As I sit here, in a gorgeous bar outside of an independent cinema I feel guilty, like I'm doing myself a hardship, for sipping on a subtle, delicious English apple cider. As I drink this I'm probably undoing all the good I did in therapy today. Maybe I'm poisoning myself, dulling out the uncomfortable exposed honesty that emerged over the last hour.
Or, just maybe, I am enjoying a beverage, alone, in a public place, demonstrating my amazing lack of social awkwardness and being satisfied with my own company. I do feel a bit like a traveller sitting here. The same anxieties arose as before. Will I feel suitably comfortable in this cafe... Is there a gorgeous hideaway that I'm missing out on?
Yesterday I finished a beautiful drawing for a close friend. I spent the time drawing dialoguing with myself, encouraging myself to continue, against the doubts, the put downs, the discouraging thoughts of being found out as an imposter... Actually those thoughts are still hanging around. I hid it while I was at the shops looking for a frame. I thrust it at an acquaintance when I saw here, flashing it so quickly she couldn't see it, leaving me distraught that she didn't praise or encourage me.
I wrapped it beautifully, with love and care, then unable to tolerate the anticipation of polite tolerance or smug rejection of my amateur work I gave it a day early... She loved it.
She saw the thoughts.
She saw the time.
She appreciated the honesty, the work.
I'm okay, it's okay, we're okay.
