Today, I took the plunge.
What's been going on in my life is out there for everyone, ready to dive in.
And right now, it feels okay.
Here it is, in the print:
Rebecca Johnson, RN
Rebecca Johnson, RN, ADHD, MDD, PMDD, GAD, BPD-O
Yes, I am a nurse. And I love that part of my life so much. But everything else is also part of my life, more poignantly than ever. Normally, people love these extra letters at the end of their name. It’s something they’ve spent a lot of time and work to accomplish. I understand that in the sense of nursing school, but I’ve come to understand it in a new sense as well.
*I think this is the time I’m supposed to say, “Warning, long post.”*
I’m currently on Leave of Absence (LOA) from my nursing job in the NICU. This was *extremely* difficult for me to do. No, I didn’t go on LOA because of the job. In fact, my nursing supervisors were quite kind in assisting me with the paperwork and encouraged me to take the time I needed for myself if that’s what I needed. It was because I couldn’t function as me anymore. I could hardly fathom the idea of going through a 12-hour shift, shifts that (as a new nurse) hit me like a truck. I’d get so worked up I couldn’t sleep the night before, couldn’t eat dinner the night before because I was so worried. I had to be on my A-game with these babies because it is an area of critical care. Perfectionism is a trait that’s almost necessary for the job.
And that’s where a lot of this started: perfectionism. I’ll get back to that in a bit. And by a bit, that might mean a different post . . .
In a little synopsis, I chose to start day-treatment counseling. I had already been seeing a counselor once a week but it wasn’t cutting it. I went to a program whose CEO does the consultations. After I met with her, she recommended I go to a residential program.
“Heck to the no” was what I was thinking. I had done my clinicals at the Utah State Hospital and imagined I was going to be stripped of everything, thrown in scrubs, and declared crazy. Residential treatment was the last thing I wanted.
But I went.
I was terrified. A lot of good things happened there and a lot of bad things happened there. It’s a little too recent to talk about so we’ll just keep going.
I spent six weeks in residential. Then I went to day treatment (25+ hours/week) for six weeks, and then I did Intensive Outpatient (9+ hours/week) for four weeks. I now meet with a counselor twice a week.
So, yeah. That’s been my life for the past few months. I’ve had bounteous support but I’ve also felt utterly alone. I guess I wanted to post about this to get it off my chest and let people know what’s going on.
Ultimately, I just need extra love and support. Especially as I head into a new phase of bringing awareness to mental health via social media and a new phase of trying to live as me, not as a perfectionsistic dictator to my own self. To myself and others, please be kind.
More to come.
Thank you for joining me in the plunge :)
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