The first day I went to therapy, I told my therapist about everything I could think of that might make a difference–the terrible relationship I was in, our house burning down when I was five, Mom being sick, Dad going to prison–every trauma I was aware of. And then I had to pee. Seriously. I remember standing in the bathroom thinking, Okay, there, I said it. I wonder what she’s going to say. Well, she was super professional, didn’t call me fucked up or anything. Rather, she said, “It sounds like you and your boyfriend have zero boundaries and that you have some family of origin issues [Who doesn’t?].” And that was that, end of session one.

Fast forward three years and about a hundred sessions later, and my therapist has never once said, “Tell me about your father,” or, “Let’s talk about that kid that used to beat you up.” She said once that she believes when the subconscious is ready to deal with something (to heal), the topic will come up on its own. So far, she’s been right. At one point or another, we’ve returned to all those initial traumas, even some other ones. We’ve talked about everything.

Well, almost everything.

Today we talked about–money. There, I said it. The topic came up because I mentioned the dream board I’m working on, and it would appear that dreams cost money (if you want them to come true). As the conversation went on, I shared an exercise I did recently where I listed my knee-jerk thoughts about money. Two things–it wasn’t pretty–and my therapist said knee-jerk thoughts (like my mother-in-law is _________) tell us how we really feel about something. To summarize, most of my thoughts about money are negative.

There’s not enough money. Money causes arguments. Money isn’t spiritual.

After I read the list, my therapist said, “That was intense.” I said, “That was intense to say out loud.” Honestly, it felt like throwing up in the backseat of your friend’s new car, like, I feel better, but now what do we do? Well, once again, my therapist didn’t freak out or say that I had an insurmountable problem. Instead, she started by reminding me where my beliefs came from. We talked about my childhood and all the bullshit that went on, the cars that were repossessed when Dad went to prison, the box from the Baptist church full of charity food that sat in a corner and silently proclaimed, “We can’t afford to eat.”

“It’s completely understandable that you’d have issues with scarcity and abundance. You had some bad programming,” she said.

Then she added, “And ninety percent of that list is BULLSHIT,” at which point she took out a pink highlighter and marked the two thoughts about money that I’m apparently allowed to keep because they’re actually true–1) money is freedom (of choice) and 2) money is fun. But the thought that I’d have more money if I were smarter? That one has to go. She said, “Do you know anyone with a lot of money that’s NOT as smart as you are?”

“Well yeah.”

“Okay then.”

The rest of today, I pretty much felt like shit, which I’m assuming is because we poked the bear, stirred up a bunch of junk that’s been sitting around for a while. On top of that, my initial response whenever I realize there’s serious work to do is to get overwhelmed. Oh my god, how am I going to stop believing all these things I’ve been believing for my entire life? Well, after I taught a dance lesson this evening, I finally had an idea.

Village Inn has free pie on Wednesdays. (As my friend Kara says, “It’s hard not to eat your feelings. They taste so good.”)

Really, I spent a good portion of the evening trying to figure out how I could blog about something else tonight. I swear, this vulnerability and honesty shit is for the birds. I mean, I don’t LOVE talking on the internet about my general fears and insecurities, and I certainly don’t LOVE talking on the internet about my specific fears and insecurities (money, money, my education, my body, my talent, and money–and also money). Part of me would just prefer not to do it. There may be some pride involved. But when I checked out at Village Inn tonight, the lady at the register started talking to me about an employee she’d just got off the phone with. She said, “She hasn’t worked in a month. She’s been on vacation in Spain.”

I thought, Now why do I give a shit?

But I said, “Oh that’s nice.”

Then the manager jumped in and said, “I’d love to go to Spain,” so I said, “Do it!” But then she said, “I don’t have enough money, I can’t afford it,” which is honestly my first thought lately whenever someone suggests seeing a play, going to dinner, or riding the train at Creekmore Park for a quarter. Then I figured if the Village Inn lady and I have this issue around scarcity, that’s at least two of us, and maybe there are others. So–in an effort to be real–I’m talking about it.

Sometimes when I think about the road that lies ahead and turning my scarcity truck into an abundance mobile, it feels impossible. But this evening I’ve reminded myself that I’ve tackled a lot of big issues over the last several years. I’ve come a long way with a lot of excellent help. So I have to trust that this too is an issue that’s come up at the right time, that it’s only rocking my emotional boat now because it’s time for it to heal.

Let’s do this shit.

As always, I’ll let you know how it goes.