The Choice Not Taken Read Online Free
Author: Jodi LaPalm
room and consciously registered its organized completion in my mind. Each space then became mentally checked off-one by one. Finally, I used visualization to see the house from the outside.
It was imperfect but whole.
The method worked long enough to allow me to finish packing and bring yard sale items out to the garage. Once I get everything in the truck, I’ll be home free , I promised myself.
But the very sight of boxes and bags filled with clutter as they lay scattered on the dirty cement floor brought me back. I couldn’t fully concentrate on the next task nor could I ignore the impulse.
Hopping the stairs, I rushed around the house three more times. And with every need to start over–and check again–I realized minutes were rapidly getting away from me. The fear of missing Mitch’s soccer match eventually helped me pull it together. This sole choice-between alleviating my distress or disappointing my son–eventually made me stop.
Knowing I was now officially late, I hastily packed the SUV with yard sale items, my bag, and Mitch’s duffel he left here by mistake. On a distracted whim, I added my laptop.
Peeling out of the circular driveway, I deliberately set my cell phone in the cup holder. I needed a reminder to call my therapist. And I was way over-due for an appointment.
My OCD tendencies were at one of the highest levels I could ever remember since meeting Alex. Even with the stress of my two pregnancies, I’d been able to work through them with behavioral techniques or meditation.
Of course , I recognized, those had been events I could anticipate .
The startling revelation and onslaught of unpredictable emotions in the past day was apparently too much to process. And unless I could talk about some of what was happening to me–to someone-there would surely be more to come.
Relieved I had a plan in place, my primary interest now became holding on until I could meet with Dr. Benson.
***
I arrived at the field just as Alex pulled into the parking lot. With the latest merger complete, he now had the rare freedom of picking up the kids from school and sharing an extended weekend with them.
“Mom,” Mitch cried, “I forgot my cleats!” His anguish turned to glee once I tossed him the bag.
At least part of me is still functioning properly , I chided.
“Thanks, Mom!” he yelled, already running toward his team for warm-ups.
“Good day?” Alex asked, pulling three collapsible chairs from the opened back of the SUV.
“Yeah,” I hesitated. “It was good.”
He glanced at me with disbelief before hoisting the load and securing it over his right shoulder by the attached straps.
“Want to vent?” he offered.
We’d always talked openly about our problems, and in his characteristic way he was overly patient and supportive of my efforts to overcome the OCD. And though I’d generally disclose my distress with him, I didn’t today.
“I’ve scheduled an appointment,” I cryptically assured with a slight nod in the direction of Sylvie. Clutching my side, she intently listened with eager eight-year-old ears.
“Okay. Good. But you can fill me in later if you want,” he reminded as we marched the gravelly path toward spectator seating.
Earlier sunshine and warm temps were now replaced with a gloomy chill. Donning fleece sweatshirts and tucking lap blankets around our legs, the three of us tried to keep warm while the opposing team missed its first attempt at a goal.
Though I loved to watch Mitch play, I quickly tired of socializing with the parents seated along the sideline. Between intermittent cheers for their kids on the field and hollers to others playing in the grass, the men discussed the start-up of baseball season while the women chatted about recipes and summer school programs.
In no mood to be charming today, the laughter and banter amidst our friends grated upon tender nerves
It was imperfect but whole.
The method worked long enough to allow me to finish packing and bring yard sale items out to the garage. Once I get everything in the truck, I’ll be home free , I promised myself.
But the very sight of boxes and bags filled with clutter as they lay scattered on the dirty cement floor brought me back. I couldn’t fully concentrate on the next task nor could I ignore the impulse.
Hopping the stairs, I rushed around the house three more times. And with every need to start over–and check again–I realized minutes were rapidly getting away from me. The fear of missing Mitch’s soccer match eventually helped me pull it together. This sole choice-between alleviating my distress or disappointing my son–eventually made me stop.
Knowing I was now officially late, I hastily packed the SUV with yard sale items, my bag, and Mitch’s duffel he left here by mistake. On a distracted whim, I added my laptop.
Peeling out of the circular driveway, I deliberately set my cell phone in the cup holder. I needed a reminder to call my therapist. And I was way over-due for an appointment.
My OCD tendencies were at one of the highest levels I could ever remember since meeting Alex. Even with the stress of my two pregnancies, I’d been able to work through them with behavioral techniques or meditation.
Of course , I recognized, those had been events I could anticipate .
The startling revelation and onslaught of unpredictable emotions in the past day was apparently too much to process. And unless I could talk about some of what was happening to me–to someone-there would surely be more to come.
Relieved I had a plan in place, my primary interest now became holding on until I could meet with Dr. Benson.
***
I arrived at the field just as Alex pulled into the parking lot. With the latest merger complete, he now had the rare freedom of picking up the kids from school and sharing an extended weekend with them.
“Mom,” Mitch cried, “I forgot my cleats!” His anguish turned to glee once I tossed him the bag.
At least part of me is still functioning properly , I chided.
“Thanks, Mom!” he yelled, already running toward his team for warm-ups.
“Good day?” Alex asked, pulling three collapsible chairs from the opened back of the SUV.
“Yeah,” I hesitated. “It was good.”
He glanced at me with disbelief before hoisting the load and securing it over his right shoulder by the attached straps.
“Want to vent?” he offered.
We’d always talked openly about our problems, and in his characteristic way he was overly patient and supportive of my efforts to overcome the OCD. And though I’d generally disclose my distress with him, I didn’t today.
“I’ve scheduled an appointment,” I cryptically assured with a slight nod in the direction of Sylvie. Clutching my side, she intently listened with eager eight-year-old ears.
“Okay. Good. But you can fill me in later if you want,” he reminded as we marched the gravelly path toward spectator seating.
Earlier sunshine and warm temps were now replaced with a gloomy chill. Donning fleece sweatshirts and tucking lap blankets around our legs, the three of us tried to keep warm while the opposing team missed its first attempt at a goal.
Though I loved to watch Mitch play, I quickly tired of socializing with the parents seated along the sideline. Between intermittent cheers for their kids on the field and hollers to others playing in the grass, the men discussed the start-up of baseball season while the women chatted about recipes and summer school programs.
In no mood to be charming today, the laughter and banter amidst our friends grated upon tender nerves
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