Therapy is meant to be a safe place. Maybe the safest a lot of people have ever known. It is a place that absorbs all the scary and big stuff until you’re ready to slowly walk back out with the parts you need. That is a lot of laughs, tears, shame, frustration, and fear.
When I woke up the morning of March 28, 2018, I knew it was the day my life would irrevocably change.
Yesterday was the first day of Spring.
Today is the anniversary of the last time I saw my dad fully alive.
I’ve never read or watched anything Marie Kondo, but there is one thing I know for sure — there are tons of things that spark joy that are really shitty choices for you in the long run. It’s completely possible she addresses this directly, but as I said, I just know the catchphrase and its shortcomings.
This past week has tested the resolve of my Wellbutrin. The flu came to visit and got each of us in turn. Lorelei was patient zero — we all had flu shots months ago and got Tamiflu quickly after I took her in for a flu test, so it was overall not as bad as it could have been.
Tonight, everyone will resolve to do better for the next trip around the sun. We’ll pick ourselves apart, looking for the ways we are supposedly failing: Eating too much, drinking too much, not exercising enough.
I get a lot of sympathetic head tilts when I mention working on Christmas Eve or the days between Christmas and New Year. I think some judge the adultiness of a job by things like not going to work for two weeks at the end of the year. I appear to have the job of a real adult, so nobody thinks that maybe I’d rather save my vacation time for summer when it’s nice outside. In all honesty, I love this week at work. It’s so quiet. The expectations are low. I can wear jeans and eat leftovers and nobody asks me for things, unless it’s to eat this piece of cake. This is the week when I organize my office or rearrange the file room.