Missing Therapy

This week, for the first time in eight years, I forgot to go to therapy.

It’s a very short story: the day before my appointment I checked my calendar for the next day, remembered I had therapy, and mentally and emotionally prepared myself. But the next morning I forgot. I overslept, dragged myself out of bed, and my session was half over before I checked my email and saw a concerned message from my therapist.

My first gut reaction was panic, followed closely by embarassment, rounded off with relief.

It’s no secret around here that I hate therapy.

I find it incredibly necessary but also incredibly like having your insides pulled out, inspected with a magnifying glass and tweezers, and replaced in a slightly different position than where they started. Your spleen moved two inches to the left and your heart isn’t as far north as it was before and your brain is distracted trying to figure out if everything’s still present and accounted for but you’re just supposed to continue on with your day. Go back to work. Talk like an adult human. Exercise and eat food.

Sometimes that’s fine, and sometimes that just feels absurd. I have been explored and rearranged like an island with nosy tourists and I would like to go home and go to bed, thank you very much.

So yes, I hate therapy. I also know that I need it in order to continue to function and have normal emotions and not get stuck in my head, where the stories are always the same. I need to go to therapy because I will not explore and rearrange myself without help, and I don’t want to stay the way I am, all anxiety and annoyance. I make myself go to therapy so I can grow and change.

But this time? This time I honestly forgot, and I am relieved.

How do you deal with things you hate? And if any of you have come to peace with therapy over the years and can give me some pointers, please do.