He’s been the best therapist I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a lot of therapists. Seven, to be exact; I’m like the Elizabeth Taylor of therapy patients.
We don’t know how to breakup anymore. Because we don’t know how to feel. We’re too scared. Scared that if we feel too much, we may not ever be the same. Scared that if we break too much, we may not ever be able to stand again. Scared to admit that we loved someone. And to admit that we lost them too.
In 2018, I’m breaking up with the enemy within. The voices in my head that keep telling me that I can’t do something or I’m not good enough.
Same goes for the lame pop-culture magazines – fuck them. I no longer invite people into my tribe who sabotage my growth, and believe me at this point in my life – I can smell their kind many miles away.
It’s interesting that some people view functioning coping skills as abnormal qualities. What a strange world we live in when self-love and taking personal responsibility for self is seen as odd.
But that doesn’t stop you from reading old messages, scrolling back months and months, all the way back when things were still OK. You look through old photos and you’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry. You think about deleting everything. You don’t. Not yet.
Not all exes are equal.
Breaking up and moving on is difficult enough without social media reminding you that you are alone and that your ex is in the honeymoon stage with someone new.
Once I started thinking about life without texting, I realized I hadn’t ever stopped to consider that there might be another way to be in contact.
Yes, I may have lost you, but in losing you, I found my way back.