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It’s been hard to write lately.

Ok, that’s not entirely true. I can still write what I need to in order to get my work done or newsletters or whatever. I don’t have complete writer’s block.

Rather, it’s been hard to write what has been stuck inside me. I have been avoiding myself again. (I’m lowkey terrified that I will revert to last year’s burn everything down phase.) It’s all my therapist’s fault.

Ok, that’s also not entirely true.

She tried to break up with me! She questioned whether it was worth the money for me to talk to her about my week – particularly since I’ve been on a streak of doing well with my anger with the kids, etc.

Dr. T asked me if I wanted to dig deeper into my issues or if I thought it was a good time to stop. I responded that I didn’t know what to talk about because usually, life brings up my issues, but I seem to have entered a phase where life is fine.

She said I could reflect on my deeper issues – like journal and write about it without life poking my buttons.

And thus, I promptly refused to write at all.

My brain is an asshole teenager.

As a direct result, I have been on the verge of tears for at least a month. (That’s when my therapist tried to break up with me.) I feel the semi-panic in the middle of my chest. The tightness in my breathing. The ridiculous eye-leaking when I think about my children and cozy with them. (Ok, that’s not new.)

I’m really annoyed.

Each time I try to journal about my “feelings,” terrible cliches come out of my mouth/hand/brain. I mean, I suppose the point isn’t to be eloquent and moreso to get my insides on the outsides but THIS LACK OF WORDSMITHING BOTHERS ME.

I am also perpetually tired and have been sleeping a lot.

So. That’s how I’ve been.

As you were.