I’m blogging. Yes. I said it – typed it. I’m just jumping in. We can’t be perfect at something until we work at it, right? And I can’t work at it in my imagination…
So, let’s start.
I broke up with my Therapist on Tuesday. HUGE.
I’ve been seeing Therapist since February of 2016. When I started, I was going 2 to 3 times a week. It was bad. Really bad. I had been pushing to get “better.” To suck it up. To accept. To keep moving.
But I didn’t want to wake up. I only wanted to sleep… My dreams were way better than my reality. I remember waking up thinking, “damn. i’m here again.”
I admitted how I felt to my brother (note, not to my husband). He immediately contacted my husband. The next day I was in therapy at 8:00 am. And I cried. I’d been in and out of therapists’ offices over the last 20 years…I never cried like that.
I went to see Therapist 2-3 times a week – dreading going because of all the real raw feelings, feelings I didn’t want to exist, feelings that meant I was facing reality, feelings of complete and utter lack of control / lack of manifesting what I desired. It was the only place I felt safe enough to talk / share / wonder without putting on the facade that “I’m totally on top of my shit.”
Because, Ann is on top of her shit. She doesn’t give a f*ck and she’s tough.
I felt broken.
This blog is partially an extension of my work with Therapist. There were a LOT of other components to healing beyond the talk therapy, but it was key.
About a year ago, I had a nightmare in which I was robbed. The home I lived in had loads of art on the wall. And what had been stolen, was the artwork on the canvases. The frames were all empty. Each canvas was blank and was laying across the furniture – draped over the backs of chairs, hanging off the back of the couches.
My creativity was gone. My view of the world as a vibrant interesting place was stripped.
How amazing is it that I now feel that the world if full of opportunity? That I feel full of pure potentiality?
I AM pure potentiality.