“My biggest anxiety about becoming a therapist is feeling that I am inadequate. My instructors reassure me that this is a normal feeling, that many therapists experience this in their first year or two of training, and that we’re not expected to be perfect. But it doesn’t make any difference—it remains my biggest anxiety. I believe it’s because I was always second best in my family of origin. No matter what I did, my sister was always smarter...more creative. I learned to feel really uncomfortable whenever I wasn’t in complete command and didn’t know just exactly what I was supposed to do. So, even though some part of me knows that I’m really not inadequate, it still churns my stomach when I am not good at something right away.”

“My therapist told me I need to learn to love myself. It sounds easy enough, but really, how do you just wake up one day and learn that? It feels like something you should just do involuntarily, like swallowing or blinking, but now I have to work on it. It feels so forced. I mean, I know I went to a good school, and people tell me I'm smart and creative, but I don't KNOW that. I don't know how to make myself feel that.”

“I am anxious. I am always anxious. I should change my name to Anxiety Dickinson. I am anxious about my little sister. My big sister. My mother. Myself. Life. I am anxious about what to wear, what to eat, what to say, how to breathe.”

“It's not my story anymore: whenever I speak about the past now, I feel as if I were talking about something that has nothing to do with me. All that remains in the present are the voice, the presence, and the importance of fulfilling my mission. I don't regret difficulties I experienced; I think they helped me to become the person I am today, I feel the way a warrior must feel after years of training; he doesn't remember the details of everything he learned, but he knows how to strike when the time is right.”

“When I told the therapist that the “me” that I am now is the best me I can be, I was truthful. I’ve always given you my best, so when you say it's not enough, it chips away at the “best me.”

“I am so sad. I am so sad it makes me heavier than the sum of my parts. I shift, restless, but it doesn’t help. It’s like—time. All this time in here is on me, has its hooks in me. Maybe if I sleep more, I’ll wake up and I’ll feel different, but I can’t. The storm is really happening now and it makes the room feel emptier. Makes me feel emptier.”