her door.

whenever i went to therapy, the door would close and
she'd sit down,
her office rank with secrets that felt like life and
honesty that felt like death,
her 32 ounce Panera Bread cup always on her desk, to her left, untouched,
sweating droplets of condensation.
and then i would follow suit. i'd sit down.
and then i would talk.
and she would listen.
and i'd start getting a headache if i stared too long at the
seven, enormous, inescapable words on the backside of her door.
occasionally, i'd ask her about them and she'd say
something like:
"that's all we're ever working on" or
"they're true--you know that, right rach?"
(she 'd always call me rach, which i sometimes thought was
a breach of protocol or
an unbalanced ratio of professionalism to approachability)
[but to hell with it, she had a p and an h and a d.]
the seven words:
I Am Me and I Am Okay.
and six years later, i'm starting to see (again) how
90% of the conflict in my life would dissipate if i started to
really, truly believe those seven words.
it isn't new age, pseudo/psycho hype.
it is power, because it's a thought.
and thoughts power beliefs which power action.

and i am the only one who can make myself believe it.