Some days therapy is just about articulating feelings I don’t yet feel the full strength and capacity to feel outside, in my real life.

Some days it’s about crying freely, in the safety of the four walls and the company of my therapist who I have grown accustomed to, and know is capable of holding the full intensity of my emotion.

Some days it’s about just sitting quiet, allowing a light to be shined in, so I dig into my heart for things unseen, letting my brain build a path back out.

Some days it’s about just being. Just the way I am, no pretence, no masks, no effort to be anything else but the way I am. Broken some days. Tired others. Joyful some times. Celebratory others.

Some days it’s a lab, to stick myself, my psyche, my behaviour, thoughts and my quirks under a microscope and observe what’s happening. Who am I beneath it all? What lies underneath the veneer?

Some days it’s like falling back on the safety net, while I flirt with meeting my authentic self, who frankly, sometimes scares me.

Some days it’s about travelling backwards, connecting the dots in reverse, revisiting old times and looking at them with a new perspective — backwards, going in.

Some days it’s about smiling inwardly and feeling so full, nothing can crack me.

Some days it’s about feeling crushing defeat, monumental self-loathing, immense guilt and fear. And, feeling it fully, before I begin to make sense.

Some days I leave my brains and all sense behind, altogether. Some days, it’s just all heart.

Some days, it’s a pair of eyes, a mirror held up, and cleansing tears.

Somedays it’s about seeing it all.

Some days it about being seen.

One year ago: All the feckless men that queue to be the next
Two years ago: Pointless post
Three years ago: Morning views