“Next thing ya know, Shorty got low, low, low, low…”

“Hey, Brain? I’m not sure what’s happening here, but… You realize shopping online for things you don’t need with money you don’t have isn’t going to make you feel better, right?”

“Are you sure? Because I REALLY feel like it might.”

Feeling your feelings BLOWS.

Post-therapy-by-phone text to friends.

I might leave work early and pick up some more bonus therapy by way whiskey. And fried cheese. That’s probably what she really meant by “journaling.”

I’m having feelings. I don’t care for it.

Y’all, I may be dead inside and stuck in heinous rush hour traffic, but even *I* can’t keep this dipshit look off my face listenting to Michelle Obama recount her early courtship with Barack. JESUS, people, I’m not made of wood. This shit is cuter than a Hallmark movie about kittens wearing tiny sweaters. COME ON. #IAMBECOMING

Therapeutic Cliffhanger

Today I had therapy, and we ended up with an exciting basis for NEXT week’s session, where we’re going to dive deeper into how 40+ years of coddling and condescension from everyone in my family could perhaps make me constantly doubt my capabilities as an adult, and affect my self-worth in all areas of life.

Awesome. Great. I’m SO glad I did this. 🙄

(I am, but…Christ. Originally I just went to therapy for some Breakup Krazy Glue, but ended up shattered six ways to Sunday. At least when my therapist starts writing groundbreaking articles about family insanity, maybe I’ll get royalties.)

(By the way, I am STILL very much on Team “Whatever Your Family Did, You’re an Adult, Handle Your Shit.*” But it turns out I just need some strategies to make that work as more than just bluster.)

(*Unless your family was LEGIT awful and not just underminey, in which case, obviously, you have the right.)

(Part of my damage is minimizing my damage because so many people have much worse damage.)