I believe in therapy. Basically I believe in talking to someone to sort through your issues and problems. And sometimes if they are a little too complex, someone who has studied human behavior is excellent to help you figure things out. I’ve been to therapy several times in my life–I’m not afraid to admit it.
Let’s think this out, shall we? As women, what do we really all want, pretty much all the time? Someone to talk to. Scratch that–someone who will LET us talk while they listen. And that’s one reason why women can’t get enough ‘girl talk’ time…because we are all bursting to say our piece and since we all interrupt each other, we can never get in enough words. So sometimes we need therapy. Someone who will just listen and make OUR problems a priority.
But therapy isn’t always an option…So what do we do? What do I do? What I’ve ALWAYS done. I talk to myself.
All. The. Time. Out Loud.
One evening, after a very rough day with my kids, I told my hubby that I just needed to get OUT of the house by myself for awhile. So I drove to Walmart to return something I’d needed to anyway. And as I pulled into the parking lot, I found that I couldn’t get out of the car. I couldn’t face the Walmart circus quite yet. So I sat in my car and talked to myself, out loud. For about a half hour. It was literally as if I was in a therapy session, only there was no one taking notes and saying, “And how does that make you FEEL?”
I let my thoughts wander freely, discussing topics with myself about everything from how wretched my kids behaved that day, how I feel a failure as a mom, to why on earth people still smoke cigarettes. And when I went home later, I felt great. Fully refreshed and ready to face whatever came at me. I believe I might have even formed a new resolve to be the most patient mother ever.
And here’s the thing…I’ve done this since I was a little kid. I would start my little self-talk therapy sessions out as prayers to God. But when they became an hour-long recap of my day, it was clear that I couldn’t call it a prayer anymore. I mean, He really doesn’t need to hear everything He just witnessed AGAIN. It’s no Sports Center.
So I just had to admit that I talk to myself out loud. Am I alone in this? Pretty sure I’m not, and pretty sure it’s not something that makes me insane. Although some days I feel that if I DONT talk to myself I will become certifiable. Like today.
My three-year-old found out that it’s apparently hilarious to chew up carrots and then spit them all over his brother.
Mom was not pleased.
Thank goodness for therapy.