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The kids don't say IRL anymore
I switched over to a new health care provider with the new year and, lo and behold, I now have access to mental health services!
I had my first therapy session today, which basically amounted to saying "I have issues with anxiety and all my coping methods are made of fail," and then talking about my family. I must say, when you lay it all out there--it sounds pretty damn bad. I kept wanting to tell her, "Really, it sounds worse than it was." Because for me this is normal. I suspect that everyone's childhood sounds traumatic when told at length to a therapist. (I told my husband that we talked about my brothers and he said, "Oh, so you told her about the whole 'leaving you to die in the snow' thing, then?" And I was like, "No, we didn't get to that.")
I didn't feel much of a connection with the doctor. She made a statement which made me feel uncomfortable and I didn't call her on it (my red hair, about which I'm unreasonably sensitive). I'm not sure how much of my discomfort was because this is a new and scary situation and how much of it was because we're not compatible, though, so I think I'll give it a few more sessions before I ask to see someone else.
Writing continues apace. I haven't set any goals for 2010 because that way lies disappointment, but I'm hoping I'm more productive than in 2009 (a universal sentiment, it seems). 1,750 words so far this year--quite a bit, for me. I'm considering declaring fic amnesty for everything I didn't finish in 2009, so I can start the new year without the weight of unfinished pieces pulling me down.
I am... cautiously optimistic.
I had my first therapy session today, which basically amounted to saying "I have issues with anxiety and all my coping methods are made of fail," and then talking about my family. I must say, when you lay it all out there--it sounds pretty damn bad. I kept wanting to tell her, "Really, it sounds worse than it was." Because for me this is normal. I suspect that everyone's childhood sounds traumatic when told at length to a therapist. (I told my husband that we talked about my brothers and he said, "Oh, so you told her about the whole 'leaving you to die in the snow' thing, then?" And I was like, "No, we didn't get to that.")
I didn't feel much of a connection with the doctor. She made a statement which made me feel uncomfortable and I didn't call her on it (my red hair, about which I'm unreasonably sensitive). I'm not sure how much of my discomfort was because this is a new and scary situation and how much of it was because we're not compatible, though, so I think I'll give it a few more sessions before I ask to see someone else.
Writing continues apace. I haven't set any goals for 2010 because that way lies disappointment, but I'm hoping I'm more productive than in 2009 (a universal sentiment, it seems). 1,750 words so far this year--quite a bit, for me. I'm considering declaring fic amnesty for everything I didn't finish in 2009, so I can start the new year without the weight of unfinished pieces pulling me down.
I am... cautiously optimistic.