The morning began quietly, peacefully, full of hope and possibilities as mornings often do here. There was motivation to get things done. I scrubbed down the kitchen sink, made the bed, threw in a load of laundry, enjoyed a smoothie out on the back deck. Stared meditatively at the flowers potted while I sipped. I felt energized and ready to tackle the day ahead. I had grand plans for the afternoon and with that into the car I went, making the trek across the water and into the city.
Mondays are therapy days. They have been for five years. Today was one of those therapy days that
was. Feelings shared aloud. Things that needed to be voiced. And at the end I felt ...
slog was the word that came to mind in the session.
People have told me how they feel often feel lighter after a therapy session. Rarely, if ever, have I had that experience. Therapy, for me, is slogging. My heart and guts get pulled out, examined from different angles and somehow stuffed back in, sometimes haphazardly, back into my body before I leave that house near the lake.
I have worked for the rest of this day to find that motivation that I had of the morning. The energy was taken up in that therapy session, for good reason. But I need to find the oasis in the desert to refuel because I'm hosting a bridal shower on Wednesday. And this girl's got shit to do.
