what does change mean to you?

Friends,

I’m writing to you again - can you believe it?

My therapist left her practice at the beginning of June, and I haven’t felt the pressure or need to find a new one yet. I was religious about going twice a month after my mom died - for probably about a good year and a half. Those twice a month sessions then turned into once a month sessions, which turned into me finding a new one, and then a new one again - and having sessions, maybe once every few months, as needed.

I love therapy because each session always pinpoints the same need: be kinder to yourself. I told my last therapist that that is something I struggle with. Being kinder to myself, celebrating and recognizing my achievements, thinking nicer thoughts and not always living in the “I should be”. After each session, she would tell me how proud she was of me, and I think I really needed that.

You see, I’m in a bit of a crossroads right now. I love being home, I do. I love this sunny apartment. I love my neighbourhood. I love the bakery where I get my latte and where the barista always sneaks me free cookies. I love wearing my green New Balance’s to the smoothie bar and having at least one person compliment me on them. (Author’s Note: Do people who wear New Balances belong in a cult?)

I love finding cheap happy hours and listening to the bartender tell me how her now husband was her old concierge. I love making new friends in unexpected places, and I love meeting the Internet friends that I’ve met online through these letters, in real life. There is something magic, something kismet about that. I love the boutiques that I’ll routinely browse when I’m bored, and how now one of the girls will point to things and say “It’s very you.” Or the two skincare stores that I’ll frequent, and the free samples I always leave with when I tell them I’m doing a self-care night. “Isn’t every night a self care night for you?” The girl smiles as she hands me a few pouches. It’s Oribe’s Gold Dust shampoo, conditioner, and oil.

“You’re right.” I tell her. “You are so right.”

Needless to say, I feel like I’ve built another community.

I want to be honest with you guys about something. Mainly because writing is my therapy, and sharing parts of my life and my stories are all part of my therapy now.

There is a guy. There is a man. Here, who has a tiny hold over my heart right now. And I want to be careful when I write this because, I’m scared he’s going to read it - so I want to be delicate with my phrasing.

I have never been one to put my life on hold because of a man. I was raised, in fact, in quite the opposite way. If you’ve read my writing for a while - you know that I’m not sure if I picture myself ever getting married or having kids. The idea is nice and beautiful for others, but it’s not something that I currently am searching for, or feel like I need.

But what I do feel like I am in need of, or am in search for - is that home. That stable and steady place or person. I’m getting teary-eyed writing this out, because those feelings of feeling safe in someone’s arms, and through the way in which they look at you - is what I feel when I am with him. It’s a change from what I have felt with other men. That reliability, that protectiveness that he has over me - it’s there. But there is something inside of me, that feeling - that isn’t entirely convinced that his arms are the ones I can sink into on any given day.

And I want to believe so badly, that they are. I do. And maybe that’s why I’ve been so teary eyed recently. Because I believe in him, but I’m not so sure if he believes in us, or believes in himself enough. This he has never said, but it is something that I feel. To which I understand.

I am a liability in a way, but aren’t we all?

I come with so much good. And he knows this. And I see his flaws and his faults, too. But I wonder, to myself - how much of my life am I willing to change? To give up to feel this type of security, if it is security anyway? He doesn’t even know that I’ve been thinking about things in a more logistical way.

The thing is - I don’t think he would ever ask me change, or to give up anything. This I know. But this might be the problem. Investing in someone who has change embedded into her.

My best friend tells me this feels like a Greek Tragedy all over again, to which, I agree.

I have no answers for this newsletter. No culminating thoughts. Except for this prompt that I read in Byline recently:

What does change mean to you?

Change. Flux. The one constant. The one reprieve. The one thing we can always rely on. I’m going to meditate on this prompt, tuck our love away in a little box, and hope that the universe brings me some sort of beautiful clarity. Some sort of beautiful change.

I love you.

Emily