I’m back. I hope.

I started seeing a therapist a few weeks ago – a “feelings doctor” as we call them in our house – for the first time since I was probably 12 years old. I used to see one as a kid, presumably to deal with all the trauma from my dad being in and out of the hospital and so sick. I remember feeling really lucky and grateful to have grown up with that resource because as I grew up, and realized how much more complicated life could get, I always knew there was something..someone..that could make me feel better. That just the release of talking through those racing thoughts in your head would make such a tremendous impact to overall state of mind and of life.

One of the first questions said therapist asked was what I do to release stress. And the first thing that came to mind was writing. Writing has always been my way of making sense of the world and of accurately releasing my truth. Dare I say the healthiest I’ve ever been mentally was when I was so regularly writing this blog? So, in the spirit of “doing the work” and achieving what I hope to achieve with this therapist, I’m forcing myself back into writing. And as I sit here typing now, I’m realizing that this was my therapy for all those years. This is just as impactful as talking to someone every week for an hour. This is just as strong of a release and that realization makes me feel less guilty for putting off the real therapy for so many years.

So what am I trying to achieve. When I spoke with her on the phone the first thing I said was “I don’t want to be as scared ALL the time as I am today. I don’t want to live in such fear”. Fear of what. Of the other shoe dropping. Of the next catastrophe. Of the worry that while I’ve survived all my life traumas to date, maybe the next one won’t be survivable. And I want to release this pressure that is building inside me. All the pain and sadness and grief and emotion that I’ve buried down deep, intending to deal with it later, while hiding behind a stiff upper lip and stoic facade. But I never come back to it. And so it builds and festers and burns in my belly and makes me feel like I can’t breathe half the time because my insides are wound so tight. That. I’m ready to release it.

So… I’m back. I mean, I hope.