Writing as therapy

Some unedited lines from today's writing on my NaNo project... 

...

I am so weird.

There was that one time when I kinda’ wished that I had a reason (or an excuse) to go to a counselor.  Yep, weird, huh?  I might have had more than one ridiculous conversation with myself about the whole idea of paying somebody to listen to me talk. And maybe even act like they cared about what I was saying.  Almost like paying somebody to be my friend; right?  Weird.

And then there was that time when Bob was dealing with a pinched nerve and his medical team tried all kinds of things before resorting to surgery.  When he was sent for massages as part of his treatment, I was a teensy bit jealous - because I wanted so badly to get a massage, but hadn’t found a reason or an excuse to do so.  Of course, I did not wish for the numbness and pain and hassle of a pinched nerve.  I just wanted the massage.  Silly me.

But wait; there was also that time WAY BACK in the early days…  when I was a young mom of little ones…  and a bunch of hungry foster boys to feed…  and I was probably volunteering at the church and trying to be all things to all people… and to fix everything for everybody!...  and the flat surfaces in my office were AWFUL… because I never seemed to be able to keep things picked up...  or keep current with anything for that matter…  because you know, being too busy must prove that I’m pretty important; right?  Then there was that moment when I heard of someone who had a nervous breakdown and was confined in the hospital for complete bedrest.  Wait; do people still have nervous breakdowns? Yikes! I bet there are better ways of speaking and understanding and treating such things these days - and I should probably become more aware and certainly more compassionate. Something to ask my mental health expert daughter...    But back to that moment…  Now don’t get me wrong. I think that (at least I certainly hope!) I must have felt sympathy and compassion for that person….  But…  But am I a terrible person if I admit that the idea of being confined to a quiet room for a few days…? with no responsibilities and no one demanding my attention…?  Well, let’s just say that it might have been a tempting fantasy for a little minute there.  

So yah, maybe I have strange ways of discovering what I need and want - and how to be healthy and balanced… At any rate, I certainly had much to learn (and probably unlearn and relearn) about self-care and wellness and mental health and boundaries and personal responsibility…  Who knew that we don't HAVE to be too busy all the time? Who knew that I don't have to do it all? That I don't have to be everybody's fixer... and that I do not have to please everybody?  Indeed.

And while these stories are from other times, other decades long before this one… they have come back to my remembrance while writing about the journey of this decade.  This writing process, this trying to find the story of my inner journey… has been so fascinating.  I am having SO much fun and am starting to feel like a new person - and I'm only a week into NaNoWriMo month!  

It just occurred to me that these writing and remembering and processing sessions almost feel like intense therapy sessions.  The good kind.  Sometimes hard to deal with the not-so-good parts, sometimes funny or embarrassing to think of all the weirdness and the goofy silliness, often heartwarming to find the happy endings or the healthy progress... and almost always end up with me feeling so grateful for the fantastic journey.  Might it be true that I can be my own best counselor? 

Hey, maybe I got what I wished for... regular counseling appointments - every day for a whole month!  And I don't even have to pay my therapist!