My therapy

Every day I wake up and for a moment, I forget. I forget they are both gone. I forget that the landscape of my family will never be the same again. And I have a choice to make, do I get up and do better than the day before or do I lie there in my sorrow? There is a piece of me that wants to lie there in sorrow; however, a bigger piece of me (ever so logical) knows there is nothing to do BUT get up. I have a husband to love on, children to raise, a job to do. I get out of bed and listen to The Bible in a Year. This is my therapy.

I head to the gym to meet a friend who meets me there four days a week. She is my therapy. 

Moving my body is my therapy. 

Counting my daily blessings in a gratitude journal is my therapy. 

Talking to my therapist is my therapy. 

Journaling is my therapy. 

Gathering with my friends is my therapy. 

Hiking in the great outdoors is my therapy. 

Going to church and worshiping God is my therapy. 

Reading books about grief, anxiety, wonder, and worry. . .is my therapy. 

Doing the things my mom and brother can no longer do is my therapy. 

Living is my therapy.