I called a family meeting last night for my parents and siblings. We’re all adults now, but we’re still fairly close, and I wanted to know that they had my back. Or if they had it, I suppose. I wanted to make them believe that my depression and anxiety are severe enough to count as a disability; that I need this dog for part of my treatment; and that… that it’s all real, I guess.
So we all get there and I start into everything, actually leading with my fear and telling them that I’m scared that they might not believe that I have a disability, and they’re like “yeah, we know.” It was profoundly odd.
First, because I was so scared I was nauseous for a lot of yesterday. Second, because I thought I had succeeded in hiding a lot of it. Third, because I perceive myself as being in a fairly high-functioning state right now (read: I get up every morning, get dressed every day, eat normal meals, tend to my hygiene, AND complete tasks that I set out to do).
They knew. They believed me from square one, which is actually why I led with the fear: if they didn’t believe me, I would need to follow up with evidence, and if they did, I would need to improvise. In my head, I could only imagine the bad outcome, so I didn’t prepare.
I don’t want to run through all of it, but suffice it to say that I was able to be very honest about current responses that I want to eventually train Dora to monitor and respond to, about current struggles, and about the way that some of their interactions with me can really hurt, even if it’s unintentional. It was a very good conversation for me. I did really well.
We came home to the mess that I mentioned in my last post, and I took that well. Today, we bought parts to repair the damaged bits and it’s nearly resolved. Just like that. It’s really good.