I boiled over today. Just a bit. Simmering over the edge into my deepest insecurities. The hard part of not disappointing yourself, is obviously, that you must disappoint others. And for the longest time, that, I could not abide.

I hate disappointing others. It has been an anchor of my identity for over 30 years. Don’t worry, it’s also why I’m in therapy.

So today it all came bubbling up. I fell apart, and kept falling apart, and kept falling. I realized, there is still shame in my brokenness. It’s not so much as before, but it’s still there. Which is why it has always been hard to ask for help. I’m supposed to be the helper. The healer. The fixer. The soother. So much so, that no one knows how to soothe me.

Today was different. I let myself cry for a bit. And then I sought connection. I demanded it. I asked for what I needed. And he showed up. It wasn’t perfect. But he showed up, and that’s a quiet magic. A moment of hope in the darkness of my mind. A glimmer of potential. I was brave and unapologetic. And I’m proud of myself for not shutting off, for not shoving down my feelings to serve another.

My therapist is gonna be so fucking proud of me.

It still fucking sucks. And I remind myself, it’s not the end of the world.