Some medications make life bearable. Others have side effects that make it worse.
Welcome to my Nutella nightmare…
In the past year, my counselor and I have had around 20 sessions, and she’s been nothing but pleasant throughout. But last week she pulled out the big guns.
Apparently I’m a pro at re-directing conversations away from the point; at using the word “but” (which basically negates everything you said in the sentence before that word); and in sticking stubbornly to my irrational beliefs.
Several years ago, an allergy test revealed that I was allergic to both dust and cat dander, which explained my lifelong sniffly nose and sneezing.
Unfortunately, I haven’t done too well at complying with the recommended tips for allergy sufferers. I don’t wash my sheets weekly in hot water. (I can take the duvet cover off by myself, but putting it back on — that requires two people to climb inside and basically push the duvet around with their bodies until it’s marginally in place).
I absolutely love to dance, but growing up, had few opportunities. When I did, it was always at weddings, and I was so self-conscious that my dancing consisted of shifting my weight back and forth.
At some point in my early 20s (likely after a drink or two), I started watching how other girls danced — and decided that most of it was simply not giving a crap about what other people thought.