Reading is a joy you deserve

When a girl in therapy has a lightbulb moment

It starts with an itch, one that I can’t seem to scratch. My fingers need to do something. My brain needs to be occupied.

You’re watching TV? That’s not enough. You need to do better. Can’t you do something productive? My brain presses.

Productive. I hate that word. I hate how it makes me feel like I am not enough or worthy. I can feel it press in on me throughout my days. In the morning as I journal and run. I try to run harder, longer, better, faster, stronger. I feel it especially while I work. Having a client base of roughly 50 is equivalent to having 50 children. I am trying to make 50 people happy every single day. I need to do more, fit that person in, call these three people, push so and so to go live. And when someone gets upset with me? It gives me so much anxiety that, TMI, my stomach bloats and I can feel my throat tighten.

I pick at my lip. I pull open my notes app. I titled it: “Things To Do Before I Move”

I list everything that needs to be done: I need to clean out my bedroom, clean out my clothes, and go through everything stored away in the basement to decide what is coming with me. I need to schedule the appointment and movers and do the utilities. I have to purchase furniture. The list goes on.

My brain hums. Yes. It is being productive. My brain is being occupied. I am scheduling each thing out over the next few weeks so I am prepared.

When I finish the list, I sigh and put my phone down. I go back to watching TV. My brain has been satisfied and thus goes quiet. Finally.

This is an example of a mental ritual of my OCD. Now, you’re probably wondering, Izzy, what does this have to do with reading being a joy?

Don’t worry. I’m getting there.