I have no reason to complain. It’s just a muscle memory. I put on a dress, got coffee, was told by the barista that she liked my outfit.
Went to therapy. I have this impulse to put an exclamation point on it, but there’s no specific reason to express particular exuberance about the session. Except to say that I went! I went! I did not not go. It was good, helpful. She, just like the woman at Starbucks, complimented what I was wearing. I wonder what the point would look like when I’d just happily absorb nice comments like that and not feel like they need to be catalogued and recorded for posterity. The therapist, however, because she is a good therapist, she is starting to understand the really tricksy-ass way my mind works when it wants to seem like it’s putting on a good show and doesn’t let me get away with it.
That’s a little bit unnerving for the soft and squishy underbelly I lead with. No, it writhes, I really can’t do any one single thing more than this. That, for the therapist, isn’t good enough and the perfectionist in me churns and spins and tries a little bit harder to face all the things I’ve got locked up and cordoned off.
She supports me when I have a strong opinion, but mostly, when I have this nebulous, eh, I don’t know or eh, it’s impossible or I can’t…she’s really starting to ask me to interrogate that can’t. The can’t that I would basically leave alone. We talked about what to do next and I said, well, I feel like self-confidence is the thing I need to work on because it informs everything else you’re doing and she said, well, how do you think self-confidence gets built?
I said sometimes I feel really good about how I can support myself, but other times I am really bad at it and if I can just get someone’s input in my life, if someone else can jump first, I feel better about what I’m doing, I can trust it’s the right thing to do. She said so your self-confidence is built on what other people think and believe. I said, slowly, with a light dawning, yeah, I think I believe that 1000%. And we just sort of sat with the shittiness of a life that demands external validation to continue.
This is worth the money even if today I felt a bit…it wasn’t miffed or bothered or upset…just alerted.
I talk about the job and how I feel about it and she’s basically, okay, you don’t have to get permission to keep looking and leave. You don’t have to get permission to be happy. Happiness was a big theme. All or nothing thinking was a theme. Martyring was brought up. Nobody gets anything out of me being unhappy.
Beyond that, I went and ate pizza and now have discovered the existence of Babymetal and that’s involving me watching hours upon hours of tiny teenage Japanese girls talking about the cherry blossom stickers they collect between their insane hardcore metal/j-pop concerts.
Off we go!