One part of the work
The hardest part is usually the incoherence.
Sometimes the difficulty is a conversation, a feeling, or a painful experience. Sometimes it reaches further: the way you made sense of your life no longer fits the life you're living.
Something you were handed—or built over time—was supposed to
account for your family, your faith, your marriage, yourself.
It gave out slowly enough that you filed each failure separately, and
most of them under your own name.
Eventually there are too many to file.
The frame that broke is the same one you would use to explain the break.
So it comes out as a mess, or smaller than it is, and the failure to
say it becomes one more thing wrong with you.
We start there. Where you got the frame, what it made possible, where it
gave out, and what still feels true now. That last one is usually the
thing nobody has asked you.