Page 16 of My Devoted Mountain Man

"Then we've got a lot of work to do, because your work matters. You matter. I won't let you believe otherwise."

I look at him and realize he's truly serious about this, and maybe, just maybe, I could get some help for this, because deep inside me, there's still this pull to make art. Now I start crying for all the pieces I destroyed, knowing I need to heal so that one day I can proudly show the new ones I create.

We go back home, and I have to lie down and sleep for a while. Fletcher lies right beside me, letting me be the little spoon.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"I think I'm going to get some help."

"You mean that?"

"Yes, it's time."

"I'm so proud of you, and I'll be right here by your side. You are the love of my life, Erika."

"I love you, too, Fletcher."

We kiss and we make love all night long. I feel cared for and protected with Fletcher by my side. All I know is I've got a long road ahead of me, but I won't be doing it alone.

Chapter 9

Erika

It's been a year since I started the work to heal, and I'm getting frustrated. I still can't pick up a brush, even though a thousand ideas are swirling in my mind. Fletcher has been completely supportive during this time.

I've moved in with him, and he drives me every day to the gallery. He has a small workshop in the back, where he can work on his own art while I arrange for his pieces and those of other local artists to be sold.

Later today, I have a session with my therapist, and I'm dreading it. She wants to dig deeper into why I'm not painting, and I'm not sure I have an answer for her. Not one that I can say out loud, anyway.

It's mid-morning, and Fletcher comes in with an iced coffee to help me cool down from the heat of summer. I recall how last year I braved the mountain and went to find my man. I still have the scar on my side to prove it. I joke that it is a mark of valor, but it really is. I wouldn't be with the love of my life right now if I hadn't done it.

The day goes by faster than I want, and then I'm talking to my therapist, and she asks me the dreaded question. Why do you think you're not working on your art, Erika? How do I answer that? How do I tell her that if I paint one canvas after the other, it will break my heart when I have to destroy them all over again?

Because deep inside, I still do not believe that I'm worthy. All of a sudden, the words come tumbling out of my mouth. How I'm terrified I have no talent, how I feel I'll never be good enough to sell my pieces, how all these fears and worries consume me.

Fat salty tears roll down my face, and it's as if the floodgates have been opened. My therapist is right there with me, challenging those beliefs and guiding me into the truth. I need to be courageous and embrace my destiny as an artist.

I've been letting this fear consume me, and it's only been causing this deep rot inside me. We end the session with some energy work, which helps me calm down, but when Fletcher comes into my office afterwards, I start crying all over again.

"Hey, what's going on? Did the session not go well?"

"I think it went a little too well for my taste," I say, sobbing all over his shirt.

"I'm right here for you, Erika. No matter what."

"Do you think I've been a coward?"

"I think you have a terrible inner battle, and right now it seems to be getting the better of you. What can I do to support you?"

I hold him tightly and take deep breaths to calm myself. His woodsy, masculine scent comforts me, and I decide I'm ready to share where I'm at right now.

"I think I have an idea for a new collection of work, based on the mountains here at Hunter's Peak."

"The mountains where you got lost?"

"The mountains where I found love."

"I'm so proud of you, Erika."

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