My therapist asked me to list five good things about myself. I came up with three, and two were things a friend had told me recently, so the therapist said they only count as one.
Now I have to think of other nice things, because I don’t want to be a person who can’t say nice things about themselves.
Fine. FINE! 🙄
(I’m not asking for compliments, BTW. Apparently I have to choose them myself, because I’m, like…supposed to actually BELIEVE them? I know, right? It’s absurd. Don’t ever go to therapy. It’s dumb, they want you to…ugh, LIKE yourself, and not just lazily write yourself off as “broken.” Pfft. Gross.)
So, tonight I attended a gathering of female entrepreneurs, and someone flagged my negative self-talk and offered me an affirmation card.
OK, shut up, assholes — I rolled my eyes, too. BUT. Picking a card at random, check out this prescient motherfucker right here.
I’m about to pay for EXTRA therapy for my past nonsense, but this card’s all, “Naw, girl, I got you.”
I have this habit of intending to respond to OkCupid messages, but then I forget about it, or I want to wait until I’m at a computer instead of my phone, and then suddenly a week has passed and I think, “Well, if I really wanted to reply, I would’ve made it more of a priority,” so I just delete the message.
When I told my therapist about this, she said, “Hey, maybe don’t do that? You saved those messages for a reason. Either write back or delete them, but letting them sit in your inbox makes them just another to-do item looming in your brain, making you feel like you’re behind on life and bad at being an adult.”
So, um… Can y’all write these dudes back?
Apparently I have hella issues and emotional walls and I think I’m boring so I don’t want to waste anyone’s time? I didn’t know these things about myself — never go to therapy. “I would’ve made it more of priority” sounds far less tragic, like I’m just such a busy, baller boss bitch that I don’t have time for you people and your penises.
But hey, you know what? Frankly I’m doing these men a favor. If I never answer, they’ll never get any of my Crazy on them, and then no one gets hurt. I’ll just continue hiding in my little Singleton cave and never getting laid and letting these feelings deepen and fester until I’m a crazy, old cat lady who dies alone and the cats eat my face. What’s the problem? The cats will be fed!
(Ahem. Why, yes, it has occurred to me that perhaps I should be in therapy twice a week.)
I just had therapy via FaceTime, sitting in bed, still in pajamas, with bedhead, no bra, and fuzzy socks, because America is amazing.
I won’t do it often, because I think my discomfort at being trapped in an office with a psyche ninja helps me share, but it’s a nice option to have.
I’ve been meaning to get into the Big Family Dynamics discussion with my therapist, but we keep getting sidetracked by current issues. Today I mentioned that to her and said, “But somehow I think tonight’s hour-long discussion of my insecurities and relationship issues probably gave you some useful information about my family history.”
And her response was, “Oh, yeah. Any time we talk about your relationships, we’re talkin’ about your dad.”
Post-therapy text to friends:
“BTW, I just got out of therapy and you wanna hear some horseshit? Not only does she want me to be happy and well adjusted, turns out she can’t just ask me a couple questions and fix 40 years of shit in 45 minutes. It’s, like…long-term work? That *I* have to figure out with her help? This is just like all this alleged ‘exercise’ people want me to be doing. UGH.”
P.S. It’s a joke, I knew what I was getting into. But it IS also bullshit that I drew the short straw in the brain department.