Acceptance

I'm reading Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed, a collection of her 'Dear Sugar' advice columns rolled together and spun into a book. A tiny beautiful book.  A thing of wonder. I'm reading it on my iPad but it begs to be bought, in real-book form, and held, aloft.  To become a treasure, a part of my collection, a book I will look back on and think "Yes. That is what was going on in my life at the time I read this lovely book.  That. The acceptance I was struggling with. THAT." 
More people than I may have realized need someone to tell them what to do. I guess that everyone has their reason for that. Me, I have a therapist. She's the one I go to for advice, although she rarely out-and-out gives it, it's more of a 'you'll have to solve this one on your own', but not spelled out like this.
We talked, this week, of the subject that is still gnawing away at me; my work situation, where I'm at with it, and how that's going for me.
I gestured while I talked to her:
"I'm HERE, but then I'm BACK THERE."
"I'm GOOD, but then I'm NOT."
"I've made PROGRESS but then I just want the opportunity to bitch-slap someone." (That figurative bitch-slap would be to that bitch, the one I DON'T write about on here, about the situation that never happened, on this blog that doesn't exist. Yea. It's so healthy that I, too, want to scream).

It's Sunday morning.
I am, as always, pajama'ed, making coffee, taking a break from reading this amazing book, and thinking.
Thinking thinking thinking.
The curse and the joy of it.
The beauty and the pain of it.

One column I read talked about acceptance.
The acceptance of acknowledging that Something Has Happened.
That this Something was Not Good.
That this Something continues to wage a war inside me that takes up way too much of my insides-energy in a way I really don't like.
That this Something worms around inside of me and I talk to my husband about it.
That we sometimes have fights about it, this Something, this thing that I can't get past, this co-worker situation.
This Something that I didn't have to opportunity to fight back at.

So, acceptance, huh? It's just not that easy. It's not a simple equation:
You do this, I do this, we do this, you go away, I get on with my life.

My life. 
My REAL life, the one that happens outside of the walls of an office.
It just feels fucked right now.
I don't want it to, but it does.

So, that's me on Sunday morning (again).
I'm not asking for advice, I'm not asking for a salve to put on the wounds, mostly I am just doing what I do on this blog--organizing my thoughts, thinking it out, dragging it out of my head, putting into the keyboard, leaving it on the screen.
DOCUMENTING it.
Bearing WITNESS to it.
Bearing it.
Beating it.
The power of words.
The pleasure of writing.

The transformation.