Well, here we are again. Monday.
This Monday is far from my favorite Monday simply because it’s atypical. It won’t end with therapy like all of my other Mondays do, it’s the last Monday of the summer before school starts, and it just feels so…off.
I really wish that today was as it usually is, and I’m definitely feeling a certain type of way about not having therapy tonight.
We only have until the end of August before she’s moving locations, which means that including tonight, only 3 more Mondays.
So that means for me, I only have 2 more days total until she moves, and missing tonight stings that much more because of it.
It might not seem like it’s much of a big deal. Like, it’s just an office building, why should I care, right?
But I’ve spent countless hours there in that room. 2-3 hours a week for the majority of it. I’ve gone through unimaginable hardships and extreme amounts of pain and trauma during the 5 or so years she’s been there.
I had been seeing her for years prior to her moving to that location, but I took a really short break because I was pregnant and in the newborn stages with my now 5 year old.
And actually, it was her moving into that very office that made me come back after that quick break. I remember getting the letter in the mail that she moved, and she mentioned my son by name in that letter. I had only mentioned his name maybe twice throughout my entire pregnancy, and it really made me feel a certain type of way that she cared enough to remember it, and wish him well by name.
I think I went back when he was like 3 weeks old. Maybe 5. But not any more than that.
I’ve done an enormous amount of work in that room, on that couch. I’ve grown in those years more than any other collective time period. Nothing about it has ever been easy. I had to learn to trust her. I had to learn to talk. And that alone was hard. In her old office, I spent a disgusting amount of hours just…not even talking.
I have admitted so many things for the first time to anyone ever in that room. And I worked on things I never thought I’d need to work on.
It’s a lot. It feels like a chapter is closing that I’m not done reading yet. Like I’m not at the ending, I didn’t get there fast enough, and now I don’t get to finish the story.
I’ve never felt safe in any single place in my entire life. Ever. Besides that room. That room that I’ll only get to see 2 more times.
I’m just worried that I’ll never feel safe like that again.
And that’s hard. It really is.