Sometimes life seems to be going along swimmingly, or sort of swimmingly in a getting pushed along by the waves kind of way. Then you get caught in a rip and you’re not sure how to get out, so you think, “hey, may be I’ll go talk to a therapist. Just once or twice. Everything will be ok.”
So you go to the therapist. She seems nice. You feel better for having talked to her, so you go back again. Then she says that things can get better only you have to deal with the toxic waste of the past. So you keep going back.
Only your symptoms start getting worse before they get better, and you find yourself floundering in the rough seas. You get knocked against the rocks and you get swept under – not once, but a few times.
Each time you drag yourself out, just try to keep your head above the water. But the waves keep coming and the world seems so dark that you’re not even sure which way the shore is anymore.
But one day the clouds start to part and the seas start to calm. Slowly at first. Then you catch sight of the shore again. But those damned waves keep coming and washing you under.
And then you discover a neat little book that makes you feel more peaceful, despite the waves. It helps you say:
“I don’t know what the hell is going on, and that’s ok.”