project.

i had tried all the tools and blueprints to build the life i thought i wanted, but each tool broke and the blueprints were wrong. i wanted to give up and stop trying to fix the mechanical errors, to stop working to build something that was already broken, but something in me didn’t want to let go of this unfortunate project.

so, i found her. she was the first one that i took seriously. it had been so long since i had been able to open up, to share, to breathe. at my first appointment, i was shy and timid, shaking and quaking like falling oak leaves, but resolute at the core of my being that i was going to fix this. i spent the first 3 months just working up the courage to tell her i was hurting.

it took 8 months before i let my back touch the back cushions of her couch, but once it did the stories and feelings and memories fled from my brain like lightning. she listened patiently, compassionately, and nodded her head as i rambled and scrambled to pick up the pieces of my life and make a prettier home.

12 months in, i cried in her office for the first time.

at 14 months, she helped me fit some pieces together, but others remained a mystery. their source and their fit in the overall picture was too difficult to imagine, for now. we patched together what we could, saying there was always more work to do and that at least the blueprints weren’t so wrong anymore.

finally, after 18 months, we concluded that another expert architect was needed to continue the project. we reminisced on our time, how far the project had come, and how our hopes for its future were brighter than ever. we have said our goodbyes for the last time, but she will never leave me.