“And if today, all you did was hold yourself together, I’m proud of you.” – Healthy Place

Do you ever just have one of those days where it feels like it all comes crashing in? That at some point in time, you realize that you are one person and, no matter how much you would like to believe it and no matter how hard you try, you realize that you cannot do it all and you are not, in fact, Superwoman? That would be me. Over the last few months (well, really the last year, but the last few months especially) I’ve come to the realization that I am not Superwoman. I cannot do it all and there is only so much that I can do. There are days where I find myself wishing that there were at least five of me just to get everything done.

The problem with being someone who is completely independent is that a) you tend to shut people out, especially when things get tough because you would prefer to deal with it on your own and b) you HATE asking people for help because it makes you feel weak. And then there is the issue of being someone who is too damn stubborn for their own good and can’t bring themselves to ask for help, even when they so desperately need it.

But in the last few weeks, I’ve begun to realize that not only am I not Superwoman, I am in fact someone who needs help. Mentally and emotionally. In November, just two months after finishing radiation treatments for Stage 1 DCIS breast cancer, my mom was not feeling quite herself. She was tired, run down, barely eating or drinking, and feeling extremely bloated, but also losing weight at the same time. 40 pounds in four months, to be exact. And she had this horrible cough that still no one can seem to figure out despite having dozens of tests. She went to the doctor numerous times before our family caregiver finally decided to send her in for a CAT scan, which showed that she had a large, cantaloupe-sized mass on her right ovary. The scan also showed a large hernia and gallstones. Go figure. When it rains, it pours, right?

Of course when you hear that your mom has a large mass on her ovary after just having finished treatment for breast cancer, your mind goes straight to those two ugly words: ovarian cancer. What else could it be, right? The hernia isn’t a big deal, but the mass… It was completely unexpected and all I could do was think the worst. I tried to be positive, but positivity just wasn’t coming.

Long story short: my mom had her surgery two weeks ago and the preliminary results have come back negative for cancer. Thank God. It seems that for whatever reason, her ovary decided to start growing and wasn’t going to stop. To be cautious, they did a complete hysterectomy to eliminate any future risk of ovarian cancer. They also removed her gallbladder and appendix. When they give you a three for one, what can you say?

When my mom was diagnosed with Stage 1 breast cancer last May, I thought I held myself together fairly well. I only cried a few times and managed to stay positive throughout. I didn’t feel as though I was going to fall apart at any second—nor did I feel as though I was going to lose my mind at any point in time. But not this time.

This time, I have been a side of myself I’ve never seen before, and as much as I love and embrace her (as well as secretly hate her), I hope she never comes back any time soon. I’ve been angry. Bitchy, even. Tired. Stressed. Anxious. Nervous. Trying to take in new information has been a struggle, which isn’t a good thing when you’ve started a new job and there’s so much to learn. I’ve also been way more emotional than I would like to be. If I mess something up, even if it’s something small, I feel like bursting into tears and running to the nearest bathroom to have a nervous breakdown.

I’m so unlike myself that I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror anymore. All I can see this girl who is tired. She’s just so damn tired. There are dark circles under her eyes, and the smile she puts on her face every day is so fake that it’s become natural and people think it’s genuine. On some level it may very well be, but all that girl is trying to do is make it through the day without losing her mind and help her mom recover from an intense surgery that she just doesn’t seem to be able to bounce back from – something that terrifies this girl.

Before my mom had her surgery, we didn’t even know if she would make it through the surgery because she was so sick. I knew she was sick, but I don’t think she or doctors realized how sick she actually was until they started doing pre-op tests. And that was only half the battle. She’s made it through the surgery, but now… now comes the hard part. Recovery, which so far has been 50/50 in terms of good and bad, and I’m still not entirely sure where she’s going to land.

But the point of this long-winded narrative was to say that when times are tough, sometimes the tough get going… and sometimes they need a little help along the way. And that’s okay. Asking for help when you need it doesn’t make you a weak individual. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. Asking for help makes you a stronger person because you are acknowledging that you have a problem and you need help to fix it.

The problem with asking for help is that thanks to society’s warped sense of mental health illness, people are afraid to ask for help. We (because I am now one of these people) are afraid to admit that we need help because of the stigma attached to it. Crazy. Cuckoo for Coco-Puffs. Looney. Sick. “I don’t understand why you just can’t…” Because we just can’t. That’s why. Some people can bounce back when life smacks them in the face. And some people can’t. I used to be one of those people that could, but this time I can’t. It’s a struggle to get through the day without crying or wanting to smack someone if they so much as look at me the wrong way.

To begin the process of recovering and finding myself and my inner strength again, I’ve sought out a therapist and will start seeing them on Friday. Whether he/she will be helpful or not remains to be seen, but at this point in time, I don’t really know what else to do. I can’t talk to my mom because unfortunately she is the cause of my stress right now. It’s not her fault, but she is. As are all the doctors that we still have to deal with and the in-home care individuals and me trying to figure out how to be caregiver/adult/worker/writer. I’ve also reached out to my extended family on my mother’s side and even though we’re estranged, I’m hoping that maybe, just maybe, this will be the thing that brings us back together.

I’ve also realized that admitting that I am not Superwoman and that I need help makes me a stronger individual. It doesn’t make me weak. And it certainly doesn’t make you weak, either. Even the strong ones have to ask for help sometimes because let’s face it: we’re only human. And there’s only so much we can do by ourselves.