Yesterday I sat there in her airy office, on the overstuffed yellow char, bringing her up to speed on my story and how I feel about it.
“And then she was hit by a train, and then she found him gone and then she took her life on the tracks… and here I am.”
I hate this part of getting acquainted, watching people’s faces when I lay it all out for them. I want to hug them and tell them how totally okay I am with it, but lately? I’m not sure of that anymore.
That’s why yesterday I trudged through the gorgeous streets of downtown, past perfect shop windows, a street juggler and pigtailed children with frozen yogurt, past a gorgeous display of the good life and up the stairs to the office of a new therapist.
Why? Because I need help with my junk.
I need perspective and guidance and I can’t do it alone. As we approach the third anniversary of my mother’s death I’m starting to realize that I have survived a lot and I’m weary.
I have spent the last ten years in a battle of survival and perseverance, in an attempt to overcome odds and live a healthy life.
And for some reason, all the baggage I thought I had neatly tucked away on shelves is falling down around me. I thought I was okay, that I’d moved past it all, but moving home, driving over those train tracks again and again has brought things back to the surface.
I don’t want to survive this life anymore, I want to lose a thousand pounds of baggage and feel free to quiet the voices of anger, jealous sadness.
I want to love and thrive and feel lighter than I now, with all the bags cluttering the forefront of my mind.
So I’m going to therapy because the old mantra for living and writing and story telling doesn’t fit anymore.
“Journeying with those hurting, healing and choosing joy” was good for a while but can I be honest? I’ve been a crappy joy-chooser of late… and I just don’t know anymore.
I think the new thing might be something like: Wavering Hope Ambassador.
Because I believe in hope, I want to inspire heavy hearts that it’s possible no matter what, but also…. sometimes I suck at it… and you need to know that.
So here is where I ask for help
Here is where I waver in hopes of something better
And here is still lovely, asking for help is brave and I hope that if you need help you will seek it out fiercely.
Our lives are worth fighting for and wavering is okay.
I’m linking up with The Nester and writing on this topic for all #31days of October
I’ll keep this page updated every day as I move through what it means to be “here”