Description: Accepting where I am and who I am in my 40s.
Two years ago, I was driving up Connecticut Ave. in Washington, D.C., on my way to my therapist’s office wondering what I should talk about. There was nothing horribly wrong in my life.
I was healthy, 45-year-old women with a husband who found me attractive and with whom I could share my feelings. Our neighbors and friends called our two kids, 13 and 8, “delightful and well behaved.” I had steady, well-paid job with phenomenal benefits, and I could go to the store and buy groceries without thinking about the bill. I led a quantifiable good, comfortable life.
Talking about a drizzly feeling of malaise is not worth a therapy session. That’s just, whining, right?