Envious of Safety

I’m kind of just out of it today. And I’m frustrated.

I have therapy, and, as usual, I’m blank.

No thoughts. No brain cells. Just this quiet heaviness that makes me want to curl up and cry.

I envy the people who can walk into therapy and just… talk. The ones who can lay everything out, or at least recap their week without freezing. And maybe envy isn’t the right word, because there’s no bitterness in it. It’s more of a longing. A small ache. Something in me wishing I could do the same.

Because it’s not like I don’t have things going on. I know I’m dealing with a lot. I know there’s a lot moving inside me. But I don’t think I feel safe enough, internally, to talk about it easily. And an hour feels so short when you’re already overwhelmed. My brain doesn’t know how to choose what needs to be said first. It feels safer to hold everything at once instead of trying to prioritize one thing over the other.

Maybe part of it is the fear of being misunderstood.

Maybe part of it is that some of the things coming up… I’ve barely let myself sit with. I’ve only peeked in. And now that they’re awake, they’re just sitting there. Waiting. Heavy with shame. And every time I think about speaking, my throat closes.

What makes all of this harder is that I don’t feel empty, I feel full. Full of things I don’t know how to open my mouth about. Full of fear that if I start talking, I’ll unravel. Or that I’ll choose the wrong thing. Or that I won’t make sense. Or that she won’t meet me where I need to be met.

Authors Note:

Writing this helped me realize that I’m not blank, I’m overloaded, and I don’t feel safe. That’s not my therapist’s fault, but I can’t force my body to feel safe on command, no matter how badly I want to. Writing is a bridge. It lets me open up in the only way I can right now, until my body can eventually feel with a person what I can only seem to feel alone, with the words in front of me.