On the Chair

Sometimes it feels like all week I’m packing sacks of grain. Preparing grist for the therapy mill. Trying to remember every moment of discomfort, every ...

It’s the swinging that does me in. The way I do a 180 over the course of the week. There’s a part that shows up ...

The perfect therapy experience is what you seem to strive to give. To be there for me fully. Wholly. No distractions. Your commitment is solid. ...

I won’t dare go near a boundary in therapy. I will rather bury my needs deep within. Inhibit myself. Let my angst fester beneath my ...

It’s a pain I can’t explain Nor understand That rises up At the slightest provocation That only it detects It pierces my chest Hijacks my ...

I’m tired of reflectingOf dissectingOf connectingThe scattered and shattered blurred dots Exhausted from pryingFrom cryingFrom tryingTo untangle the mangled huge knots Have brain fog from ...

I can’t talk, because I need so much more support than you can give me. I can’t talk, because 50 minutes is hardly enough to ...

“Trust the process,” is what they say. But submitting to this process feels like a freefall without a parachute, like I’m giving up the modicum ...

“I’m still not sure why I’m here… what this whole therapy is all about…” I said to my therapist back then. “What, indeed, is therapy?” ...

I am feeling these stirrings in my heart, the pain that ripples through — stronger, stronger — when I think of our encounter. The soothing ...

Don’t touch meMy skin is brittlePaper thinThe slightest touchWill make me bleed Don’t reach meThe invitationNot to be aloneWill uncork in meA well of need ...