I had thought I'd outrun her, or detained her last week between the couch cushions in my trauma therapist's office.
Sometimes I think if I deposit $125 and some tears, that she'll leave me alone, but she's nothing if not loyal.
Persistent.
She must have something left to teach me.
Today I remembered, sooner than I have in the past, that ignoring her is the best way to have her turn up the volume. So I spoke up, and said the truth about where I'd lost myself. I asked for help.
And.
I didn't beat myself up.
The number of times I've kept score, or run away, or counted myself out for not meeting my unachievable standards for myself?
I think I'm finished now.
I would like to redefine adulthood as telling the truth about myself, asking for help when I need it, and not keeping score.
And maybe finding gratitude for the hard moments. The visits with anxiety.
And what she has to teach me.
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