Emotional Support Food

July 29, 2026

Today was hard.

I had a terrible time sleeping last night and woke up riddled with thoughts of my ex. Grief. Anger. The whole messy collection.

All I wanted to do was smoke a cigarette.

But I’ve almost entirely quit, so instead I aggressively cleaned my house and hoped the cravings would pass.

They didn’t.

About halfway through the day, I realized I was having a trauma spike.

I think seeing my ex unexpectedly the other day was enough to set it off. For a year and a half, I’ve mostly been able to move through my life without having to see him. I had quietly hoped it would stay that way.

It didn’t.

Apparently there are still parts of me processing everything that happened.

I know it won’t feel like this forever.

I just wish forever had arrived already.

So today I cried. I craved cigarettes. I took three drags of one before throwing it away.

And then I went to my first therapy appointment in over a month.

The appointment started out wonderfully.

I told her all about my incredible trip to Seattle. How the weight I’d been carrying seemed to fall off my shoulders. The freedom I felt. The decisions I’d made. The dates. The excitement of realizing that life can feel light again.

Then I told her about today.

About seeing him.

About the trigger.

About everything that came rushing back.

And I cried through all of it.

I love my therapist.

She has walked beside me for the last two years.

She was there shortly after my dad was diagnosed with cancer and both of my girls moved away.

She sat with me as I tried to make sense of a relationship I believed was real but couldn’t understand.

She walked with me through those impossible days in Seattle while my dad was dying.

She helped hold the pieces after my reality exploded.

And for nearly every week over the past year, she has quietly held space while I slowly put myself back together.

Toward the end of today’s appointment, she told me she was changing jobs in two weeks and wouldn’t be able to be my therapist anymore.

I burst into tears.

And I don’t think I stopped crying for the next hour.

She explained why, and I genuinely believe it’s the right decision for her and her family.

She told me how much she has loved working with me.

She told me, more than once, how unbelievably strong I am.

That I’ve survived so much.

That I know how to take care of myself.

That I’ve done so well.

And while she said those things…

I cried.

She has been one of the people who reminded me who I was when I couldn’t always find myself.

Someone who listened.

Someone who reminded me that I wasn’t crazy.

Someone who held space for my grief without trying to rush it away.

Ironically, I think I cried more today than I ever have in one of our sessions.

At one point I told her something I’ve been thinking for a long time.

“I know I’m strong, and I can’t wait for the day when I don’t have to be strong anymore.”

After our session, I called my sister.

I cried to her.

I cried to her best friend.

Then, we started making completely inappropriate jokes until we were all laughing.

After that, I cried to Jack.

Then I sent my sweet boy to the store with a grocery list consisting almost entirely of emotional support food because I have officially decided cigarettes are no longer how I’m going to survive hard days.

Thank goodness for that kid.

What am I going to do when he leaves for college next month?

And now…

I’m crying again.

At least I have cake!