I remember the first time I realized that maybe the way I was seeing things was not the way things were. It was about twenty years ago and I was in counseling to deal with secondary infertility. My therapist said something about my mom — I don’t remember what, I have no idea what we were discussing — and I suddenly realized that if I took the conversation any further I’d have to confront some things I had no interest in confronting. I backed right up. I consciously said to myself, “Oh no, not now. Later maybe.” And I changed the subject.
But I knew I’d have to face it eventually.
When I was finally ready to dig in to the work it was as terrifying as I thought it would be. I told a friend (also then in therapy for family of origin issues) that I felt lost in space, that I did