coping tender_square she was preoccupied with her makeup, holding the tissue below her lash line to dam the tear before they left a streak of tell-tale black down her cheek. “what would happen if you came here at a time when you didn’t have to hold anything back?” her therapist asked. “he is always with me. he is always dropping me off and picking me up.” he could tell when her eyes were puffy and would ask how her session had gone. “there are only so many stories i can create.” she often blamed it on events that had upset her with family, or being rejected as a writer, when really, she didn’t talk about these things with frequency anymore. “i think there is also a fear,” she went on, “that if i did let go, i wouldn’t be able stop.” she recounted an anecdote about her mother saying something similar, that if she allowed herself to fully grieve what had happened to her daughters with their addictions, the sister who had turned against her, her husband who had alzheimer’s, she would never get out of bed again. “it’s a strength thing,” she said. “i draw it by not allowing myself to let go.” 220404 what's it to you? who go blather from