I have a therapist, who I have seen on and off again since 2008.  He’s wonderful at reflecting back ME, to myself.  I use him when I need to focus.  Sometimes I use him just to verbalize what I already know, and need to hear out loud.  I saw him this morning.

“When are you happiest?” he asked me.

“Right after sex”, I said.  That was easy, I thought.

We talked about my tendency to overthink and worry.  We talked about how I hate it when Special Man tells me to be a duck, as he does, often.  (As in letting things roll off my back.)  We talked about how his nonchalance about certain (many) things is at odds with my natural stress patterns, and Therapist suggested that we may even be amplifying our differences in an effort to counteract the other.  We talked about how I’ve cried more in the last two years than I probably have in all my previous years, and Therapist thought that was a wonderful thing, because I’m not “closed up tight” any more.

“You can’t fuck all the time,” he said.  Damn, I thought.  “Your homework is to be aware of what you are feeling, and find some other things that make you happy. Try something new.”

Tonight I came across this, and I wanted to share it here, but I couldn’t embed it.  Take a few minutes to follow the link, especially if you are a broken girl, like me.  It’s sweet and sentimental, but even my cynical side was smiling.  


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