This be the verse

I am sitting on a plush beige couch in the waiting room of BG's therapist's office trying to fight off a migraine.

It's been a while.

My seven year old sees a therapist. She has on and off since she was 4, bit it was more off than on for a while. A visit when her anxiety about kindergarten ramped up, a visit or two during first grade when the transition to full day was just too hard. And then this summer when my seven year old threw a cup of water in a restaurant because she thought her father and I might embarrass her at play practice, we knew it was time to come back.

When LS told another preschooler at the library that her sister wasnt there because she was at the doctor for help with her big feelings, well, we'll just call her an advocate for the normalization of mental healthcare.

I have a lot of feelings about it.

Well. I mean, I guess you can tell she mine.

Am I overreacting? Is she perfectly fine and I'm just projecting all my own fears on her? Am i too enmeshed, trying to fix things that aren't broken?

Or am I holding onto baggage from childhood about having to be okay and be the good one and not need help?

How exactly am I damaging my little girl? By being here? By not having been here sooner? By overscheduling and not allowing enough space? By not being present enough, engaged enough?

I know it's all my fault (even though I know nothing is wrong) but I'm just not sure how I am effing her up.