Every time I am at my therapist’s (digital) office, I cry.

I cry about the little things, tiny pieces of trash that feel like a mountain.

Visually, I think of it like a small trash bag with litter trailing behind and I present it to her, while behind me is a pile of of trash more than half my size.

Then she takes the trash bag and sorts it out and I’m left with nothing but a few crushed cans, crumpled paper, and candy wrapper. The mountain of trash behind me has also disappeared. They were all in my head and I just needed help with diverting my trashy thoughts into recycling, compost, refundable and landfill.

When I come to her with all my worries and “problems” she always asks me at the end of all this sorting of feelings and thoughts, “Is it problematic?”

At the end of all this, are you carrying yourself through this life or are you stagnating? Are you harming yourself? Is it a big enough problem that it will ruin your entire life?

I let out a squeak, “no.”

Are my choices something I can live with? Can I sleep at night?

“…well, yes.” I sleep well, eat well and live well.

The remnants of all this trash:

-a child like demeanour for a middle-aged woman

-resentment for a friend

…Are not trash after all.

Of course, let’s be childlike! When did I have time to be a child with the burnout and unfortunate pressure I had growing up?

Of course, my anger is important and healthy because I was not seen as a friend.

When she asks me how I feel after we talk about it I tell her I feel so much better.

I just needed a slight shift in perspective. Someone to witness and say that yes, my feelings are valid.

After therapy, I take out my leftover fried chicken order and eat it for brunch.

Then I start heading out, first to my pharmacy to collect my meds and then to take an hour long bus ride to the neighbouring city of Richmond to see a friend. That friend is running late, her schedule changes as I write. 30 minutes, 45 minutes. Luckily I brought my journal with me .

Now I am at a café spending some time alone while I eat my cake.