In April of last year I "broke up" with my otherwise-lovely therapist of over a decade. She's still a wonderful human, but she's a mother, and very happy with her femme-ness, and I felt our paths had diverged too much for my comfort. At some point it felt like she was trying to force a reconciliation with my mother, not because it would be good for me, but because she empathized with my mother's grief over the estrangement. And I couldn't quite shake the feeling that her idea of full self-actualization involved bearing and rearing a child. That uneasiness grew, and eventually I had to call it off.
I spent some time in April halfheartedly looking for another therapist, but nothing "fit". (And one of them was attractive enough I felt like I'd have trouble actually working with them, damn my brain's preference for baby dykes and femme men anyway). So instead I spent the last year working on the psychiatry end of things - which is differently expensive, and differently helpful. It was a relief to have one less thing to worry about scheduling. And I'm not going to lie, having those $600 a month back also gave me a little more breathing space in my budget.
But looking back at this blog, it's been one loss after another after another. I listed them two posts earlier, but let me add... my father, more Faire folks, my wonderful neighbor Matthew, and a good friend's amazing husband (coincidentally also named Matthew).
So at this point, when I cannot tell what's grief, and what's perimenopause, and what's overwork, and what's medication interactions... It's time to finally go back.
In some sort of fugue state last night I sent four...? five...? different interest pings. Two meetings tomorrow, one on Friday. I hope that one of these works out.
