Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I will be talking to my therapist this morning after six weeks. What I'm dealing with has no expiration, so I haven't minded waiting this long, in fact it was my idea. I'm a yoyo, up and down, and underneath feels like a bunch of broken ribs. I'm finally picking up my support pieces, my friends mainly, and taping the ribs until they heal enough it doesn't hurt so much to breathe. My therapist has been with me many years, and she knows my story, so we can take up wherever we left off without explanation. I know I have her sympathy, and she knows I trust in it. I never thought I'd still be occasionally talking to someone, but first my daughter's illness, my brother's suicide, and then the pandemic, among other things, has made me see it is wise to get her perspective on how I'm handling my life. I hardly know myself. Therapists can be like sages of wisdom, and this one is. And I need every tool in my belt.