Seven years ago, I was at the bottom of the bottom. Newly divorced, living in my parents’ basement, working a job I despised, and not having any idea what my future held. A couple years later I bought a house, got a better job, and got remarried. Then I found an even BETTER job (where I work now) and bought an even better house (where we currently live). During all this I published five novels and my husband and I fully embraced our new lives in the small town we both grew up in.

Life was great. Except 3/5 of my immediate family died between May 2014 and September 2017.

Because I’ve clawed my way up from the very bottom, I know how to recognize the signs when I start to slip. I’ve learned to take a step back, evaluate the situation, and make adjustments as needed. (btw, our minds respond oh-so well to this kind of analytical approach. At least for a little while.) I stopped taking antidepressants shortly after my wedding in 2013, but I’ve hung onto the anxiety meds. Once I switched jobs, I took them so rarely that a 30-day prescription would last almost a full year.

But then my family started dropping off. (You’ll have to excuse me. Humor is my defense mechanism.)

I know losing three family members in 3.5 years is shocking to hear, and I cushion how I tell people in polite conversation. Usually I pretend they’re all still alive because once I share that one died, the rest of the story snowballs out of me and the other person is left standing there, mouth agape, not sure how to proceed. So I usually smile and say “it sucks, but it is what it is,” then change the subject. I’m not good at lying, but I also hate making people uncomfortable, so it’s easier to gloss over all the dead people and chat about the weather or the state of our country.

When people ask how I am, I tell them I’m fine. That it’s nice to finally have a chance to catch my breath. In my head I finish that sentence with “before more family members die.” (Apologies to my husband and mother, but this is what I worry about now.) For three years, we were on a roller coaster of diagnosis, treatment, and death, and while I would never say it was a relief when my brother died last fall, I am grateful that he’s no longer suffering. But being the worst-case-scenario person that I am, I fully believe this calm is only temporary.

Which brings me to the point of this post. About a month ago, a friend asked how I’m doing and rather than brush her off, I told her. I confessed that I’m still really angry. That I don’t know if I’m now considered an only child, which feels disrespectful to my brother and sister and effectively erases our lives together, or if I tell people I’m the youngest of three. That I keep going going going because I’m afraid that if I stop, even for a second, it’ll all come crashing down on me.

Then she asked if I’d considered seeing a therapist.

Her question took me by surprise. Yes, things inside my head aren’t going as well as they could be, but I’m nowhere near the bottom of the bottom. I’ve barely tossed a leg over the side of the barrel. (My bottom is apparently in a barrel.) But the more we talked, the more I realized that burying my feelings for the rest of my life probably isn’t the healthiest approach.

It took a couple more weeks, but I made an appointment with a new therapist. When I filled out the forms about why I was coming in, it hit me that oh yeah, I HAVE had a lot happen in the past couple years, and why the hell didn’t I do this sooner? My first appointment is this week, and while I realize that it’s ridiculous to expect things to magically be better after one visit, it’s felt good to loosen my hold on everything I’ve carried with me for so long.

I want to add that my husband has been amazing through all this. He’s held my hand or made me laugh when I needed it, and appropriately rolled his eyes when I apologized for having all the dead family stuff right around his birthday and our anniversary. While I know it’s ridiculous, I feel like I should be able to control those things. But as supportive as he is, it’s not fair to dump all this on him. And it’s amazing to talk to someone who’s paid to listen.

I’ll end by sharing my Facebook post from Friday, the fourth anniversary of my dad’s death. The photo at the top of this post is from that walk with my sister.

What stands out to me most about this day four years ago is the time I spent with my sister. We knew our dad didn’t have much time left, but we took a break from the house to walk along the river by my parents’ house. We talked about life and our futures and what that would look like without him. We were gone over an hour, and he died very quickly once we returned, like he knew we needed that time of reflection together before everything changed.

I never could have imagined what was to come for our family, or how very different our future would be four years later.

I have a lot of friends hurting right now, and the message I hope I can pass along is to give your energy to the people you love. Don’t let petty disagreements turn into insurmountable feuds. If you care about someone, make sure they know.

And as for the people who suck your energy and make you feel awful—stop wasting time on them. Focus on the people who matter, because when all you have left are memories, you want them to be worthwhile.

And if you need to talk to someone, don’t wait as long as I have.