I’m practising noticing my feelings without doing anything about them. Then I got locked out of my own front door. A post about sadness, a burger, and whether it was all just hanger.

Sometimes the simplest stories, like asking to stop at the services, carry the most layers. A reflection on needs, conditions of worth, and learning to pass yourself the mic.

A psychotherapist on the long drive to know what she actually needs: and the small, terrifying act of asking for it out loud.