The truth hurts

I called my therapist and told her that I didn’t need to see her so much because I felt like I was doing better.

She replied skeptically and asked me what I was doing and how was I dealing with everything. Proudly, I rattled off all of the things I was doing and how my calendar was fully booked until the end of June.

She was silent for some time. Then she read me like a cheap magazine…she told me that in fact I was NOT doing well, but that I had reverted back to my old means of coping. Working nonstop so I didn’t have to feel or deal with anything.

I had to sit in that. I had to stop myself from arguing that I loved working from sun up until sun down with no rest in between. I had to admit. She knew me. She was 100% correct. When I am stressed I busy myself. I work, I clean, I travel, I do whatever to not deal with my feelings and emotions. I run away. And right now I am feeling okay because my schedule is booked and busy until mid July. But mid July makes two years. Two years of grief not completely resolved. Two years of a part of me gone. Forever.

I love and hate that my therapist knows me so well. She makes me sit in my truth…and sometimes the truth hurts 💔