This year, this month, this week, I turned 49 years old. It seems like I used to fret over my age, but then when I was sick, I pretty much let go of that fixation. Still, I'm vain, so my whole thing is that I don't mind being 49, I just don't want to look like I'm 49.
My 48th year actually came with lots of epiphanies. I plan on spending the next year trying to better myself.
Trisha says, for years now "Paula, you can't just get over the baggage you've carried through you life. And, furthermore, you can't get around it either. The only way to really move on is to go right through it." Unfortunately, the gate keeper is a therapist.
So, I've decided to give therapy a shot, and test this theory. I'm not looking forward to it for several reasons.
1. My immediate family, with the exception of myself, has been in therapy for thirty years. Quite frankly, I don't see where it's helped. If anything, it's made them even more narcissistic then they were in the first place.
2. I have spent a whole lot of years suppressing all of my angst, trauma, and skeletons and it's been a helluva lot of work. Why ever would I want to drag all of it out now?
3. Psycho-therapy has always seemed so self indulgent. It's like psycho masturbation. Everyone has a lot to talk about, but therapy is generally for the well insured. The rest of us have to work it out on our own, and that's makes you tough.
Having said all that, my first session will be in two weeks. This is going to be the start of a new series called "That's Not What My Therapist Said!" I take solace in knowing that, if nothing else, it'll give me something to write about.