There are a lot of little ways I can remind myself to accept and love myself every day.
In Wednesday’s therapy session, E observes that my shame feels something sticky. It’s a thin, transparent layer all over me. I peel part of it back, but I can’t get rid of it; it sticks to my fingers to gets caught in my hair. It won’t let me go. I’m surprised, too, by its tenaciousness.…
I’ve done this before, but evidently I need to do it again: I banish doubt and decide to believe the girl.
I find a fantasy-filled visualization helps me change the message of yet another dream about being assaulted.
Monday is therapy day. This week we talk about how low I’ve been feeling lately, how I often feel like I “should” be better by now and how I “should” be trying harder. Of course, I know that there’s no particular time frame for healing from past injuries or reaching a remission in my depression.…
I’ve spent this summer feeling stuck. It was early July when E asked me if we could change the time of a session, and I spun off, soaring through space and landing on Planet “I-can’t-trust-her;-she-doesn’t-really-care,” where I have been residing uncomfortably ever since.
Today I thought I’d sit on my front porch and welcome some of the visitors I generally try to avoid.