The house in the middle of nowhere is now nothing but a shell. Some day, we will retire there. It’s a plan, and a work in progress. Our obstacle is that we aren’t old enough yet.
We recently spent a couple of days in that empty little house, and I had nowhere to hide. All the tendencies I have toward perfection were magnified for the eyes of my husband. Every little producer of anxiety played out as an ugly film in my mind.
Messing with the arrangement of the meager furnishings was like yelling, “hey, watch the crazy lady move that step-stool one millimeter to the left, wait–change that to three millimeters to the right“.
The words of my therapist accompany my personal thoughts these days. In the beginning of treatment, I didn’t believe that I could observe my thoughts.
Oh, how wrong I was.
My thoughts are what brought me to where I was.
My thoughts are what will take me to where I’m going.