Somehow I never expected to end up on a therapist's couch.
Why, I have no idea. I was a hot mess before Leila. My childhood has left me wounded, forever marked. Like having a clubbed foot or a speech impediment. History is always there, the glasses I look through that color every interaction with others.
I had just reached a point in like where accepting my idiosyncrasies (crasies - crazies) was the next step to surviving. As I close in on 40, I want to be comfortable in my own skin. For the first time in my life.
My husband and I reached a point where something had to change, or something was going to change, if you follow me. That crack in our marriage sent me to google, looking for someone to talk to.
It's been a few weeks and a few sessions. The therapist is like my guide, walking through the dark forest. She holds the flashlight. We come across the trees, waterfalls, wildlife together. Sometimes they are the scary shapes I see before the light hits them, but more often the light changes the shadows into something more manageable.
I am not doomed to repeat my past on my son. My marriage is stronger now. If I'm not comfortable in my skin, at least I understand more of what makes me tick. I am a Lost Child.
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