And I know with everything I have, the answer to why I feel that way is in this letter I hold in my hand.
“Do you want me to go ahead and get started?”
She nods. “Whenever you feel ready.”
Dear Mandy,
I looked deep, deep in my soul and then went even deeper, digging and searching for the one thing I’ve always wanted, but never seemed to have.
Stability.
Many people might look at my life and see how lucky I’ve been; Liam accepting Drew and I as his kids, him and our mom having a really good life together. But the more I dig, the more I really think about my life, I find that I’ve always been waiting for the other shoe to drop. For over twenty years, I’ve waited for Liam to decide he doesn’t want us anymore.
To decide he wants to discard us the way our father did. The way our mom’s family did.
And I’ve also realized I’ve been treating Dalton the same way. Instead of loving him with my whole fucking heart, I keep a piece of myself tucked away. I keep it hidden so far away from the surface, making sure that even as my husband, he’ll never be able to touch it.
But Dalton, and even Walker - they do love me with their whole hearts. They show me every day how much they love me. Dalton let me completely destroy our family, twice, and he’s still around.
If I’m honest, I wouldn’t be.
If he had done the shit to me that I’ve done to him, I wouldn’t be around anymore. I know that about myself.
So then comes the guilt. The overwhelming amount of guilt and self-hatred. The knowing I’m doing this to him and my son, but not knowing how to fucking fix it. It should be so easy to tell the people you love that you love them, but it’s so hard for me.
Why?
Am I broken?
Am I missing that piece of myself that holds empathy?
I don’t think I am. I cry at movies and commercials. Books can make me sob, and those videos on Facebook and YouTube where people are coming home from war and they’re surprising their loved ones? I bawl like a baby.
But when it comes to voicing the words - saying them out loud for others to hear - I can’t seem to make it happen.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s why God took my baby.
Because I take everyone else’s love for granted, but don’t freely give it myself.
Tears are streaming down my face, blurring the blue ink on the paper as I finish reading it aloud to Dr. Crawford. If I’m not mistaken she wipes a few away from the edges of her eyes too. She sniffles, and so do I. Neither one of us talk for long moments, and I wonder if she hates me. If she agrees with the conclusion I’ve come to about myself.
“Mandy.” She clears her throat. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met in my life. This right here,” - she points at the paper in my hands- “is a real breakthrough, and it’s happening so early in your treatment. You’ve admitted to a problem many people have, and once you admit the problem, we can fix it.”
“Can you?” I interrupt her, wiping at the tears still flowing. “Can you fix me? I’d give anything to be deserving of what’s so freely offered to me.”
“It’s not about deserving it, Mandy. It’s about learning to accept it, and that’s what we’re going to work on. I have a theory about you. Please, tell me if I’m wrong.”
I don’t like being put under the microscope, having people try to figure out what’s wrong with me. I’d rather them just know, but I guess that’s why we’re here right now. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”
“All I’m asking is for you to be honest with me. Nothing we say here with one another leaves this room. I trust you and you’ll learn to trust me.”
Without even thinking, I let the first words that pop to my head come out of my mouth. “Trusting is even harder than me telling someone my feelings, so good luck with that, Doc.”
She laughs, sitting back in her chair. “I love a challenge, Mandy, so good luck keeping all your secrets buried.”
Something about her reminds me of Doc Jones. How we have always known we can trust her, even with the deepest of secrets. The confessions that woman holds in her heart would probably kill a lesser person.
“Mandy, tell me, do you have trouble accepting compliments?”
I think back to all the times Dalton’s said something about how beautiful I am, or he’s tried to sneak a hand around my waist and pull me in tight to steal a kiss. More often than not, I rebuff him. Not because of him, but because of me and my feelings. It strikes me too that he wasn’t doing it very often before we got pregnant and lost the baby. Maybe because I’d laughed him off or made him feel unwanted so many times, but the problem was really me. It’s always been me.
“Yeah, I have an awful time accepting anything I’m not in control of. My first thought when someone says something nice, is they’re doing it because they feel like they have to.”
“Do you tell people nice things because you feel like you have to?”
I slowly blink. “No, I tell them those things because they’re true.”
“Then why would you be any different?
“Because so many people have left me.”
I fall back on that abandonment badge I sling around whenever it’s convenient for me.
“They left your twin too. It wasn’t about you, it was about them.”
“Realistically I know that, but it doesn’t stop me from purposely pushing people away.”
She stops as I say those words aloud, smiling brightly. “Say that again, Mandy.”
“I purposely push people away.”
“Why? Why do you do it?”
The answer is right on
