You should try harder. You haven't really given it your all. You're giving up so much. You're wrecking everything. He's going to be so angry with you. You saw by the charge on the credit card that he went to counselling last week. He's working on himself. You owe it to him. This is an act of self destruction, don't kid yourself.

I stand in the kitchen with my hands leaning on the counter top. Everything is confusing and the voice is telling me that I've made a big mistake.

I breathe in and out. I hear Troy talking me through this, and in this moment I realize why I have spent so many hours at yoga classes: I have been subconsciously learning to how to save myself.

These thoughts, the deeply shaming thoughts, are my ego acting inappropriately, trying to save me from the danger of the unknown, pushing me back into perceived safety. And then the ego acts again, in a meta sense, telling me that's not true and that I should heed its warning. A Russian nesting doll of faulty protective mechanisms. I still don't feel entirely OK, but at least I can understand the source of these thoughts and work to reassure my ego that I am safe in this present moment. By exposing the ego, it loses its power over me.

I walk to the bus stop through a light dusting of dry snow. At first I walk tentatively, testing the traction from my boots. The layer of snow is thin, and my boots bite easily through to the pavement. I think back to two weeks ago, sliding around and nearly falling in the greasy snow. This time it's easier, and I move forward at a steadier, more assured pace, confident that I will be OK and that I'm on the right path.

Later in the day, I meet up with a photographer to have a professional photo taken for an upcoming publication. The sun is out, and she has me stand at the waterfront with a backdrop of dazzling glassy towers. She turns the camera to me to show me the photo.