It’s eleven-thirty at night, and I’d rather be doing something else. Watching TV, reading a book, sleeping, you name it. Anything but writing. Fuck this daily practice. Talking about my emotions on the internet! What a dumb idea that was. (I take it back.) And did I mention I’m still limping around like someone with a war injury? I guess it’s gonna be like this for a while. I did sever my ACL. Ugh. Life is a lot sometimes.

Pass the chocolate cake.

This morning I saw my therapist. I’m sure that’s largely why I’m emotionally up in arms. Not that our session didn’t go well. It did. But everything gets stirred up in there. My damned feelings, I mean. Then I have to walk out and do something with them. Or at least wait for them to settle back down. I don’t know, my therapist says it’s always worse around the holidays, that this time of year is when everyone’s crazy comes out. Additionally, today she said that the universe has clearly dumped a lot in my lap lately. And whereas she said she believes it will let up at some point, she also suggested getting used to the idea that the universe will always be presenting me with new challenges until I’m “six feet under or ashes in a jar” because that’s the way the universe rocks.

In other words, when it comes to personal growth, the universe is a real hard ass.

In light of this idea that “there’s always more to do,” my therapist suggested that I back off the self-help shit for a while. This came up because I recently read a book about inherited family trauma (and did all the exercises it suggested) during a short period of time. “I did something similar once, but it was over a couple of years,” she said. “Suffice it to say, you’ve opened a lot of doors in your subconscious. I’d consider giving it a damn rest while everything bubbles up.”

This is a tough thing for me to do, to not rush-rush-rush to the finish line of mental health. I know, I know–there is no finish line; life is a game that never ends (woo). Again, what a dumb idea. But really, I am going to give this some thought. My therapist said today that she really believed my leg injury had to do with my learning to slow down and graciously accept help. She said, “Accepting help doesn’t diminish you as a person; it makes you MORE of a real person.”

So fine. This is me slowing down. This is me accepting help.

Graciously.

(Insert smile here.)

Now it’s after midnight, and I’m pretty much done for the day. My sister and her family are coming to visit this week, and we’re having the carpets cleaned in the morning in preparation for their arrival. All this to say that I won’t be able to sleep in tomorrow, nor will I be able to sleep in once they get here. My nephews are beautiful, but they’re not quiet. (We all have our spiritual gifts.) Anyway, I’m ready to go to bed. Maybe I’ll watch TV first. Regardless, hopefully I’ll nod off soon, and my emotions can bubble up and magically sort themselves out while I snore. Then I can wake up, and the universe and I can try again. Because I do intend to try again, just like I intend to walk without limping again and keep writing every day.

I’m a hard ass too.