Dear Diary: Therapy is Such A Gift

Tonight was therapy night and what a gift that’s proving to be.

I’ve had therapy on and off with long breaks in between, over the years: in my early 20s when I felt anxious working in the film industry, then after a traumatic birth in 2010, and now. Now, after two challenging years which have tested my mettle with family illness, loss and a big op. So here I am, opening up, listening and processing. Understanding grief, and the tools to help me become kinder to myself (particularly when I have PMT).

My therapist said I should treat PMT like a broken ankle and treat myself accordingly. To slow down and take care of myself then. Yes to that. I’m also working on the biggie: boundaries. How to feel strong enough to stop the people-pleasing (which I’m nailing a little more and more each day-why is saying ‘no’ so painful though? ), speaking up more, and less at times too, because we need to pick our battles, right, wherever the BS. I’m also working on trusting my own judgement more. Being my own compass more.

I realised tonight, that I’ve stopped going with my gut as much of late. I’m determined to curtail the second-guessing, and to meditate more, to place my feet upon the ground and my head towards the sun more. To be more me again.