(or This is NOT a “My Therapist Has Cancer” Blog )
Whenever I get really angry or upset or sad or confused, my default mode is to go quiet, to be very silent and still. Sometimes when this happens, my FitBit will actually register that I am “sleeping” even though I am wide awake and most likely on heightened alert. I think I go into this state because I’m scared to move until I can regain my footing, get my bearings and figure out what is going on around me. And only once that happens do I dare to speak into what I am experiencing and venture out from whatever place of safety I’ve retreated.
And so I think that’s what has happened with this space over the past few months. It’s not that I’ve struggled for ideas of what I wanted or needed to write about – I’ve been wrestling with thoughts on boundaries and closure and growth, but also on what I wanted and needed this space to be. When I started to write this, I never could have imagined that it would become a blog about having a therapist with cancer. And I’ve felt over the past few months that this space has become more about her and less about me, and I wanted to take it back and reclaim it as my own, but was unsure of exactly how to do that. I tried to map out a plan of the things that I still needed to say, in what order, to resolve that part of the story. But I’m starting to realize that it will never be a fully realized and complete story. There will always be an oozing wound, although it doesn’t bleed nearly as much as it once did. And I’m sure it will rear its ugly head every now and again, maybe when I least expect it, and that I will just need to stop and address whatever is rising to my consciousness, even if it doesn’t fit neatly into my current trajectory. I’m never sure where this journey will take me or the detours that will arise. But this is my attempt to get back on the path, and continue onwards.