So, I totally forgot to go see Carolyn this morning. Yeah. Forgot. My standing appointment of more than five years. And when I realized it, I got this sinking feeling in my tummy like I'd been a very, very bad girl. Then I laughed. Because seriously? That's just lurking shame from my past and I don't need that shit anymore. So I called and left her a message and went upon my morning routine.
Now, here's the thing. I consider this great progress. In the past, I would file things away in my brain until I could get to her. As in, "I don't know how I'm supposed to feel/react/process this event/thought/whatever someone said to me that hurt my feelings, so I just won't deal with it until I tell her." Then I would imprint the date I was to see her next on my consciousness and await the date with trepidation. And when Jim died two weeks ago, I did have that thought. That I would just wrap it up in a very messy package and tape it up tight, tight, tight and throw it in a dark dufflebag in the back of the closet and then she could help me unpack it. But I didn't. I just kept dealing with it as it happened. Sure, there were tense moments when I thought my grieving butterflies would fly out my throat and vomit all over the place, but I kept on walking. And I kept on talking. There were some fairly desperate emails sent back and forth to one of you. (You know who you are, and I can't tell you how much it meant to me.) There were some crying phone calls out to Tallgrass and there was much hugging in meetings as we all did it together.
And that's how people do it! I did it. I mean, it's not over by any means, but I didn't need someone to tell me how to react to his death. I didn't need hold in my tears or my thoughts or my feelings. Because I just thought them and felt them and it was as it should be. And for that I am extremely grateful. So, waking up and realizing that you've missed your appointment with your therapist, may just not be the worst thing that ever happened.