(or the Stories We Tell)
Almost as soon as I hit the “Publish” button on my last post, I started to have writer’s remorse. I feared that I had not actually said anything new and was merely restating that which I have said many times before on this very blog. And maybe that’s partly true, and maybe I’m being unduly harsh on myself. I nearly added an apology at the end of the last post, to say sorry for saying the same things over and over again. But then I caught myself. After all, this is a place for me to try to process and make sense of what is going on in my head. So, yes, sometimes that same diatribe might need to come out in a few different ways before I am able to fully process the narrative. Maybe I need to write it and say it several times in order to fully believe it and comprehend it and internalize it. And I don’t think it’s exactly the same thing. Maybe some of the facts are different, but my understanding and self-awareness shifts each time. Maybe not by much, but I take baby steps just the same.
What happened with the ex-therapist was a monumental event in my life. It was an incredibly intense few years with her, and a terrible, brutal ending. It is going to take time to unpack it all.