I’ve had this post sitting in my browser for three days now while I try and come up with a title. I am now admitting defeat, and you get this stupidly long title that is going to screw with my formatting.

My first appointment with the psychologist was amazing, I walked out of his office feeling about fifty pounds lighter. There was no lying on the couch discussing my parent’s failings, there was no awkward silence as I flounder around trying to work out what to say.

We sat at his desk, drank a cup of tea and he told me that it’s okay to be really fucking angry the hand I have been dealt.

We laughed, a lot, I had this vision of me spending an hour sobbing, but he only made me cry once. We laughed over pretty much anything, we discussed how much last minute changes wind us up. How when you’re set up to have toast for breakfast, but the bread is mouldy, so you have to have cereal… how it throws you for the rest of the day, you’re pissed off about the last minute changes, finding it hard to focus and next thing you know you don’t know what to have for lunch.

We talked about my issues with transitions, he asked me how I’d gone through this particular transition. He said it better than I ever could, my baby died… and now I don’t know what to have for lunch.

Most importantly he told me I was normal. That the anger, the sadness, the guilt, the resentment, they were all normal.

I wish I’d have done it months ago.