There is a garden now, that will, in time, be mine to tend - but these hands, soft and unsure, still reach for yours, without pause, as they have always done when I don't know how to begin. I stand lost and in awe of the asking, unsure of where to look, of what belongs where, unclear, in fact, of how anything takes root at all. And then there's you, turning up at my door, turning up, always, with herbs from home and pockets full of bluebell seeds. I watch as you tend the dirt

Some people are coy about therapy and speak about it with a kind of polite distance, as though it sits just outside the edges of their real life. I’ve never quite seen it that way. In fact, I'm very vocal about how grateful I am to have a therapist that has, in ways both subtle and profound, helped me change my life (and my brain) for the better. Over the years we've worked together, one idea in particular surfaced again and again in our conversations, until I began to reali