… is basically like life with therapy, except I do more crying at three AM, staring at the ceiling fan in our living room because I hurt too much all over to sleep in the bed with my husband and dogs. In therapy, I could cry in a comfy Lay Z Boy with a handy box of tissues placed nearby. Without therapy, I cry in the bathtub as quietly as I can so as not to alarm my family in the other room.
In therapy, someone had to wait patiently for me to pull myself together before asking me some kind of leading question about… whatever.
Out of therapy… the sound of my husband snoring is the loneliest sound in the world.