"Why would I spend the rest of this year unhappy? Why would I spend the rest of this year alone? When I can go to therapy? When I can go to therapy? When I can go to therapy two times a day?"- Therapy, Mary J. Blige
Well before a whole year goes by, I figured it was time to write something again.
The last year has been an interesting one indeed. Filled with disconnecting, reconnecting, reconfigurations and the like, my plate has been full. And how have I been dealing with it?
Therapy!
Yep, that's right. Some people go to church. Some people go to the bottle. Some people practice endless avoidance (mind you, a great tactic that worked for me for several years).
I opt to pay someone to listen to my problems once a month and tell me stuff that I typically don't want to hear. And typically months later, come out better for it.
For some reason before my 31st birthday, I decided it was time to truly work on me and my relationships with men. So I sought out contact information for a black therapist (yep, I felt my therapist needed to know the innerworkings of some of my struggle).
We met. We clicked. I opened up. I cried. I have homework. I typically hate my homework. And I live to see another day and broaden my relationships with everyone.
Though what makes me feel better about the entire situation is that in speaking with her the first time, she told me that there are women 10 to 20 years older than me coming to her with the same problems. So it's good that I started where I did so I will hopefully have a different set of problems in my 40s and 50s.
Have I improved? Yes. Am I where I need to be? Hell no! Am I trying to get there? Most days. But at least I am working on it.
