Several years ago I wrote an essay about my ideal retreat. I needed to escape to a safe, therapeutic place. I described my dream counseling experience. I felt it tugging at my heart to share it with you… in pieces MUAAHHA.
“Can it really only be Wednesday?” I asked myself. It was the longest week I had experienced in a long time. School was crashing down on me, the women I met with were all at hard crossroads, my job was pressuring me to fulfill a role I did not want to fill, and I had not sat down with my husband to have a real conversation in a week. I can’t believe it’s only Wednesday. I had gotten home from work, exhausted, and sat down on the couch to write. The minute I hit the couch, tears started pouring from my eyes. I felt as though I was in over my head. I felt ignored. I feared I was doomed for a life without self-exploration and care. The only thing I could think about was escaping to a place where someone would actually pour into me instead. The counselor wanted counseling. No, the counselor needed counseling. My mind began to dream about this place I could escape to. I looked in my wallet at my insurance card. “Does not cover mental health services” was written in red ink across the back. I was left alone to my dreaming once again. I took off my boots, pulled my legs up near my chest, pulled a blanket around my shoulders and began dreaming about my retreat.