If she read every post in one sitting, in order, with no breaks.
Let’s set the scene: my therapist knows my name. Not “knows of me” knows me — full-name, life-story, “oh, we’re doing THIS today” knows me. Which means if she ever sat down and read this entire blog front to back, she would not be surprised by a single word of it. She would, however, have thoughts. So many thoughts. Here’s my best guess at what some of those thoughts would sound like, session by session, post by post.
On the Obligatory Introduction, where I announced I’m done apologizing for existing
“You spent one paragraph telling me you used to try to be smaller and quieter, and then wrote four thousand words proving you are, in fact, extremely large and loud. I’d call that growth, but I’d also like to point out you did it in the same breath. Let’s focus on taking the time to learn the lesson versus flying by the seat of your pants.”
She’d pause here, the way she does when she’s about to make me actually think.
“You don’t have to prove the smallness is gone. You just have to stop shrinking. Those aren’t the same performance.”
On the Husband Chronicles, all seven parts
“You’ve now documented your marriage in more installments than most people write about their entire childhood. Good. Keep going. This is called processing, and I’ll take it over a Moe crash-out any day.”
Then, because she can never resist a follow-up question, she’d tilt her head and ask, “And how many more parts are we anticipating? Should I clear my calendar?” I would not have a good answer. There is never a good answer to that question.
On “A Love Letter to Bad Decisions That Became Good Stories”
“You wrote a love letter to moving in with a man you’d just met, a finals-week road trip, a flight to meet an internet stranger, and a forty-thousand-dollar pay cut — and called all four some of the best decisions of your life. I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m saying we should probably talk about why ‘reckless’ is your love language.”
She’d let that sit for a second, then add, almost gently:
“You keep confusing the leap with the landing. They’re not the same thing, and you’ve been lucky enough times that you don’t recognize the difference.”
I wouldn’t have a rebuttal for that one either. She’d know it.
On “My Oldest Is My Best Friend and I Will Not Apologize for That”
“This is the first post where you weren’t defending a decision. You were just proud. Do this more often. This is true growth.”
She’d probably sit with that one a beat longer than the others, because we both know how rare it is for me to write something without a single caveat attached to it. No qualifiers. No “but here’s why it’s actually fine.” Just — proud. “I’d like to bill this session as a breakthrough.”
On the Nickelback concert post
“You went to a rock concert nine months pregnant, got doused in beer, declined drugs from strangers, and called it ‘peak Last Hoorah energy.’ I want to be concerned. I am also just extremely proud of you for living life on your own terms.”
Then, because she’s incapable of leaving well enough alone, she’d ask, “And Jenny was fully on board for all of this? Of course she was. I don’t know why I asked.”
On any post where I claim I’m “totally over it”
silence.
more silence.
“Same girl, same.”
She wouldn’t even look up from her notepad for that one. Some things don’t need a follow-up question. We both already know how the story ends.
Here’s the thing about being someone’s client for as long as I’ve been someone’s client: at some point, they stop being surprised by you, and start being amused by you instead. Which honestly might be the actual goal of therapy — not to fix the mess, just to get to a place where the mess makes you laugh instead of spiral.
I imagine if she ever did read this blog, she wouldn’t be shocked. She’d just pause, the way she does, and say something like, “Well. At least you’re writing about it instead of doing it again.”
Which, fair.
I’ll call it a win.
— Moe
