T The Autopsy of Who I Was
When therapy strips away every story you built to survive, you are left standing over the body of your former self, and the hardest part is not the grief. It is the recognition.
When therapy strips away every story you built to survive, you are left standing over the body of your former self, and the hardest part is not the grief. It is the recognition.
Where I trace the origins of my oldest wounds, back to the child who was asked to carry what no child should, and forward to the adult still learning to set it down.