Page 56 of Exes That Puck
“Of course.” I hear her settling into her chair, probably with a cup of tea. “What’s on your mind?”
“Why is change so hard?” The question comes out more vulnerable than I meant. “Like, I know what I need to do differently. I can see the patterns that don’t work. But actually doing it consistently feels impossible sometimes.”
She’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “Because change requires you to act against your instincts, especially when you’re stressedor triggered. It’s like learning a new language. You know the rules, but in the moment, you default to what’s familiar.”
“That makes sense.” I run my hand through my hair. “It’s exhausting.”
“It is. But it gets easier the more you practice. The new patterns become more automatic over time.”
I take a breath, then ask the question I’ve been avoiding. “Do you think Kara is worth all this trouble?”
“Oh, honey.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “That’s for you to decide, not me. But I will say this, honey, if you’re only changing for her, it won’t stick. Real change has to be for you first.”
The words land exactly right. Not what I expected, but what I needed to hear.
“Thanks, mom. For not just telling me what you think I want to hear.”
“That’s not my job. My job is to be honest. Life isn’t easy. Change is hard.”
We talk for a few more minutes. I get another update on her garden. I tell her about how I’m improving in hockey. I don’t talk specifics because she doesn’t even know what a slapshot is. This is just a normal mom-and-son conversation that grounds me in ways I didn’t realize I needed.
When we hang up, I feel lighter. More centered.
I brush my teeth, turn off the lights, and slide under covers that still smell faintly like Kara’s shampoo. I wish she was here right now, but I know it’s for the best that she’s not.
If I change for her, it won’t stick, so I need to change for myself?
And if I don’t change, I completely lose her, so in a way, changing is for myself.
I’m lying in bed, thinking about how selfish I am. I even laugh in the darkness because this is ridiculous. I am selfish, just like Kara told me all those times.
Reflecting is a bitch, but hey, I learned something new about myself.
The only person standing in my way is myself.
Thursday afternoon hits different. I’ve been on edge all day, checking the time every few minutes like the appointment might sneak up on me. At 3:15, I’m sitting in my truck outside the campus counseling center, palms sweating against the steering wheel.
The building looks normal enough. Red brick, glass doors, students walking in and out like it’s no big deal. I tell myself this is just like going to any other appointment. Dentist, doctor, whatever.
Except it’s not.
Inside, the waiting area has that institutional calm. Beige walls, motivational posters, soft music that’s supposed to be soothing but just makes me more aware of how quiet everything is. I give my name to the receptionist and sink into a chair that’s probably designed to be comforting but feels too soft.
“Zeke Wilshire?”
The voice belongs to a woman in her forties, professional but not intimidating.
The office is smaller than I expected, with a couch, two chairs, and bookshelves lined with psychology texts. She gestures to the seating options.
“Wherever you’re comfortable.”
I choose one of the chairs. The couch feels too much like lying down.
“So,” she says, settling across from me with a notepad. “You mentioned on your intake form that you’re dealing with some issues. Can you tell me more about that?”
The question hangs in the air. Where do I even start?
“I’m on the hockey team,” I begin, like that explains everything. “And I have this... pattern. With my ex-girlfriend. We keep breaking up and getting back together, and it’s always because I get jealous or try to control things I can’t control.”
