Why do aha moments come late at night when nobody’s awake to hear them?

Last night I was coloring before bed, a somewhat common occurrence. Self care, blah blah blah. I guess it’s apparently a pretty meditative thinky place for me.

1. Why the hell does it bother me so much that Seth didn’t tell me he was getting married until the day before?
I mean, beyond common courtesy.
When he and I got engaged, he told Dana* (his all-too-recent ex girlfriend, who he also moved cross-country to be with him) the next day. And she was a freaking witness at the courthouse!
How, as ex-wife and mother of his child, did I seem less deserving of respect than she did?? How am I less important than she was?
2. I recognize disturbing similarities to my mother, in that I occasionally find myself forgetting other people have feelings.
Like, when my emotions are big and strong and scary, it’s really easy to forget “oh, there’s another person in this interaction, and they have feelings, too”
A few examples: as I already mentioned, recognizing that I’m sure it was hard for Paul to break things off.
The very first time I met Alice, she was fucking terrified. Like, she was literally shaking.
And talking to a guy about a date today, he said something about being nervous, and I’m like: oh, right.
3. The last one, and I think the biggest for me
 Why is it so scary to entertain the thought that Paul and I may not get back together? Because if we don’t, then all those great things he told me (about me) are no longer true.
That I’m smart, funny, sexy, hot, amazing. And so on.
Logically, I know that’s not the case. But yeah. That’s the thought there.
And, of course, the follow up that I’m not any of those things enough for him
Those things were all true in that moment.
If we don’t get back together, they don’t suddenly disappear from me.
If we don’t get back together, all those things are not lost. I don’t suddenly turn into some dumb, unfunny, unappealing blob.
The realization that those things are in me remains.
My wedding and honeymoon were amazing. The memories are somewhat tainted by the subsequent knowledge that he is a dirty cheater. But nothing changes how I felt in that moment.
If he found me smart, funny, sexy, etc. maybe can see myself as those things.
And whether I believe them for myself or not, chances are he is not the last person alive who might think them about me.
Whew. That’s a lot. My brain is tired.
There are some rumblings in my head about how, as a therapist, I focus solely on understanding the experience of the other person… and then otherwise, I am kind of absorbed in my own experience…
But that’s about as coherent as the thought is.
I need a nap. zzzzzzzzzzzz

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