It’s been two weeks since I wrote “Getting dumped sucks“. After attempting to suffocate my feelings with probably an illegal quantity of bagels (note to self: doesn’t work) and popping Citalopram for a few days (note to self: does work but not as a quick fix), I finally heard from my therapist who was back in the country.
“Please ignore all the emails you have been getting. I will explain at our next session.”
And just like that the ever tightening spiral of my thoughts (I stole that one from Turtles All The Way Down) slowed down, way down…
My therapist had not dumped me.
The emails were somebody else’s administrative cock-up.
I am not broken beyond help. I will keep talking. I will evolve. I will evolve into a person who doesn’t bottle up feelings. I will break the cycle that’s not been broken for generations. I will break it. I will do all I can to make sure my kids feel safe expressing their feelings and know that that does not make them weak. I will do all I can to make sure they will not believe the lie that real men don’t cry or talk about their feelings or that their ‘problems’ would burden those they are shared with. Lies I believed so long. Still believe, I guess, hence the therapy. Lies I believe(d) even though I’m not a man… because good girls don’t bother others with their problems either…
I’ve had two sessions since and it’s good. It’s the longest I’ve ever done therapy. I’m fascinated by how it works, by how she guides my thoughts. I’m fascinated by what my words are. I’m fascinated by how I’m really proud of myself right now.