yikes, let's move forward from that uncomfy paragraph and end this cranky rant. So here I am, with organs that don't work (thyroid and pancreas specifically, you two are giant a$$holes) and crippling pain throughout my body, with a strong aversion to taking medication after continued negative experiences even after my lupus diagnosis. I began to look at more natural ways to manage a multitude of issues and stumbled onto aromatherapy. As a licensed mental health counselor, I understand and appreciate the need for education and training. After experimenting with homemade aromatherapy products, I decided to go back to school (who does that? isn't a master's degree enough for crying out loud??) to become a certified professional aromatherapist.
And that's where this blog post ends. Hopefully you understand a bit more about where the inspiration to name my business The Cranky Counselor came from. The story, clearly, isn't over but it will take a new direction in blog posts more specifically about aromatherapy. And if you've gotten all the way to the end of this post...what is wrong with you? Have you no life? Why are you reading this garbage? Go do something productive!
Till next time...