42. It’s a Good Thing
IT’S A GOOD THING
ANDERS
“I can’t believe you’re graduating in a few days,” Helen says, sounding almost offended by it. “We’ve been together almost seven years. Now you’re doing things.”
“I’ve been doing things,” I scoff, shifting further down against the pillows piled behind my back. “You of all people should know that.”
Helen grins from the screen of my laptop, shaking her head slowly.
“I am so extremely proud of you. Really. Graduating from Georgetown a whole year early. Full ride and GTA position.” She gestures dramatically with one hand.
“You can write your boring papers on politics forever now. You’re earning all seventy of those dollars. ”
I snort quietly.
Helen presses a hand to her chest with a dramatic pout. “So proud, Anderson. You are my success story.”
I laugh under my breath, rubbing my thumb absently over my knee. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “Seriously. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
Helen’s expression softens.
There’s something strange about growing up with a therapist. Helen has seen every humiliating version of me imaginable over the years.
Seventeen-year-old me who couldn’t stop having panic attacks.
Nineteen-year-old me who thought functioning entirely on caffeine and academic validation counted as success.
Freshly twenty-one-year-old me spiraling so violently after being so fucking down bad for Parker.
And somehow she still looks at me like I’m someone worth being proud of.
“Alright,” Helen says finally, clapping her hands together once. “Back to business. It’s been two weeks.”
“Listen.” I hold my hands up immediately in surrender. Helen narrows her eyes knowingly through the screen. “I have been doing a lot of self-improvement,” I explain. “And a lot of self-discovery.”
“It just sounds like you haven’t been following my sound advice,” she says dryly. “Go ahead and confess. I’ll see what I can do.”
“No, really,” I insist, smiling. “I feel so…” I pause for a second, trying to find the right word for it. “Normal, I guess.”
The second the sentence leaves my mouth, Helen’s entire expression changes enough that I can tell she understands exactly how significant that statement actually is coming from me.
The word normal has been something buzzing around in the back of my head more frequently, and I think that’s a good thing.
“And you’ve still been writing?”
“Religiously,” I nod. “Especially the last couple weeks. It’s been really good for my head.”
“Good,” she says firmly. “Good.”
“I actually wanted to talk to you about writing,” I say eventually.
Helen leans back slightly in her chair. “Okay.”
“I got offered a ghostwriting internship.” I rub the back of my neck, fighting the nervous edge that starts to brim. “I’d be in New York for three months.”
Helen’s eyes widen immediately. “That’s incredible, honey. Look at you.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, smiling despite the knot twisting slowly in my stomach. “I feel really good about it, but…okay,” I say carefully. “I’m not saying I’ll never leave D.C. because obviously I want to travel and stuff eventually.”
“Sure,” Helen nods. “Continue.”
“But it’s three months I’d be missing out on being here. With my friends.” I hesitate briefly. “With Parker.”
Helen’s face remains professionally neutral, though I still catch the microscopic flicker in her eyebrows. “And you two are…” she prompts carefully.
The smile that spreads across my face happens before I can stop it. I press both hands dramatically against my chest. “I’m so happy,” I tell her honestly. “Like…happy in a way I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever felt before.”
Helen’s expression softens almost immediately. “You feel loved,” she says simply. “That’s amazing, Anderson,” she cheers. “And if being with him is what’s making your life feel stable and fulfilled, then you should take that seriously.”
“What if I don’t want to do the internship?”
“Really?”
I shrug one shoulder, staring down at my hands.
“I love writing. Obviously. But I also love where things are right now.” My throat tightens slightly around the admission.
“I’m finally in a place where I feel stable.
I have amazing friends. I’m with a man who loves me and takes care of me.
” I let out a quiet laugh. “I don’t even get stress headaches as much. ”
“So you don’t want the internship?” she asks. “Or do you not want to leave?”
“Maybe a little bit of both,” I admit. “I know it’s contradictory, but the part about the internship that excites me the most is that it’s in New York.”
“Right.”
“But I don’t want to be without Parker for that long, y’know. He’s my safe person and I’ve really come to terms with that. Like—I know being codependent isn’t always healthy, but I don’t think I could function properly without him.”
Helen smiles knowingly. “I think I might agree with you. If stability is your priority right now, then building a strong emotional foundation is not a failure,” she says.
“People act like choosing happiness means you’re settling somehow, but that’s not true.
Better opportunities will still exist later. Your life doesn’t end at twenty-one.”
“I know,” I murmur. But hearing someone else say it still helps.
For a moment, neither of us says anything. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I blurt, “I’m scared for him to read something I wrote.”
Helen tilts her head slightly. “The story?”
I nod once. Apparently I’d mentioned it briefly in an email last week while rescheduling this appointment.
I barely remember doing that. “He already asked to read it,” I continue, rubbing nervously at my thumb with my opposite hand.
“And I said yes, obviously, because what else was I supposed to say? But now I’m thinking about it too much, y’know… and I’m just really worried, I guess.”
“What specifically are you worried about?”
I exhale slowly. “It’s just…” I struggle briefly for the right explanation. “The story was written before anything really good ever happened between us. Before Parker and I were…” I gesture vaguely. “Whatever this is now.”
“A relationship?”
“Okay, well. Hearing you say it out loud is horrifying, but yeah. He’s my boyfriend. I’m his.”
Helen laughs softly.
“But the point is,” I continue, “it was written during a really bad period of my life, and I think reading it is going to make him realize how…long I’ve actually been in love with him.”
“And that scares you?”
“Yes.” The answer comes immediately. “Because it’s intense. Like…clinically concerning, probably.” Helen gives me a look. “I’m kidding,” I mutter. Mostly.
She smiles slightly before leaning forward a little closer toward the camera. “Anderson, you are catastrophizing something that hasn’t even happened yet.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know how Parker is going to react.”
“I know.” I groan quietly, dropping my head back against the chair.
She’s totally right. I have a habit of trying to emotionally prepare myself for every possible negative outcome before it can happen, as though anticipating pain somehow softens the blow. It never actually works, but apparently my brain still insists on attempting it anyway because it hates me.
“What’s the worst-case scenario here?” Helen asks.
“Uhh…” I stare at the ceiling for a second. “He realizes I’ve been emotionally unwell for years, maybe.”
Helen laughs immediately, “I think he may already know that, honey.”
I laugh, dragging both hands down my face.
“He loves you,” she says more gently. “And from everything you’ve told me, he seems extraordinarily emotionally attuned to you. So let him read it. Let him know the real you. Stop trying to manage everyone else’s reactions before they’ve even had them.”
I sigh.
“Communication,” Helen reminds me pointedly. “It’s a good thing.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to build intimacy while simultaneously hiding every vulnerable part of yourself.”
“That lowkey sounds fake.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for me to lie to you.”
The advice immediately feels right. Nothing about this feels easy, but it’s definitely manageable, maybe. And lately, manageable feels close enough to peace that I’m willing to take it.
Maybe that’s what being healthy actually looks like. It’s not the absence of problems or simply having all the answers. Maybe it’s just looking at the next difficult thing in front of you and believing you can live through it.