Wednesdays, for the past six weeks has been known to be my therapy days. It all started when I was feeling at my lowest. No one to talk to, my family was crumbling before my eyes, and I didn't know what to do with my future. I wrote a tell all status on my Facebook page, and although a quite a few people commented on it, the most important one was my Aunt's. 

The very next morning she messaged my asking  to come up for Sunday dinner, and who am I to decline food? I went up, chilled for a little while, and ate. But then there was the hardest part yet to come, 'the talk'. She proceeded to ask me how I was and prodding questions around my status. At that very moment at the table, I wanted to cry, I wanted to let it all out, but I couldn't. I thought that my tears would be prove to be a sign of weakness. They would show how vulnerable I really was, a side of me I didn't want anyone to see. I would like to believe that she saw the tears my eyes, and knew not to question me no more. Thank the Lord for that because it was getting harder, and harder to swallow the lump in my throat. 

Therapy sessions is what she suggested that she would do for me and before you ask, no, she is not a therapist. Going to the first session I didn't know what to expect. She sat me down and asked me how I was feeling. I told her and we progressed from there. She doesn't know this but if I didn't go to therapy I don't know where I would be right now. 

Truth be told on the day I wrote that Facebook post, I felt as if I was ready to walk in front of a moving vehicle. Not to die, no, to be heard. and for my family to understand that I can't function without a strong foundation. To let them know that they disappointed me and were selfish enough to only think of themselves. In fact, to this day they still are, but with my therapy sessions with my Aunty I have been able to understand why they are the way they are, and how I can deal with my current situation. I would like to dedicate this post to my Aunty, Thank You.