"I didn't realize you were just having fun."

a roundup of archived posts, pics from vacay, and a little story or two.

Welcome to this tiny corner of the internet where an off-duty psychotherapist keeps the conversation going on how to make sense of this life thing we’re all doing. If you ever wondered what your therapist does off the clock—which, who among us hasn’t?—this is like that. Think of it as the adult equivalent of seeing your elementary school teacher at the grocery store picking out lemons. 🍋 I typically oscillate between long-form psychoeducation pieces and narrative essays—sometimes I smush them together. I also do a biweekly podcast with my husband, roundups and a segment of brisk thoughts on music, TV, and film. Today a little bee, bop, boop.

One thing before we jump in, I show up very much as myself here. Myself first, and all my other labels are secondary. If a therapist speaking candidly feels like too much to your system, that is absolutely is OK and this may not be the best particular newsletter for you.

I’m on a vacation with some family right now. Mothers and daughters, as it were. I started working on a draft of this piece before I left—so it would be ready to go while I was gone. I’ll be honest, in that go around, this whole first paragraph was mostly hedging about what this trip would be. To be fair to the me from four days ago, I had cried before I left in anxious anticipation and texted my friends to be on call in case I lost my shit. All internal signals were pointing toward brace for impact.

Instead, it was glorious.

Salt air. Highs in the 60’s (you read that right, HIGHS). One of my favorite naturally occurring weather events: wind. I read so many books.¹ I slept in. I watched The Bodyguard and Something’s Gotta Give…on DVD. Remember those? I played pickleball. My mom taught us cribbage and I thought my head was gonna explode from all the rules and how many times I had to listen to her use the word “pegging.” Sang screamed along to The Eagles and Whitney Houston the same way I have anytime I’m with these people. Like what else do you need?

At one point, I caught my mom laying in bed with her eyes seemingly closed. A book open by her side. I go to shut off the light. She startles.

“Can I turn this off for you?”

“No, I’m sleeping in-between.”

“In-between what?”

“Reading.”

I fell to the floor laughing. Nothing could be more my mother than multi-tasking reading and sleeping.

Even though I often work from a place of hope, a part of me can get cynical about what can change in relationships. About people being different. About me being different. Or if anything needs to be different at all. Do they need to be different or do I? Or both? Neither?