I dreaded going. I really do.

Every trip to my therapist’s room is like walking into the dark secret dungeon in a game to defeat the final boss, except there’s no reset button if you ‘die’ during the process and there is always another boss (lol).
You may wonder why do I still drag my ass there?
I’m practically asking for it, ain’t I?

The answer is really simple:
Because it’s painful either way.

The difference is I see a guaranteed no-end to the pain on one side and a ray of hope that this pain shall pass on the other side.

I want to see what happens if I don’t give up.

(Simply put by Yolanda – It’s either we let life screw us over or we uno reverse the lemons thrown at us.)

As always, I prayed for courage before I entered the room.

It’s the 4th year and honestly, it doesn’t get easier.
The session was hard.
We checked in with how each part of me is coping at work and tackled trauma bonding with my mom.
No doubt, I ended the session with swollen eyes, again.

Haa, this tired soul had to drag her ass back to work right after that.
My tears accompanied me home.
My husband said that I can use the face mask if I want to hide my face but
I really couldn’t care much anymore.
I don’t have the energy to bother about how other people see me.
To be frank, most people will just kaypoh, take one look and move on with their life.
So why worry about being embarrassed?
Letting my tears comfort me was what I needed then.
That was all that mattered in the moment.