There is a particular kind of account that surfaces early in therapy — coherent, practiced, assembled from real experience. Someone describing how they always end up in the same situation, how they have never quite been able to do the thing they said they wanted,...
Late afternoon on a Vermont hillside, somewhere in the middle of summer. The valley below is the particular green it only gets this time of year. And the mind, given the space that view creates, goes directly to what's wrong. This is not a character...
When the story you've been living was written more by expectation than by choice, there tends to come a moment — sometimes quiet, sometimes harder to ignore — when the gap between that story and a more honest one becomes difficult to set aside.