I was defending my decision not to go back into therapy to my husband today. The time. The money. But mostly the agony. For the first time in my life I’m happy with my misery. Do you feel me? I always went to therapy to change. Then I realized (after 30 years) that I was never going to change and was happy for “awareness”. Happy to stop acting out at every family gathering. Then what? Please don’t get me wrong I think therapy is critical for many people and most writers. But I’m no longer willing or able to jump down the well and climb my way out with a spoon. I’m okay with crying at the dry cleaner for “no reason.” I understand that given the chance to imagine the best or worst in something I will always go for the latter. I’m okay with the voices in my head. Though they could be a little nicer.
Is this a cop out?
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