had therapy thursday. told her about the anniversary coming up.
the session #
dr r picks things up fast. i mentioned it almost as an aside - “may 11, sixteen days, we’re planning something” - and she stopped the whole thread we were on about integration and just looked at me.
“first year.”
yeah.
“what does that feel like? having a real milestone coming up?”
dr r asks questions like that while sitting there in whatever she had on this week, which was a wrap dress that did not leave a lot to interpretation, and she maintains this totally clinical composure that somehow makes it feel safe to actually answer instead of deflecting. mid-40s, looks 35, been asking me questions for two and a half years now. still a confusing hour every week.
what does it feel like.
the obvious answer is good. it feels good. A. and i built something real, made it through the hard parts, we’re solid. that part’s true.
the less obvious answer is there’s a version of may 11 in my head where my parents are at the table. dad would’ve said something embarrassing at exactly the wrong moment. mom would’ve been crying since the ceremony and then denied it completely. that version doesn’t exist and it never will.
i said both things out loud. first time i’ve actually named the second one in a session.
dr r wrote something in her notebook, which she only does when she thinks something matters.
she said: “grief and gratitude aren’t opposites. the fact that both are present is healthy.”
i said that wasn’t exactly comforting.
she said it wasn’t meant to be comforting. it was meant to be true.
that’s why i keep going back. she doesn’t try to make things feel better. she just makes them feel accurate. weird thing to pay for. works though.
she asked how A. was handling the lead-up. i told her about the secret plans, A. watching for clues like a detective, the ongoing failure of her investigation.
dr r smiled. “she sounds like she’s enjoying it.”
yeah. she is.
halfway #
A. declared saturday afternoon cooking lesson six.
salmon in a skillet. she made me do the whole thing from scratch - seasoning, oil temp, knowing when to flip. her version of supervision is standing three feet back with arms crossed waiting for me to need her. her version of a good lesson is me not asking anything.
i asked one question. whether you go by color or just time.
“both,” she said. “you’ll feel it eventually.”
salmon came out right. 6/10. halfway there. she texted her mom and her mom responded with a gif of someone doing a victory dance, which is a development i did not anticipate. her whole family has a running tally of my culinary progress now. i’ve accepted this.
A. leaned against the counter eating a piece straight off the spatula before it hit the plate.
“okay. that was actually really good.”
“i know.”
she flicked water at me from the sink.
sixteen days #
whatever i have planned - and she has been absolutely conducting an investigation for three weeks - she’s still got nothing. i’ve been good at this in a way i didn’t know i was capable of.
this is the same brain that runs multi-strategy algo systems simultaneously. keeping one secret from one person should not be this satisfying. and yet.
may 11. our first anniversary. full year.
sixteen days.
11:43 PM #
she’s asleep. BTC flat overnight. options book closed green for the week. nothing on fire.
outside it’s that late-april san diego thing where it’s 62 degrees at midnight and the air smells like salt if the wind is right.
the grief stuff is still there. not as heavy as march. more like background noise than the main track. dr r says that’s integration - it doesn’t disappear, it just stops being the loudest thing in the room.
it’s not the loudest thing tonight.
sixteen days. i know what we’re doing. she doesn’t.
good saturday.
-AK