Last week, I had a difficulty with my boyfriend, but he did not want to talk about it. I discussed this with my therapist, who advised me to talk to my best friend when I have disagreements with my boyfriend. I talk to my best friend about everything, and I agreed to try this.
In the ensuing week, I had a different difficulty with my boyfriend, and I realized that not talking to him about it was utter nonsense. I have to be able to have simple, compassionate discussions with him in order to have a healthy relationship. I did indeed discuss the latest difficulty with him, and we worked through it.
I’m going to talk to my therapist tonight about his faulty idea. I know the result will be better communication between us. I also know that there will be further explanation of what he meant, which I had forgotten or didn’t hear fully. I’m not worried about it. I have an excellent therapist, and we get along well. Because we get along well, I do not fear telling him that he was wrong about an idea. We’ll work it out.
Therapy is vitally important for me. It is a place where I tell all. All. I leave nothing out. It frees me so profoundly that I have a place where I can go and reveal my darkest parts. I used to carry secrets that made me ill. I don’t suffer in silence anymore. I have a place where I can be totally open. It’s hard to describe the joy that gives me.
Meditation is the most important thing I do, and therapy is second. Taking medication is a very close third, then comes exercise. Finally, there’s sleep, which I’m not getting enough of right now. There’s stuff going on at work that has me stressed, and the result is less sleep due to anxiety. I have no trouble falling asleep, but I don’t get enough hours of good rest. My diet is important, too. I try to eat food that is good for me. I do a pretty good job of it.
Another day in recovery.