I suppose there are several reasons but this is what pops into my head at the moment. Bear in mind idk what I'm doing and lots of the time try to do what feels right in the moment while trying to be detached and keep expectations at zero.
I'm also on my phone and made a few minutes and started rambling:)
It caught me by surprise and I'm a fixer so it was just my natural response. I know she didn't mean to do this, it's part of her mlc fog.
I'm glad she called me for support and not someone else. This time last year I was enemy number 1. I think it's good she feels she can call me. I'm not trying to manipulate but help guide if/where I can. She's got a lot of. bad advice through her crisis, especially from mlc friend and her old boss so I'm glad she feels she can talk to me, not just this, she vents about her job, people, family.
When she talks to me we're now in a place where I'm able to step back and see where she's at which is often in a fog but sometimes we can laugh or talk (I mostly listen) and sometimes I think she may have a little clarity. Lately, once in awhile I will make an inside joke or bring up a memory and she might laugh or say I forgot about that, or she might not know what I'm talking about and I will have to jog her memory.
I also see she's still obsessed w/making a lot of money and death. She's also working out a lot now. Not that it's necessarily bad, I'm trying to as well but I'm having a hard time making it a steady thing. last week she told me to feel her stomach and was so proud of herself. I complimented her but also let her know she looked fine before. She also told me she was doing x excersice for x. This is something she was teased about on the school bus (she told me about this a lot over the years). I feel bad for that hurt kid under the surface. In hindsight I can see how bad she's been scared from this and another body issue (which is crazy because she's beautiful). I used to tell her she was beautiful and she would always say shut up, you have to tell me that bc you're my husband.
