If you had told my 12-year-old self that in 20 years she would pepper her conversations with a casual “my therapist says…” she would have slammed her bedroom door (plastered with “Sabrina The Teenage Witch” BOP tear outs) right in your face.
Alas, here we are.
After an adolescence spent resisting any parental suggestions that I maybe, you know, talk to …
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