I have therapy coming up on Wednesday. It’s been scheduled for two or so months as we just scheduled a bunch all at once. And, let me tell you, God must have known because, wow, do I need me some therapy this week.

I’m trying not to get down on myself for needing some therapy this week. I mean, it’s summer (okay, not quite)! And the sun is shining! And it’s finally warm! And we’re doing great things as a family! And! And! And!

But man, my rough moments are rough as of late. I’m beating myself up for stuff completely out of my control. And, minus my Husband, I’m not “getting it out” anywhere. It’s all bottled up inside. And just in the past week, I’ve started to feel really overwhelmed by all of it. Yes, yes, I know that bottling it up serves no purpose.

But sometimes, when you either can’t make heads or tails of how you’re feeling anyway and/or you have no safe place in which to vent/cry/ask questions, well, bottling is the only resort. Even paper journaling has fallen by the wayside as I find myself emotionally paralyzed and unable to make sense of these feelings when they do try to move to the surface.

Either therapy will be immensely productive and helpful this week. Or really silent. One of the two.

I’ll be honest. I didn’t hand my therapist my journal.

Before you throw tomatoes, hold off.

I didn’t need to hand her my journal. Because as soon as I got settled onto the couch, words started spewing from my mouth. I have never, ever talked that much in therapy. My therapist usually has to do a large amount of pushing and prodding to get me to open up. Not yesterday! She was probably thinking, “Who is this girl?” It was me.

I learned a lot yesterday. In between my rambling, I did some serious listening. (It did help that my youngest decided to stop talking at the same time and nurse and then sleep for the second half hour of the session.) And reason #1 why I love my therapist is this: I learned what I am doing right.

For example? Despite my (freaking) battle with PPD, I am doing an awesome, awesome job with my boys. I am. I don’t know why it took hearing it from my therapist to make me realize all that I’m getting done right now. I mean? Hi? Not only am I taking care of an independent, unruly two year old and an exclusively breastfed and cloth diapered infant. But my house is mostly picked up (not organized but not a health hazard). I’m getting work done first thing in the morning and as needed throughout the day. I am writing and writing and writing. I mean, I was just recently published for the first time ever. I’ve been taking time to keep up with friends via e-mail and phone calls which I had been previously sucking at (really, oops, sorry). So, it was nice to hear that I’m doing things right.

We also discussed things that I can improve upon as well as things I didn’t know and/or understand about some current situations in my/our life/lives. I needed to hear some things and I needed to learn some things. It doesn’t mean that I’m now a pro at anything. But I now know what to work on, continue working on and even a few things that I need to simply let go of in order to continue healing.

I feel immensely more at ease than yesterday and a bagillion and one times better than the day before yesterday. Learning to be okay even when things are not okay is really flipping hard. I’m proud of myself in that respect. Apparently my therapist is as well.

Progress is good.