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And by then, my activism was starting to land me in more and more unexpected places: late night planning meetings and protests, early mornings editing the Ferguson Protestor Newsletter and writing the Ferguson Protestor Open Letters, television interviews and radio hours, the Ferguson Commission, and eventually, several trips to the White House. The Obama White House. Not the Orange one. Important distinction. I was sleeping little, seeing my family less, seeing my then-boyfriend even less, and glorified busy as my desired lifestyle.
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And that was my answer when Anita asked about my constant rescheduling. Anita was exactly as forgiving as I needed her to be. Until she asked me again the next week. And she no longer accepted that answer. I was going to have to commit, she told me, if I was going to see a difference. It shook me. To my core. She convicted me in a sweet, hushed tone, with kind eyes and a caring spirit. With 5 words, she made me require more of myself. I decided my inability to be, look, do, and act better were costing me love.
In fact, I was always the problem, right? So I set off on a journey to prove to someone else that I could be better. By my calculations, therapy would be proof — or, at least a start.
Pages of me Chapter 5
Even with the release that therapy would bring weekly, for a long while, I hated that place. My only companion on that couch was the truth.
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Waiting for me to honor it. Waiting for me to look at myself and finally, for once, be kind to the me I found there, flaws and all. Off the couch, life lied to me.
Told me I was ugly and incomplete. Inadequate and broken. Life off the couch was a constant chase — to look different, to be better, to achieve more, to finally be good enough. The ever elusive, never-captured good enough was my only north star. On the couch, the truth set me free. I was my north star. I was beautiful and full.
Extraordinary and whole. And each epiphany gave me the clarity and the courage to be more and more of the change I wanted to see in my own life with each passing day.
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Now, I have just described what may seem like a beautiful, linear, quick and painless pathway. There was the time I left my session, got in my car, sat for 10 minutes, and laughed hysterically because I literally had no more tears left.
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Thank God this only happened once, because I scared my own self. There were times my heart hurt. Sending the texts and making the choices that conceded my power back to other people instead of gripping it with all my strength.
Pages of me Chapter 5
The work was hard. Therapy requires regular practice to work. And that meant being consistent in this one thing , even if I felt like I was dropping balls everywhere else-which, of course, added to my anxiety. But the routine discipline of regular therapy sessions forced me into the habit of looking inward. Of learning how to manage my anxiety. Of investing in myself enough to practice forgiveness for the days past and courage for the days ahead. He gave me an amused look.
That must cost a fortune. Of course, he could afford that. He was a freaking billionaire. He was about to open the passenger side door for me but paused. I could feel my face flush with excitement but I tried to squash it. I don't want to risk scratching it. His faith in me took me by surprise. Even if you do end up scratching it, it's fine with me. It will be worth it. The excitement took over me and I climbed inside.
As expected, the interior of the car was simply stunning with Alcantra seats and carbon-fiber surfaces. Instead of the traditional steering wheel, it boasted a racing wheel equipped with a range of buttons and switches. Forums The Watty Awards. Go Premium. Log in Sign Up. Touch me like you do by eMikhailov Touch me like you do Table of contents.
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Chapter 5: Letter - Wikipedia
Send to Friend. Great, now he was laughing at me. Why not?