At this moment, my job as a therapist is to be here, present
You sit across from me, hair bleached blonde with blue streaks, jeans, an emblazoned black tee, and a studded cuff bracelet.
“My parents never cared about me,” you choke. “They always chose themselves first and put their religion before me. I… I never was allowed to have any needs.”
The words swirl in the air of my light- green therapy office, the room that has held so many years of your pain.
As you sniffle, I see the hard I-don’t-care-about-anyone mask forming on your face, but the pain in your eyes can’t be masked so easily.
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