A couple of days ago, when my period ended and I was feeling much better, I told him I planned on rescheduling mytherapy session, and he merely kissed the top of my head before whispering, “I knew you would.”
I’ve never known someone to have such confidence in me. I’ve never known someone who knew me well enough to see through my mind in ways I myself am blind to.
Though, therapy itself ended up being far more painful than I had anticipated. First, she asked me about my childhood, my relationship with my parents, and with my brothers. But we spent most of the session talking about why I canceled before. It was easy enough to open up to my therapist, Jocilyn, about my PMDD, because it felt less heavy than all of my other trauma.
She suggested I start tracking my cycle again so I can better anticipate it, and that I see a doctor to get checked out and see if a switch in birth control may help, or potentially explore antidepressants. She validated the way my symptoms have changed over the years, and how life’s stressors can contribute to the severity of the illness.
That’s when she asked me about my trauma, and why I’m seeking therapy.
For some reason, I immediately broke down. I didn’t know where to begin. The words spilled from me like vomit. It was wretched and painful. I gave her the surface level of my past, and the trauma that came with it, along with all the consequences I’ve been facing since. My poor excuse for a life in New York, my poor coping with alcohol, and my guilt for allowing the same boy I ran away from to save me.
She said there is a lot to unpack, and she looks forward to seeing me again, but that she wants me to remind myself that my grief is valid, and so is my happiness. I can feel both emotions at once, I can hold space for them, but they need not cancel each other out.
I think it’s too soon to know if therapy is going to help me or not. All I know right now is that I’m fucking drained, and I don’tknow how I’m supposed to work the remainder of my shift after an hour of trauma-dumping all over a stranger.
Taking a deep breath, I get out of my car and head inside the back door of The Wicked Wildflower. It’s a Friday afternoon, and the weather is stunning—as to be expected in early May. Dahlia finally got around to adding a few tables outside the front doors on the boardwalk, and with the sun shining down over the Pacific, the view is phenomenal. Every table out there is occupied. It’s slower inside, just a few customers working quietly in the corner booths.
I walk through the swinging double doors that lead to the kitchen before stashing my bag in the break room and grabbing an apron. As I exit, I find Dahlia standing at the large counter rolling dough for tomorrow’s menu.
“Hey.” She smiles at me as she continues working. “How was your session?”
“Good, but also awful?” I laugh, tying the apron around my waist. “I feel exhausted.”
“That’s normal. A sign that it’s probably working.” She winks. “I always try and do something relaxing after my sessions, like take a bath. After Lou’s, we go home and make her favorite desserts, and after our family sessions, Everett and I typically take her to do something fun together, like go to the movies or surfing.”
“You guys attend family therapy?” I ask.
I’d known that Dahlia had helped Darby and her daughter into therapy, and that Everett was seeing one as well to support them, but I didn’t know they went together.
“Yeah.” She smiles. “He wants to make her adjustment to this new lifestyle as easy as possible for her, and he thinks it helps them bond as a father-daughter dynamic, which is important to him.”
“You know, he wouldn’t do this for anyone else,” I say. “He loves you guys so fucking much. It’s sickening.”
“I know.” She nods, smiling to herself. “Anyway, what do you have planned after your shift later?”
“I honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead.” I shrug. “Probably reading.” I’ve been hyperfocused on editing my manuscript after work most days, but after today’s session, I don’t know if I’ll be feeling up to it.
“You should come to the beach with Darby and me. I think your mom is going to join us after she finishes her book club this evening.”
“What do you guys do at the beach?” I ask.
Dahlia glances up at me, smirking. “You’ll have to come with us to see.”
I see Dahlia almost every day at work, and I see Darby often enough when she pops in, as well, but we don’t spend a significant amount of time together outside of family dinner on Sundays. I make time for coffee dates with my mom, and my brothers will often join too.
I’ve never been invited to just…hang out with Darby and Dahlia, though. They’re sisters, and it feels like something I’d be encroaching on. I was friends with Darby one summer years ago, but outside of that, I’ve always struggled to maintain girl friendships, often feeling like the odd one out.
“I wouldn’t want to impose?—”
“Shut up.” Dahlia rolls her eyes playfully. “Sisters can’t impose. It’s impossible. In fact, now that I know you don’t have plans, I’m going to be pissed off if you don’t join. So, I’ll plan to leave when you finish your shift and ask Peggy to complete tomorrow’s prep, and then we’ll force Darby to sneak away early too.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Nodding toward the front of the bakery, she adds, “Now go back to work.”
“You have some serious mommy energy.”
“I know.”
