Page 76 of The Write Choice

Nora hums as she nods slowly. “And did you like what you saw?”

“Not all of it.” It comes tumbling out without thinking, and I’m a little surprised.

“What is it you do like?”

I scrunch up my nose, and Nora laughs.

“I know it’s hard to talk positively about yourself, but try,” she insists.

“Okay… I guess I like that I’m a good mom. I’m a good wife, too. I’m passionate about my art again, which feels like I’m moving in the right direction. I think I’m fun to be around, though Brandon says I’m a grouch. Grouches can be fun, too, though, so…” I trail off, smirking.

Nora’s shoulders shake as she tries, unsuccessfully, to hold back her laughter. “What is it you don’t like, then?”

“I’ve been thinking about drinking way too much lately.” After the other night with Brandon, I must be ready to tell someone, because the admission comes easily. But I cringe, waiting for her admonition or judgment or disappointment.

It doesn’t come. She shifts in her seat, her expression remaining completely neutral. “Have you had alcohol since we last spoke?” It’s a loaded question, but it sounds so simple coming from her. There’s no value behind it, just did I, or didn’t I?

It makes it easier to answer. “No.”

Nora nods, but it’s not a nod of approval. She’s considering her next words. “Katie”—she leans forward, resting her elbows on her desk—“you’ve been thinking about drinking, but you haven’t had a drink. I’m proud of you.”

I straighten, shaking my head slightly. “What? Why?”

“So far, up until recently, staying sober has been relatively easy for you, yes?” she asks. I nod my agreement, and she continues. “That makes sense. You had other things to focus your attention on. But when you were left to yourself again, those old thoughts started creeping back in. That also makes sense. That’s to be expected. But you didn’t give in to them like you would have in the past. That’s fantastic.”

I frown. “I’m not following.”

“They’re just thoughts, Katie. You are not your thoughts. How many times have you thought something terrible and not acted on it?”

“Like punching Brandon in the face?” I joke.

Nora chuckles. I’m glad I somehow found a therapist who appreciates my dark humor. “Exactly. Do you feel bad about those thoughts?”

“Not usually,” I deadpan.

“In all seriousness, you probably don’t feel bad about those thoughts because you didn’t act on them. You’d feel terrible if you did actually punch him in the face, but you didn’t. So, what makes the thoughts about drinking any different?”

I consider this for a moment. “I guess they’re not. But that doesn’t explain why you’re proud of me about this.”

“I’m proud of you because it’s easy to stay on course while you’re distracted and happy. It’s much harder when you’re not. But you’re doing it anyway. You will have to work at this for the rest of your life, and sometimes it’ll be hard like this. But you’re doing what you set out to do, even though it’s difficult, and that’s something to be proud of. It shows immense growth.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I quickly wipe them away.

“What’s going on?” Nora asks. “What are you thinking?”

“That felt really good to hear,” I admit. More tears threaten to fall, but I talk through them. “I’ve been over here beating myself up about wishing I could have a drink when things get stressful, but you’re right. I haven’t had a drink, even though things have been very stressful, and maybe I should celebrate that.”

“You should definitely celebrate that.” Nora’s smile is wide.

And, for the first time in a while, I can feel my smile is, too.

Nora and I talk for a little longer about ways to let those disruptive thoughts go. By the time we end the call, I’m feeling lighter than I have in a long time. It’s almost as if I can start to forgive myself for some of this. Or, maybe, like there was never anything to forgive in the first place.

But with this new lightness also comes a new exhaustion. I guess baring your soul to your husband and then your therapist can make you pretty tired. I glance around the studio, but I’m mentally drained. I don’t think I’ll be able to paint today, or at least not until I get more coffee. But when I go out to the kitchen to make more, I find we’re out of coffee beans.

I tip my head back and groan, cursing past me for not putting coffee on the grocery list. To be fair, though, we’ve been going through it a lot faster between Mason’s five-thirty wakeup calls and a few late nights.

Since the kids are at school and Brandon is at work, I have nothing but time to treat myself. I pull out my phone and search for nearby coffee shops. The first search result looks like a bookstore with a coffee bar inside, which sounds perfect, actually. As much as I have resisted Jenny’s smutty book recommendations, I am starting to get curious about them. And now that Brandon and I have reignited that particular flame, maybe reading one won’t make me feel like an outsider looking in.