I know what you are thinking how could therapy, it’s what’s for dinner, be a thing?
In my wilderness it is a thing because dinner resides in the trauma area in my brain, and I need help.
There, I said it.
I need help.
When Larry first died, I posted on Facebook that I needed food. I got gift cards. I appreciated the fact that people did this for me, but I needed food. I wasn’t cooking.
Larry had dismantled my kitchen the weekend before he had his stroke. I had no real appetite, and I had no desire to cook.
I thought my love of cooking would come back. It has not. I am fine for breakfast and lunch; dinner ends up in the trash.
It doesn’t hit the trash every night, but there are many nights where it does, and I want to be able to sit down to dinner and eat as I used to eat because I like my cooking.
It’s time to take it to my therapist. When I left therapy on Monday, we were pretty sure I would only need one more A.R.T. session and that was the one dealing with holidays.
Then I realized I need therapy for dinner.
Larry stroked right after dinner. In fact, dinner was still on the table.
Larry was also my prep chef. Almost every meal I created had him at my side slicing, chopping, mixing, and we would drink wine, laugh, and every meal was a date night.
I will work through this in therapy and trust that it will work because it has worked on my other trauma issues.
I miss cooking. I miss cooking with Larry.