The past long while has been rather difficult for me. I'm a clinical psychologist and that might be a contributing factor. I have a job I absolutely love, but one that involves being present for another person. Over and over throughout a day. Then I go home and am mom and (was) wife. There was no place where it got to be about me. Combine that with a primary relationship that was not going well (I will attempt never to speak ill of it here), I started to lose myself. I gradually lost myself over the course of probably about a decade. About two-and-a-half years ago, I broke. Almost literally. I remember one morning run where I collapsed on the trail and just sobbed for about five minutes. It was then that I decided to make appointments to get medication from my primary care physician (who knows that I am a shrink) and a therapist. I took an antidepressant for about six months. I tried Xanax, but did not like how it made me feel. And I started going to therapy (I did a year of therapy when I was in grad school as it was a graduation requirement).
I went to therapy regularly for about six months until I could no longer afford the cost. I returned about a year ago and attend approximately monthly. Overall, I am doing great. Better than I have in years, but it is still important for me to go and check in from time to time.
It was a good session. I did not go through a box of tissue. Actually, though I teared up, I did not use a single tissue. This is monumental for me.
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