Extraction

As the frayed copy of the DSM-IV on the bookshelf stared back at me, I scoured what remained of my brain for – and was unable to find – the answer to his final question in my final therapy session, What was it about this process that helped? 

Nearly 24 hours and a run and an ankle roll since, I think I have the – or at least an – answer: by interacting with someone willing to take some of the weight of the various fuckeries (not my word, but a pearl of genius found on Twitter, probably, years ago, a pearl I continue to use in the creative commons of myself) in my head off of my shoulders – and to do so not with judgement or by letting it weigh them down, but with an eye towards constructive problem solving – I found the space and the clarity within to step back and see them, the fuckeries, for what they were, bird by bird – to borrow from Ms Lamott – and to synthesize the tools given to me over the last year into a simple and individualized system of choice over reflex by which to extract my head from my ass in almost any situation, real or imagined: it gave me the space to see, to process.

It was a gift.