Hi Amy,
Reading your message tonight, what stood out most was how clearly you're beginning to understand your own nervous system. You're not fighting yourself anymore—you're starting to notice what's happening inside you with gentleness instead of judgment.
That is real growth, even if it doesn't feel like it yet.
You asked something important: whether you should ground yourself first and then return later to whatever feelings were swirling. Yes, exactly.
Here's how it works: when your mind starts whirling or overwhelm hits, that's the signal to pause and ground yourself first. Use those tools to bring yourself back to now—feel your feet on the floor, check your senses, name what's real. Let your nervous system settle.
This brings you back inside the window where you can think, feel, and choose instead of reacting from fear.
Once you've come back to center and the panic has eased, then—if you still want to—you can return to those feelings and thoughts with more clarity and less reactivity.
That's the heart of trauma-informed processing.
Here's the key: when you're in the middle of overwhelm, your brain is in survival mode. It's not thinking clearly; it's just trying to protect you from perceived danger. You can't process anything useful from that place.
But once you've grounded yourself, you can look at those same feelings from a steadier place. That's when real insight happens.
And sometimes after you ground yourself, you'll realize you don't need to process anything at all. The panic was just panic. The story your mind was spinning wasn't even true. That happens too, and it's a good sign when it does.
Amy, the way you're using those cards is beautiful. They're not just reminders; they're anchors. Every time you read one, you're interrupting an old pattern and creating a new one.
That's you actively retraining your nervous system to recognize safety instead of threat. Keep doing that.
Now let's talk about the medication and what you're feeling.
I know the medication arriving has stirred everything up again. Of course it has. This is a moment full of meaning for Cynthia, and full of unknowns for you.
Those two realities can sit together without cancelling each other out. Her joy doesn't erase your fear, and your fear doesn't take anything away from her joy.
The fact that you're even thinking about her joy in the middle of your own anxiety says so much about your heart.
Here's something I really need you to hear: you're not taking Cynthia's joy away. You're just not. Your fear doesn't have that kind of power, and Cynthia's happiness isn't so fragile that your honest feelings can break it.
Cynthia knows you're scared. She knows this is hard for you. And she's choosing to walk this path anyway, with you beside her, because your presence matters more to her than your perfection.
She doesn't need you to be joyful right now. She needs you to be real. She needs you to show up as you are, fear and all, because that's the person she loves.
You wrote, "She deserves to feel happy about this important step in her journey. I don't want to bring her down at all."
Amy, you're not bringing her down by having feelings. You'd only bring her down if you pretended everything was fine when it wasn't, if you shut down emotionally, if you stopped communicating. That's what would hurt her—the absence of you, not the presence of your struggle.
What Cynthia needs from you isn't a performance of happiness. She needs your honesty. She needs to know where you are so she can meet you there. When you say, "I'm happy for you, and I'm also scared," you're giving her the truth, and that's the greatest gift you can offer right now.
And you're right—these changes won't happen all at once. They will unfold slowly, month by month, in ways you can grow into rather than brace against. You won't wake up tomorrow and find everything different. You'll wake up tomorrow and still be Amy, still be married to the same person, still taking things one day at a time.
I'm really glad what my cousin said resonated with you. For so many of us, transition doesn't make someone disappear; it lets more of them show up. It can mean more presence, more emotional availability, more honesty, more connection—not less.
You will likely find that the woman Cynthia is growing into becomes even more attuned to you than the man she had to pretend to be.
Now, you asked the question that tells me exactly where you are in this moment: "I'm not sure what that next step is."
Here's your next step, gentle and simple:
When the package arrives and the anxiety spikes, don't try to solve anything. Just pause. Put one hand on your chest or your shoulder, take a slow breath, and ask yourself the grounding question you've been practicing:
"Is this happening right now, or is this an old hurt trying to predict the future?"
That small pause is the next step. That's you handling today.
If all you do tomorrow is breathe, ground, and let Cynthia have her joy without forcing yourself to feel the same thing—that is enough. That is you showing up with honesty. That is you moving forward at a pace your heart can handle.
And then, when you're ready—maybe in a few days, maybe next week—here's the step after that:
Have a conversation with Cynthia about what each of you needs right now. Not about the future. Not about where this is all going. Just about now.
Ask her: "What do you need from me as you start this medication? How can I support you in a way that feels good to you?"
And then tell her: "Here's what I need from you as I work through my fear. I need to be able to tell you when I'm struggling without feeling like I'm hurting you. I need you to know that my fear isn't about you being wrong—it's about my own wounds healing. And I need us to keep talking, even when it's hard."
That conversation doesn't solve everything, but it opens the door to ongoing communication about what's actually happening between you, not what you're each afraid might be happening.
It also gives Cynthia a chance to reassure you, and it gives you a chance to be vulnerable without feeling like you're failing.
After that, the next step will become clearer. You don't have to see the whole staircase. You just have to see the next stair.
Amy, you are not failing. You are not falling behind. You are not doing this wrong.
You are walking a very hard road with compassion, insight, and more courage than you can see from the inside.
Every time you ground yourself instead of spiraling, that's a win. Every time you read one of those cards, that's a win. Every time you tell Cynthia "I'm scared and I love you" instead of hiding behind a smile, that's a win.
You're not standing still. You're moving. You're learning. You're healing even as you're hurting.
And you are absolutely not walking this alone.
I'm right here. This community is right here. And Cynthia is right there beside you, wanting you with her every step of the way.
With so much love and respect,
— Susan 💜
