I remember some key things from psychotherapy. It was a revelation to me when my therapist said:
It's okay to change your mind.
He didn't, in that moment, mean about what I was having for dinner, but that's included in the permission to understand that our words are not always our bond, but our process - a way of getting to grips with thought, emotion, woundedness, intent, desire, the bewilderment of being unsure of what we want because of, well, because of (for one thing) our unique interaction with the world not being taken seriously enough as children. Being squashed down.
The poems: they don't come out fully formed, you know. It's usually a bit messy.
So here I am, back in my blog which, I have learned since I announced its demise in June, is a friend I don't want to live without. Not right now, anyway, when I'm in grief and times are so troubled.
I've swapped my mind. I've re-embraced, in doing this, the thinking I was given space for in therapy - a place of compassion, acceptance, acknowledgement, experimentation, and a lot of laughter. In cognitive-behavioural therapy terms (if you prefer this approach, dear readers) I am reframing the thought, I said I wouldn't so I can't, to, I've changed my mind, and it feels good to be back.
So here I am. In front of me is the same, remembered gate of writing about what I've noticed in the day, and what I can capture in a first person simple present phrase.
I step through.
