On Tuesday mornings, Dr. Chen's office carries the scent of chamomile mixed with something hopeful. Thursdays arrive slower, wrapped in lavender and a quiet kind of surrender. I've come to recognize each fragrance well - twice weekly I settle into that soft beige chair. The effort unfolds slowly there, not loud but deep, shaping what few warn you about: how tough it can feel to simply sit with who you are.
"Tell me about the anxiety you felt when you said no to dinner with your mom," Dr. Chen says on a Tuesday in early April.
Done the work. Sat with that weight, wrote it down, turned it over again and again. Guilt showed up. As if choosing myself was betrayal. Silence felt like proof I cared less
"And what did you discover when you sat with that guilt?"
"That it wasn't actually about her," I say slowly. "It was about me. She didn't make me feel guilty. I made myself feel guilty for having a boundary."
