Page 226 of Tell Me I'm Enough

“What about her?” I ask defensively.

“You said she was the one person who made life bearable growing up.”

“She was.”

“And yet,” she says carefully, “you’re angry at her too.”

This bitter laugh leaves me. “Congratulations. You’re just saying what I’ve already said.”

“Can both things be true?” she asks. “That she loved you deeply—and that she failed to protect you?”

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out at first. I don’t want them both to be true.

“I don’twantto hate her or be mad at her.” I pause, not even wanting to voice that. “I feel like if I let myself be mad at her, then I lose the only good thing I had growing up.”

Her voice softens. “Sometimes anger is grief’s last defense.”

I run a hand through my hair and exhale slowly. “I don’t know how to do this,” I admit. “I don’t know how to feel all this shit without drowning in it.”

“That’s not something you learn overnight. Especially when no one ever taught you how.”

I shake my head. “I don’t even know why my dad made me do this. He would just say this is weak—feeling,talkingabout feeling, trying to heal. He would say that I’m weak for needing it. Maybe that’s why he did it, to prove that I am.”

She meets my eyes. “What doyouthink?”

“I think I’m tired.”

She nods. “Then maybe this isn’t about fixing you. Maybe it’s about giving you somewhere to put the weight you’ve been carrying.”

I don’t respond.

After a moment, she glances at the clock. “We’re almost out of time.”

I straighten up instantly at that, relieved and annoyed at the same time.

“As much as I’d love to stay and bare more of my soul to you,” I mutter, “I’ve got places to be.”

She smiles faintly, like she knows that’s bullshit.

“Before you go,” she says, “I want you to think about one thing this week.”

I pause at the door. “What?”

“What would it look like if the anger wasn’t the enemy—what if it was a cue?”

I snort. “That sounds like something you put on a motivational poster.”

“Maybe,” she agrees with a faint smile. “But think about it. Signals and cues are easier to recognize than emotions you don’t understand yet. Signals alert us that something is happening, and then we use the tools that work best for us individually to help give the brain and body what it’s actually needing instead of turning to something destructive that just turns all the signals off.”

I open the door and salute her as I turn to leave. “I’ll try, I guess.”

As I step out into the hallway, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Bash: Checking in

My fingers hover over the screen, debating whether to lie or not.

Mason: Still breathing…barely