I was thinking of bringing my counselling to an end. Things are peaceful in the house, I’m beginning to settle into having the place to myself. I’m making friends and trying to explore myself.

Sessions were mostly becoming a recap of the previous fortnight.

During last night’s recap I started talking about how I still have pictures of my husband around the house, and I plan to have a few more up because I want to surround the arch between the lounge and dining areas with photos of my life and people, places, and events that matter to me – which would include him.

Then I started talking about how it feels to have a history with somebody and how that history still means something to me. I’d been afraid that if my husband and I separated, that our history wouldn’t mean anything anymore – that it would be worthless and twenty seven years of my life would have been for nothing.

Richard the counsellor then asked what it felt like to look back on my shared past.

I could feel tears coming, the tightness in my throat and chest of suppressed emotion.

I did feel grief.

I had begun to wonder whether I had any sad feelings about the breakup of my marriage.

It seems that I do.

That feels normal and a relief that I do have feelings. Thinking that I might not was actually a bit scary.

Thought I was done with counselling, that there was nothing left to unpick. But as soon as I felt that grief rise up, I knew that there was still something tender that needed space.

In a way, I was actually preempting Richard’s role: it’s his job to watch the session timings, not mine!

Anyway! He’s going to come prepped next session to do some creative exploration of my feelings around my marriage.

That will also be after my heart MRI and possibly after I’ve spoken to the consultant cardiologist.

It feels right to pause the tidy endings for now, and instead let the untidy ones have their turn to breathe.